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THOMAS 'M0011E, 



COLLECTED BY HIMSELF. 
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1856. 






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CONTENTS OF MOORE'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ODES OF ANACREON; Translated into English 

Vera*, with .Note* 

Dedication to his Royal Highness the Prince of 



Advertisement 

Index to the Odes 

An Ode by the Translator. 
Remarks on Anacreou 



ODES 19 

1. I saw the smiling bard of pleasure 19 

2. Give me the harp of epic »ong 20 

3. Listen to the Muse's lyre 20 

4. Vulcau! hear your glorious task 20 

5. Sculptor, would-t thou glad my soul 20 

6. As late I sought the spangled bowers 21 

7. The women lell me every day 21 

f. I care not for the idle stale 21 

9. I pray thee, by the gods above 22 

10. How am I to p.uuish thee 22 

11. "Tell me, gentle youth, 1 pray thee 22 

12. They tell how Atys, wild with live 23 

13. I will, I will, the conflict's past 23 

14. Count me, on the summer trees 24 

15. Tell me, why, my sweetest dove 24 

16. Thou, whose soft and rusy huea 25 

17. And ljw with all thy pencil's truth 26 

18. Now the star of day is high 27 

19. Here recline you, gentle maid 28 

20. One day the Muses twin'd the hands 28 

Si. Observe when mother eirth is dry 29 

22. The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm 29 

23. I often wish this languid lyre 30 

24. To all that breathe the air of heaven 31 

2o. Once in each revolving year 31 

26. Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms S2 

27. We read the flying courser's name S2 

28. As, by his Lemnian fo ge's flame 32 

29. Yee — loving is a painful thrill 32 

SO. 'T*ai in a mocking dream of night 33 

31. Arm'd with a byacinthine rod S3 

32. Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves 84 

53. 'Twag noon of night, when round the pole 3l 

54. Oh thou, of all creation blest 35 

33. Cupid once upon a bed 35 

86. If hoarded gold possess 'd the power 36 

87. 'Twas Bight, aud many a circling bowl 36 

88. Let us drain the neclar'd bowl 37 

89. How I love the festive boy 87 

40. I know tbst Heaven hath sent me here H 

41. When Spring adorns the dewy scene Sri 

42. Yes, be the glorious revel mine 35 

43. While our rosy fillets shed 39 

44. Buds of roses, virgin flowers 39 

45. Within this goblet, rich and deep 

46. See the young, the rosy Spring 

47. 'Tis true, my fading years decline 

48. When my thirs'.y soul I steep 

49. When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 40 

50. When wine I quaff, before my eyes 40 

61. Fly not thus my brow of snow 41 

62. Away, away, ye men of rules 41 

63. When I behold the festive train 42 

64. Methinks, the plctur'd bull we see 42 

65. While we invoke the wreathed spring 42 

66. He, who instructs the youthful crew 44 

67. Whose was the artist hand that spread 44 

68. When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion 45 

89. Ripen'd by the solar beam 45 

60. Awake to life, my sleeping shell 46 

61. Youth'* endearing charms are fled 46 

62. Fill rae, boy, a* deep a draught 47 

63. To Love, the soft and blooming child 47 

64. Haste thee, nymph, whi*e well-aimed spear ... 47 

65. Like some wanton nllv sporting 47 

66. To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine 48 

67. Rich in bliss, 1 proudly scoiu 48 

68. Mow Neptune's mouth our sky deforms 48 

89. They wove the lotus band to deck 4s 

70. A broken cake, with honey sweet 49 

71. With twenty chords my lvre is hung 49 

72. Fare thee well, perfidious "maid 49 

73. Awhile I bloom'd a happy flower 49 

74. Monarch Love, resistless boy 49 

76. Spirit of Love, whose lucks unroll'd 49 



76. Hither, gentle Muse of mine ..... 4" 

77. Would that I were a tuneful lyre 60 

78. When Cupid sees how thickly now 60 

Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 60 

Let me resign this wretched breath 50 

I know thou lov'st a brimming measure 50 

I fear that love disturbs my rest 60 

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep 60 

Mix me, child, a cup divine 60 

EPIGRAMS FROM THE ANTHOLOGIA 60 

Notice 60 

AvTiTzarpov Zicwiov, tic AvaKptovra 60 

Tov auTou, «c tov avrov 51 

Tot; avrov, Etc rov avrov 51 



Ton avrov, us rov avrov . 



51 



JUVENILE POEMS 

Preface, by the Editor 

Dedication to Joseph Atkinson, Esq 

Fragments of College Exercises 

Is therenocall.no consecrating cause 

Variety 

To a Boy with a Watch. Written for a friend.... 

Song 

To 

Song 

Song 

Reuben and Rose. A tale of romauce 

Did not 

To 

To Mrs , on seme calumnies against 

her character 

Anacreontic • 

To 

To Julia, in allusion to some illiberal criticisms. .. 

To Julia 

TheSurine. To , 

To a Lady, with some manuscript Poems, on leav- 
ing the country 

To Julia 

To 

Nature's Labels. A fragment 

To Julia. On her birthday 

A Reflection at Sea 

Cloris and Fanny 

The Shield 

To Julia, weeping 

Dreams. To 

To Rosa. Written during illuess 

Song. 



The Sale of Loves . 
To 



I-ady. 



To 

On the Death of 

Ii.couslaucv 

The Natal Genius. A dream. To , me 

morning of her birthday 

Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to be wiitleu by Julia, on 
the death of her brother 

To the large and beautiful Miss in allu- 
sion to some partnership in a lottery share. Im- 
promptu 

A Dream 

To 

Anacreontic 

To Julia 

Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb of her 
mother 

Sympathy. To Julia 

The Tear.. 

The Snake 

To Rosa 

Elegiac S anzas 

Love and Marriage 

Anacreontic 

The Surprise 

To Miss on her asking the author why 

she had sleepless nights 

The Wonder 

Lying 

Anacreontic 



PREFACE TO THE SECOND VOLUME 64 

ODES continued 67 



(3) 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
The Philosopher Aristippos to a Lamp, which had 

been given him by Lais €7 

To Mrs. , on her beautiful translation of Voi- 

Rondeau 69 

Bong. 



To Rosa 

Written in a common-plai 

of Follies" 

To Rosa 

Light sounds the Harp 

From the Greek of Mcleager 

Song 

The Resemblance 

Fanny, dearest 

The Ring, to 
To the Invisit 



book, called "The Book 



Girl. 



The Ring, a tale 

To on seeing her with a white 

veil and a rich girdle 

Written in the blank leaf of a lady's common-place 

book 

To .Mrs. Ill .written in her album 

To Cara, after an interval of absence 

To Cara, on the dawning cf a new-year's day 

To lfcOl 

The Genius of Harmony, an irregular ode 

I found her not — the chamber seem'd ... 

To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her " Psyche"... 
From the High Priest of Apollo lo a Virgin of Delphi 

Fragment 

A Night Thought 

The Kiss 

Song 

The Catalogue 

Imitation of Catullus to himself. 

Oh woman, if through sinful wile 



F^plgram, from the French. 
On a squinting Poetess.... 



To Rosa 

To Phillis 

To a Lady ou her singing 

Song. On the birthday of Mrs. 



Morality. A familiar epistle. Addressed to J. 

Atkinson, Esq. M. R. I. A 

The Tell-tale Lyre 

Peace and Glory. Written on the approach of war 



Song. 

Love and Reason 

Nay, do uot weep, my Fanny dear. 



The Grecian Girl's Dream of the 

To her lover 

To Cloe, imitated from Martial..... 
The Wreath and the Chain 



To '« Picture 

Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 

To bis Serene Highness the Duke of Montpenaier, 

on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide Forbes 

The Fall of Hebe. A dilhyramblc ode 

Rings and Seals 

To Miss Susan B— ckf — d. On her singing 

Impromptu, on leaving some friends 

A Warning. To 



A Vision of Philosophy 

To Mrs 

To Lady Heathiote, on an old ring found at Tuo- 
bridge Wells 

The Devil among the Scholars. A fragment 

POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 

Dedication to Francis, Earl of Mcira 

Preface 

To Lord Viscount Strangford. Aboard the Phaeton 
frigate, off the Azores, by moonlight 

Stanzas ... 

To the Flying-fish 

To Miss Moore. From Norfolk, in Virginia, Not. 
1803 

▲ Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. Writ- 
ten at Norfolk, in Virginia 

To the Marchioness Dowager of DonegalL From 
Bermuda, January, 1804 



Page 
To George Morgan, Esq., of Norfolk, Virginia. 

From Bermuda, January, 1604 100 

Lines written in a storm at sea 101 

Odes to Sea 101 

Nay, tempt me not to love again 101 

1 pray you, let us ream no more 101 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes 102 

A Dream of Antiquity 102 

Well— peace to thy heart, though another's it be. 103 

If 1 were yonder wave, my dear 103 

The Snow Spirit 104 

J stole along the flowery bank 104 

A Study from the Antique 104 

There's not a look, a word of thine 105 

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq. From Bermuda 106 

The Steersman's Song. Written aboard the Bos- 
ton frigate, 2bth Apul 106 

To the Fire-fly 100 

To the Lord Viscount Forbes. From the city of 

Washington 107 

To Thomas Home, Esq., M. D. From the city of 

Washington 108 

Lines written on leaving Philadelphia luV 

Lines written at the Cohos, or Falls of the Mohawk 



109 



Song of the Evil Spirit of the Wo. 

To the Hon. W. R. Speucer. From Buffalo, upon 
Lake Erie 110 

Balad Stauzas Ill 

A Canadian Boat Song. Written on the river St. 
Lawrence 112 

To the Lady Charlotte Rawdon. From the banks 
of the St. Lawrence 112 

Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs. , of Montreal.. 114 

Written on passing Deadman's Island, in the Gulf 
of St. Lawrence, late in the evening, September, 
JK>4 114 

To the Br-tnn Frigate, on leaving Halifax for Eng- 
land, October, 1804 114 

PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME 115 

CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE: Two Po- 
ems. Addressed lo an Englishman by an Irishman 117 

Prefae 117 

Corruplioo 118 

Intolerance. A Satire 12a 

Appendix 1-S 

THE SCEPTIC. A Philosophical Satire .... 126 

Preface 128 



By Thomas Brown, the 



TWO-PENNY POST-BAG. 

Younger 1 

Dedication. To Stephen Woolnche, Esq ] 

Preface I 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a Friend of 

the Author 1 

INTERCEPTED LETTFRS. &:c 

Letter I. From the Pr— ne— ss Ch— rl— e of 

W— 1— « to the Lady B— rb— a Ashl— y I 

Letter II. From Colonel M'M— h— n to G— Id 

Fr— nc— s L— ckie. Esq I 

Postscript 

Letter III. From G— ge Pr— ce R— g— t to the 

E — of Y th ] 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. P— tr— ck D— 

gen— n to the Right Hon. Sir J— hn N— eh— 1.. .. 
Letter V. From the Countess Dowager of C— rk to 

Lady 

Postscript 

Letter VI. From Abdallah, in Lcndcn, to Mohassan 

in Ispahan 1 

Gaxel 

Letter VII. From Messrs. L— ck— gt— n and Co. 

to , Esq 1 

Letter VIII. From Colonel Th— m— s to 

Sk— ff— ngt— n. Esq I 



Letter IV. Page 113 

Letter VII. Page 128 I 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 

The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream 

Parody of a celebra:ed L- tier 

Anacreontic to a Plumassier 

Extracts from the Diary of a Politician 

Ep gram 

King Crack and his Idols. Written after the lata 

Negotiation for a new M— a— slry 

What's my Thought like! 



CONTENTS 



Epigram. Dialogue between a Catholic Delegate 
and His R— y— 1 H— ghn— ss the D— e of C— 

b— 1— d HI 

Wreaths for the Ministers. An Anacreontic 141 

Epigram. Dial"s;ie between a Dowager and her 

Maid on the Sight of Lord Y— rm— th's Fete.. .. 141 
Horace. Ode XI. Lib. II. Freely translated by the 

Pr— ce R— g— t 142 

Horace, Ode XXII. Lib. I. Freely translated by 

Lord Eld-n 142 

The New Costume of the Ministers 143 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gentleman, 
npon the Advantage of (what is called) "having 

Law on oue's bide" 143 

Occasional Address for the Opening of the New The- 
atre of St. St— ph— n, intended to have been 
spoken by the Proprietor in lull Costume, on the 

24lh of November, 1813 144 

The Sale of the Toois 144 

Little Mau and Little Soul. A Ballad 145 

Reinforcements for Lord Wellington 145 

Horace, Ode I. Lib. III. A Fragment 145 

Horace. Ode XXXVIII. Lib. I. A Fragment. 
Translated by a Treasury Clerk, while waiting 

Dinner for the Right Hon. «— rge R-- se 145 

Impromptu. Upon being obliged to leave a pleasant 
Parly, from the Want of a Pair of Breeches to 

dress for Dinner in 146 

Lord Wellington and the Ministers 146 

IRISH MELODIES 146 

Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal 140 

Preface 146 

Go where Glory waits thee 146 

War Song. Remember the Glories of Brieu the 

Brave 147 

Erin! the Tear and Smile iu thine Eyes 14? 

Oh, breathe not his Name 147 

When he. who adores thee 147 

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 147 

Fly not yet 147 

Oh, think -not my Spirits are always as light 146 

Tbo' the last Glimpse of Erin with Sonow I see.. 145 

Rich and rare were the Gems she wore 14^ 

As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters Clay glow. 148 

The Meeting of the Water .'. 146 

How dear to me the Hour 149 

Take back the Virgin Page. Written on reluming 

a blank Book 149 

The Legacy 149 

How eft has the Beushee cried 149 

We may roam through this World 149 

Evelecn's Bower 150 

Let Krin remember the Days of old 150 

The Song of Kionnuala ' 150 

Come, send round the Wine 151 

Sublime was the Warning , 151 

Believe me, i( all those endearing young Charms... 151 

Erin, oh Erin 151 

Driuk to her 151 

Oh, blame not the Bard 152 

While gazing on the Yoon'a Light 152 

III Omens 152 

Before the Battle 150 

After the Battle 153 

>Tia sweet to think 153 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress 153 

On Mosic 153 

It is not the Tear at ihis Moment shed , 154 

The Origin of the Harp 154 

Love's Youug Dream 154 

The Prince's Day ,... 154 

Weep ou, weep on 154 

Lesbia hath a beaming Eye 155 

I saw thy Form in youthful Prime 155 

By that Lake, whose gloomy Shore 155 

She is far from the Lund 150 

Nay. tell me not, dear , 156 

Aveugiug and bright ,. i5tj 

V, I. at I he Bee is to the Floweret 1 .. 156 

Love and the Novice 15fi 

This Liie is all chequer'd with Pleasures and Woes 15? 

Oh the Shimrock , 157 

At tbem.d Hour of Night 157 

One Bumper at parting 157 

'T.s the last Rose of Summer 158 

The young May Moon 15b 

The Minstrel- Boy loe 

The Song of O'Ruark. Prince of Breti'ni 156 

Oh. had we some bright little Isle of our own 159 

Farewell '.—But whenever yon welcome the Hour.. 159 



Page 

Oh, doubt me not 159 

You remember Ellen 109 

I'd mourn the Hopes 15'J 

Come o'er the Sea 160 

Has Sorrow thy young Days shaded 160 

No, not more welcome 160 

When first I met thee 110 

While History's Muse 161 

1 lie Time I've lost in wooing, 101 

Where is the Slave 101 

Come, rest in this Bosom 101 

•Tis gone and for ever 161 

I saw Iron) the Beach 162 

Fill the Bumper lair 102 

Dear Harp of my Country., 162 

PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME 163 

IRISH MELODIES, continued 167 

My geuile Harp 167 

lu the Morning or Life 167 

As slow our Ship 167 

When cold in the Earth 108 

Remember thee 106 

Wreath the Bowl 108 

Whene'er I see llutse smiling Eyes 106 

If thou'lt be mine 100 

To Ladies' Kyis 10'J 

Forget not the Field 109 

They may rail at this Life 1641 

Oh for the Swords of former Time 119 

St. Scsanus and the Lady , 169 

Ne'er ask the Hour 1?0 

Sail on, sail on 1?0 

The Parallel I'd 

Drink of this Cup 170 

The Fortune-teller 171 

Oh, ye Dead 171 

O'Donohue's Mistress 171 

Echo 17| 

Oh banquet not 172 

Thee, thee, only thee 

Shall the Harp then be silent 

Oh, the Sight entrancing 

Sweet Iunisfallcu 173 

'Twas one of those Dreams 173 

Fairest! pulonawhile 173 

Cluick ! we have but a Second 

And do h not a Meeting l.ke this 

The Mountain Sprite 174 

As vacquish'd Erin 174 

Desmond's Song 1?5 

'1 hey know not my Heart 175 

I wish 1 was by that dim Lake 175 

Sue sung of Love 175 

I »— Muiic was b 'iven. 176 

Though hnmble the Banquet 176 

Sing, sweet Harp 176 

Song of the Battle Eve ... 1?6 

The wandering Bard 176 

Atone in Crowds to wander on 177 

I've a Secret to tell thee 177 

Sone of Irnisfail 177 

The" Might Donee 177 

There aie Sounus of Mirth 177 

Oh! Arraumnre, loved Arrunmore,. l?e 

Lay ins Sword by his Side 176 

Oh, could we do with this World of ours 17b 

Trie \\ inc-cup is circling 178 

Tne Dieam of those Days 179 

From this Hour the Plcdae is given 179 

Silence is in our festal Halls JT'J 

Appendix ,.-• r - 1™ 

Advertisement prefixed to the First and Second 

Numbers 170 

Advertisement to the Third Ni'raber 160 

Letter to the Marchioness powager of Donegal, 

prefixed to the Third Member 160 

Advertisement to :he Fourth Nu ruber 163 

Advertisement to the Filth Number 163 

A'i vert isemeiit to the Sixth Number. .. , 163 

Advertisement to the Seventh Number 164 

Dedication to the Marchioness of Headfoit prefixed 

to the Tenth Number 184 

NATIONAL AIRS 1« 

Advertisement 

A Temple to Friendship. Spanish Air 

Flow on, thou shining Bi»er. Portuguese Air.... 

All that's bright must fade, Indian Air 

So warmly we met. Hungarian Air 



1* 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Those Evening Bells. Air.— The Bells of St. Pe- 

tersburgh 165 

Should those fond Hopes. Portuguese Air 185 

Reason, Folly, and Beauty. Italian Air 163 

Fare thee well, thou lovely ODe ! Sicilian Air 166 

Dost thou remember. Portuguese Air 166 

Oh, come to me when Daylight sets. Venetian Air 165 

Oft, in the stilly Night. Scotch Air 166 

Hark! the Vesper Hymn is stealing. Russian Air 167 

Love and Hope. Swiss Air 167 

There comes a Time. German Air 1*7 

My Harp has one unchanging Theme. Swedish Air 167 
Oh, no — not ev'n when first we love. Cashmerian 

Air 187 

Peace be around thee. Scotch Air Ie7 

Common Sense and Genius. French Ai: 168 

Then, fare thee well. Old English Air 168 

Gaily sounds the Castanet. Maltese Air 188 

Love is a Hunter-boy. Languedocian Air 188 

Come, chase that starting Tear away. French Air 166 

Joys r.f Youth, how fleeting ! Portuguese Air 1*'J 

Hear me but once. French Air 189 

When Love was a Child. Swedish Arr 189 

Say, what shall be our Sport to-day 7 Sicilian Air. 169 

Bright be thy Dreams. Welsh Air 189 

Go, then— 'lis vain. Sicilian Air 1-9 

The Crystal Hunlers. Swiss Air 189 

Row gently here. Venetian A:r 190 

Oh, Days of Youth. French Air 190 

When first that Smile. Venetian Air 190 

Peace to the Slumlierers ! Catalonian Air 190 

When thou shalt wander. Sicilian Air 190 

Who'll buy my Love-knots? Portuguese Air 190 

See, the Dawn from Heaven. To an Air sung at 

Rome, on Christinas Eve 191 

Nets and Cages. Swedish Air 191 

When through the Piazzetta. Venetian Air 191 

Go, now, and dream. Sicilian Air 191 

Take hence the Bowl. Neapolitan Air... 191 

Farewell, Theresa! Venetian Air 192 

How oft, when watching Stars. Savoyard Air.. .. 192 

When the first Summer Bee. German Air MS 

Though 'tis all but a Dream. French Air 192 

When the Wine cup is smiling. Italian Air 182 

Where shall we bury our Shame? Neapolitan Air 192 
Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy Schools. Muhralta 

Air 193 

Here rleepi the Bard. Highland Air 1^3 

Do not sav that Life, is waning 193 

The Gazelle 193 

No— leave inv Heart to rest 193 

Where are the Visions 193 

Wind thy Horn, mv Hunter Boy U3 

Oh, guoid our Atfect'ion 193 

Slumber, oh sluinhcr 194 

Briug the bright Garlands hither 194 

If in loving, tinging 194 

Thou lov'st no more 194 

Wheu abroad in the World 194 

Keep those Eyes still purely mine 194 

Hope comes again 194 

O say, thou best and brigh:esl 

When Night brings the Hour 195 

Like one who, doom'd HE 

Fear not that, while around thee I'-'J 

When Love is kind 195 

The Garland 1 seud thee 195 

How shall 1 WOO] 195 

Spring a ml Autumu 

Love aluue 196 

B ACRED SONGS 196 

Dcdicatiou to Ldward Tuite Daltou, Esq 198 

Thou art, O G.<1. Air.— Unknown 196 

The Bird, let loon. Air.— Beethoven 197 

Fallen is thv Throne. Air.— Martini 197 

Who is the .Maul ? St. Jerome's Love. Air— Bee- 
thoven 197 

This World is all a Heeling Show. Air.— Steven- 
son 197 

Oh Thou who dry'st the Mourner's Tear. Air.— 

Haydn '. 197 

Weep not for those. Air.— Avisos 196 

The Turf shall be my flagrant Shrine. Air.— Ste- 
venson 196 

Bound the loud Timbrel. Miriam's Song. Air.— 

Avison 198 

Go, let me weep. Air.— Stevenson 196 

Corne not, O Lird. Air.— Haydn 199 

Were -ot the sinful Mary's Tears. Air.— Su-. 

As }owu iu the sunless Retreats. Air.— Haydn... 199 



Page 

But who shall see. Air.— Stevenson 199 

Almighty God. Chorus of Priests. Air.— Mozart. 199 
Oh fair ! oh purest ! Saint Augustine to his Sister. 

Air.— Moore 200 

Angel of Charity. Air.— Handel 200 

Behold the Sun. Air.— Lord Morninglcn 200 

Lord, who shall bear that Day. Air.— Dr. Boyce.. 200 

Oh, teach me to love Thee. Air.— Haydn 200 

Weep, Children of Israel. Air.— Stevenson 201 

Like Morning, wheu her early Breeze. Air — Beeth- 
oven 201 

Come, ye disconsolate. Air. — German 201 

Awake, arise, thy Light is come. Air.— Stevenson 201 

There is a bleak "Desert. Air.— Crescentini 202 

Since first thy Word. Air.— Nicholas Freeman... 202 

Hark! 'lis the Breeze. Air.— Rousseau 202 

Where is your Dwelling, ye sainted ? Air.— Hasse 202 
How lightly mounts the Muse's Wing. Air.— 

Anonymous 203 

Go forth to the Mount. Air.— Stevenson 2f>3 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. Air — Haydn.. 203 

War against Babylon. Air.— Novello 203 

The Summer Fete 204 

Dedication to the Honourable Mrs. Norton 204 

PREFACE TO THE FIFTH VOLUME 211 

EVENINGS IN GREECE 213 

First Evening -. 213 

Second Evening 216 

LEGENDARY BALLADS 225 

Dedication to the Miss Feildmgs 225 

The Voice 225 

Cupid and Psyche 225 

Hero and Leanuer 226 

The Leaf and the Fountain 226 

Cephalus and Procris 226 

Youth and Age 22« 

The dying Warrior 227 

The Mat.c Mirror 227 

The Pilgrim 2*7 

The high-born Ladye 227 

The Indian Boat 228 

The Strauger 228 

A Melologue upon National Music 229 

Advertisement 229 

SET OF GLEES. Music bv Moure 230 

The MeetiDgnf the Ships 230 

Hip, hip. hurrah'. 230 

Hush, hush ! 230 

The Parting before the Battle - ^30 

The Wautnian. A Tri 230 

Say, what shall we dance 7 231 

The EveniugGun 231 

BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

A:c »} 

To-day, dearest I is ours 231 

When on the Up the Sigh delays 231 

Here, take my Heart 231 

Oh, rail it by some belter Name 231 

Poor wounded Heart 232 

The East ludian 232 

Poor broken Flower 232 

The pretty Rone Tree 282 

Shine out, Slais ! 232 

The young Muleteers of Grenada 232 

Tell her, oh tell her 233 

I Monk 233 

Our r.rst young Love 233 

Black and Blue Eyes 233 

Dear Faunv 2S3 

F'rom Life without Freedom 233 

Here's the Bower 233 

1 saw the Moon rise clear. A Finland Love B 

Love and the Sun-dial 

Love aud Time 

lxvve's light Si.mmer-cloud 

Love, waud'rnig Ibiough the golden Maze 

Merrilv every Bosom bouudeth. The Tyrokme Song 

of Liberty 234 

Remember the Time. The Castilian Maid 23o 

r-turu 235 

rs 

One dear Smile *J° 

-. wbeu the Bloom *Sa 

The Day of Love *» 

Lusitaniau War-song *■ 

The young Rose **? 

When 'midst the Gay I meet »» 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

When Twilight Dews 236 

Young Jessies 236 

How ha?py. nnce 236 

Hove but thee 236 

Let Joy alone be remember'd now 237 

Love thee, dearest 7 love thee 7 237 

My Heart and Lute 237 

Peace, peace to him that's gone ! 237 

Rose of the Desert 237 

'Tis all for thee 237 

The Song of the Olden Time 238 

Wake thee, my dear 238 

The B..y of the Alps 238 

For thee alone 238 

Her last Words, at parting 238 

Lei's take this World us some wide Scene 239 

Love's Victory 239 

Song of Hercules to his Daughter 239 

The Dream of Home 239 

They tell me thou'rt the favour'd Guest 239 

The young Indian Maid 240 

The Homeward March 240 

Wake up, sweet Melody 240 

Calm be thy sleep 240 

The Exile 240 

The Fancy Fair 240 

If thou would'st have me sing and play 241 

Still when Daylight 241 

The Summer Webs .. 241 

Mind not though Daylight 241 

They met but cuce 241 

With Moonlight beaming 241 

Child's Song. From a Masque 242 

The Halcyon hangs o'er Ocean 242 

The World was hush'd 242 

The two Loves 242 

The Legend of Puck the Fairy 242 

Beauty and Soug 243 

When thou art nigh 243 

Song of a Hyperborean 243 

Thou bidst me sing 243 

Cupid armed 243 

Round the World goes 244 

Oh, do not look so brigbl and blest 244 

The Musical Box 244 

When to sad Music silent yon listen 244 

The Language of Flowers 244 

The Dawn is breaking o'er us 244 

BONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY 245 

Here at thy Tomb. By Meleagcr 246 

Sale of Cupid. By Meleagcr 245 

To weave a Uarlaud for the Rose. By Paul, the 

Silent iary 245 

Why does she so long delay 7 By Paul, the Silen- 

lia'y 245 

Twin'st thou with lofty Wreath Ihy Brow. By 

Paul, the Silentiary 246 

When the sad Word. By Paul, the Silenliaiy 246 

My Mopsa is little. By Philodemus 246 

Still, like Dew in silence falling. By Meleager 246 

Dp, Sailor Hoy, 'tis Day 247 

In Myrtle Wreaths. By Alcaeus 247 

UNPUBLISHED SONGS. <fcc 247 

Ask nol if still 1 love 247 

Dear? yes 247 

Unbind thee, Love 247 

There's something strange. A Buffo Song 247 

Not from thee 248 

Guess, guess 218 

When Love, who ruled 248 

Still thou fiiest 248 

Then first from Love 249 

Bash, sweet Lute 249 

Bright Moon 249 

Long Years have pass'd 249 

Dreaming for ever 249 

Though lightly sounds the Song I sing. A Song of 

Ihe Alps 249 

The Russiau Lover 249 

PREFACE TO THE SIXTH VOLUME 250 

LALLA ROOKH 256 



The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 

Paradise and Pen 

The Fire- Worshippers 



PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS 314 

Lines on the Death of Mr. P— re— v— 1 314 

Fumand Hum, the Two Birds of Royalty 314 

Lines on the Death of Sh— r— d— n 315 

Epistle from Tom Crib to Big Ben, concerning some 
foul Play in a late Transaction 315 

THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS 316 

Preface 316 

Letter I. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

, of Clonkilly. in Ireland 310 

Letter II. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to the Lord 

Viscount C— et— r— gh 317 

Letter III. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , 

Esq 318 

Letter IV. From Phehm Connor to 319 

Letter V. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Doro- 
thy 820 

Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to his Brother 

Tim Fudge, Esq. Barrister at Law 822 

Letter VII. From Phelim Connor to 324 

Letter VIII. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard . 

Ksq 326 

Letter IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to the Lord 

Viscount C— st— r— gh 327 

Letter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

830 

Letter XI. From Phelim Connor to 331 

Letter XII. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Doro- 
thy 832 

FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE 334 

Dedication. To Lord Byron 334 

Preface 334 

Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy Alliance. A 

Dream 334 

Fable 11. The Looking glasses 335 

Fable III. The Torch of Liberty 336 

Fable IV. The Fly and Ihe Bullock 337 

Fable V. Church and State 337 

Fable VI. The Little Grand Lama 330 

Fai.le VII. The Extinguishers 310 

Fable VIII. Louis Fourteenth's Wig S41 

RHYMES ON THE ROAD 342 

Introductory Rhymes 342 

Kxt.act I..' 343 



Kxt 



11. 



Extract III... 
Extract IV... 
Extract V.... 
Extract VI... 
Extract VII.. 
F.xtiact VIII . 



IX. 



Extract XI 849 

Extract Xll 349 

Extract XIII £50 

Extiact XIV 351 

Extract XV 352 

Extract XVI 353 

aiSCELLANEOUS POEMS 354 

Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Cony, in the 
Character of Vapid, after the Play of the Drama- 
tist, al the Kilkenny Theatre 354 

Extract from a Prologue written and spoken by the 
Author, al the Opeuuig of the Kilkenny Theatie, 

October, 1809 355 

The Sylph's Ball 355 

Remonstrance 35U 

My Binh-Day 356 

Fancy S5G 

Song. Fanny, dealest ! 357 

Tr. Halations fiom Catullus 357 

Tibullus to Sulpicia 357 

Imitation. From the French 358 

Iuvilalion to Dinner, addressed to Lord Lansdowne 368 
Verses lo the Poet Crabbc's Inkstand. Wrilteu 

May, 1632 S6e 

To Catoline, Viscounless Valletort. Written at 

Lacock Abbey, January, 1832 859 

A Speculation S59 

To My Mother. Written in a Pocket Book, lb22„ 35'J 

Love and Hymen 309 

Lines on the Entiy of the Austrians into Naples, 
1821 35'J 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH VOLUME 360 

THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS 3C2 

Preface 902 

First Angel's Story 3t3 

Second Augel's Story 366 

Third Angel's Story 375 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 377 

Sceplicism 377 

A Joke Versified 378 

On the Death of a Friend 376 

To James Cnrry, Esq., on his making me a Present 

of a Wine-st.ainer 378 

Fragment of a Character 378 

What shall I sing Thee? To 37e 

Country Dance and Quadrille 379 

Gazel 380 

Lii.es on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, Esq. of 

Dublin 380 

Genius and Criticism 380 

To Lady J'r"y, cu being asked to write something 

in her Album 3F1 

To the same, on looking through her Album 3sl 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 381 

To Sir Hudsou Lowe 3.-1 

Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government.. 381 
Dialogue between a Sovereign and a Oue Pound 

Note 382 

An Expostulation to Lord King 382 

The Sinking Fund cried 363 

Ode to the Goddess Ceres. By Sir Th— in — s L— th- 

br-e 363 

A Hymn of Welcome after Ihe Recess 384 

Memorabilia of Last Week 364 

All in the Family Way. A new Pastoral Ballad... 3e5 

Ballad for the Cmbridge Election 385 

Mr. Roger Dudswurlh 385 

Copy of an intercepted Despatch. From his Excel- 
lency Dun Strepitoso Diabolo, Euvi.y Extraordi- 
nary to his Satanic Majesty 366 

The Millennium. Suggested by the late Work of 

the Reverend Mr. Irv— ug "On Prophecy" 386 

The Three Doctors 889 

Epitaph on a Tuft-Hunter 3c7 

Odetu a Hat 388 

News for Countrv Cousins 368 

A Vision. By the Author of Chri»ta'>el 388 

The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland 3t9 

Cotton aud Corn. A Dialogue 3:10 

The Canouization of S.int B— tt— rw— rth 300 

An Incantation. Sung by the Bubble Spirit 300 

A Dream of Turtle. Bv Sir W. Curtis 301 

The Donkey and his Panuiers. A Fable 

Ode to Ihe Sublime Porte SJ2 

C>rn and Catholics 302 

A Case of Libel 302 

Literary Advertisement 303 

The Irish Slave 304 

Ode to Ferdinand 304 

Hat versus Wig 306 

The Penwiukles and the Locusts. A Salmagundiao 

Hvmn 396 

New Creatiun of Peers. Batch the First 306 

Speech on the Umbrella Question. By Lord Eld— n 396 

A Pa-toral Ballad. By Johu Bull 307 

A late Scene at Swauage 397 

Wo! Wo! 307 

Tout pour la Tripe 396 

Euigini 396 

iy Reflections. By a Dandy kept in Town.... 308 

The "Living Dog" and "The Dead Lion" 309 

Ode to Don Miguel 300 

Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland 400 

The Limbo of lost Reputations. A Dream 400 

How to write by Proxy 401 

Imitation of the Inferno of D.inte 401 

I.amenl for the Loss of Lord B— th— st's Tai!.. 

The Cherries. A P.,rable 402 

Stanzas wiitten in Anticipation of Defeat 403 

PREFACE TO THE NINTH VOLUME 403 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 404 

Ode to the Woods and Forests. By one of the 

Burd 4f, l 

Stanzas from the Banks of the Shauuon US 

The A nnual Pill 

■•If" and "Perhaps" -106 

Write on. Write on. A Ballad 406 



Page 

Song of the departing Spirit of Tithe 407 

The Euthanasia of Van 407 

To the Reverend . One of the sixteen Ke^ui- 

sitiouisls of Nottingham 

Iiish Antiquities 

New-fashioned Echoes i 

Incautation. From the New Tragedy of "The 
Bruuswii keis" 

How to make a good Politician 

Epistle of Condolence. From a Slave- Lord to a Cot- 
ton-Lord 410 

The Ghost of Milliades 

Alarming Intelligence— Revolution in the Dictionary 
—One Gait at the Head of it 411 

Resolutions passed at a late Meeting of Reverends 
and Right Reverends 411 

Sir Andrew's Dream 412 

A Blue Love-Song. To Miss 

Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode 413 

Awful Event 413 

The cumbering of the Clergy. Parody on Sir 
Charles H.in. Williams's famous Ode 

A sad Case 

A Dream of Hindostan 414 

The Brunswick Club 

Proposals for a Gynaecocracy. Addressed to a late 
RaJical Meeting 415 

Lord H— ul— y and St. Cecilia 

Advertisement 

The Dance of Bishops; or, the Episcopal Quadrille. 

A Dream 417 

Dick ••••• A Character 417 

A corrected Report of 6ome late Speeches 41e 

Moral Positions. A Dream 

The Mad Tory and Ihe Comet. Founded on a late 

distressing Incident 

From the Hon. Henry , to Lady Emma .... 

Triumph of Bigotry 

Translation from the Gull Language 420 

Notions on Reform. By a Modern Reformer 

Tory Pledges 421 

St. Jerome on Earth. Brat Visit 421 

St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit 

Thoughts on Tar Barrels. (Vide Description of a 

late Fete' 

The Consultation 423 

To the Rev. Ch-rl-s Ov-rl-n. Curate of Romaldkirk 423 
Scene from a Play, acted at Oxford, called "Malri- 

Late Tithe Case 

iradise. Dream the First 4-4 

The Rector and his Carafe ; or. One Pound Two. .. ■ 

Paddy's Metamorphosis ■ 

Cocker, on Church Reform. Founded upon some 

late Calcnliiti ns 

L<-s Hommes Automates 428 

How to make One's Self a Peer. Accord ng lo the 

newest Recei.t, as disclosed in a late Heraldic 

Work 426 

The Duke is the Lad 

Epistle from Erasmus on Earth to Cicero in the 

Shades ! 

Lines on the D' parlure of Loida C— st— r — gh and 

St— w— rt for the Continent • 

To ihe Ship in which Lord C— st— r— gh sailed for 

the Continent 

Sketch of the First Act of a new Romantic Drama. 429 

Animal Magnetism 429 

The Song of the B x 

Announcement of a New Tha aba. Addressed lo 

RobeitSoulhey, Esq 

Rival Tories. An Extravaganza 431 

The Boy Statesman. By a Tory 431 

Letter from Larry O'Br-uigan to Ihe Rev. Murtagh 

f>HnlUgan «1 

Musi lies of an Uu reformed l\er 438 

The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad.. 4l<3 

A Recent Dialogue 4i3 

The Wellington Spa 433 

A Character «33 

A Gho-t Btory *-4 

Thoughts on the la'e destructive Prepositions of 

the Tories. By a Common-Councilman 434 

Antic r-ated Meetiug of the B. itisu Association in 

the Year 9836 -134 

the Church. No. 1 435 

;n Henry of Ex— t— r lo John of Tuam.. 136 
Id Pock »3J 



CONTENTS, 



Page 

Police Reports. Case oflmposture 436 

Reflections. Addressed to the Author of the A, tide 
of the Church in the last Number of the Quarterly 

Review 437 

New Grand Exhibition of Models of the two Houses 

of Parliament 437 

Announcement of a new grand Acceleration Com- 
pany for the Promotion of the Speed of Literature 438 

Some Account of the late Dinner to Dan 438 

New Hospital for Sick Literati 439 

Religion aud Trade 439 

Musings, suegesled by the late Promotion of Mrs. 

Nethercoat 440 

Intended Tribute to the Author of an Article in the 
last Number of the Quarterly Review, entitled 

" Romanism in Ireland" 44G 

Graud Dinner of Type and Co. A poor Poet's 

Dream 441 

Church Extension 441 

Latest Accounts from Olympus 442 

The Triumphs of Farce 442 

Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs, and other Matters. In 

an Epistle from T. M. to S. R 443 

Thoughts on Mischief. By Lord St— nl— y. His 

first attempt at Verse 443 

Epistle from Captain Rock to Lord L— ndh— t 444 

Captain Rock in London. Letter from the Captain 
to Terry Alt, Esq 444 

THE Fl.'DGES IN ENGLAND; Being a Sequel to 

the " Fudge Family in Paris." 445 

Preface 445 

Letter I. From Patrick Magau, Esq., to the Rev. 
Richard , Curate nf , in Irelai.d 445 

Letter II. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth 446 

Letter III. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to her Cousin, 

Miss Kitty . Stanzas (inclosed) to my 

Shadow; or, Why ?— What 7— How ? 448 

Letter IV. From Patrick Mugan, Esq., to the Rev. 
Richard 449 



Page 
Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, in England, to 

his wife Judy, at Mulliuafad 450 

Letter VI. From Miss Biddv Fudge, to Mrs. Eli/a- 

beih 451 

Letter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to her 

Cousin, Miss Kilty . Irregular Ode 453 

Letter VIII. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to the Rev. 

Mortimer O'Mulligan 454 

Letter IX. From Larry O'Branigan to his Wife 

Judy 455 

Letter X. From the Rev. Mortimer O'Mulligan, to 

the Rev. 457 

Letter XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. 

Richard 458 

SONGS FROM M.P.; OR, THE BLUE STOCKING 458 

Song 

Boat Glee 

Cupid's Lottery 459 

Song ( 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS i 

At Night 

To Lady Holland. On Nnp-.leon's Legacy of a Snuff 

Box i 

Epilogue. Written for Lady Dacre's Traeedy of Ina 

The Day-Dream 

Song . 

Song of the Poco-curante Society 

Anne Boleyn. Translation from the metrical " His- 

toired'Anne Boleyn" 

The Dream of the Two Sisters. From Dante 

Sovereign Woman. A Ballad 

Come, play me that simple Air again. A Ballad.... 

PREFACE TO THE TENTH VOLUME 

THE EPICUREAN: A Tale 463 

ALCIPHRON: A Fragment 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The Edition of the works of Mr. Moore, now offered to the public, 
is reprinted from that recently published in London, under the super- 
vision of the Author, and may therefore be deemed authentic and 
complete. 

The London Edition is in ten volumes; and to each are prefixed 
Autobiographical Sketches and Anecdotes connected with the Poems 
in that volume. In order to present these in their proper connexion, 
and to elucidate clearly the Author's allusions, the American publish- 
ers have marked the beginning of each volume of the English Edition, 
and have adopted Mr. Moore's arrangement throughout the entire 
work. 

(10) 



POETICAL WOKKS 



THOMAS MOORE 



TO THE 

MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, 

IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF 

NEARLY FORTY YEARS OF MUTUAL ACQUAINTANCE AND FRIENDSHIP, 

THESE VOLUMES ARE INSCRIBED, 

WITH THE SINCEREST FEELINGS OF AFFECTION AND RESPECT, 

BY THOMAS MOORE. 



PREFACE. 

FINDING it to be the wish of my Publishers that 
at least the earlier volumes of this collection should 
each be accompanied by some prefatory matter, illus- 
trating, by a few biographical memoranda, the pro- 
gress of my humble literary career, I have consented, 
though not, I confess, without some scruple and hesi- 
tation, to comply with their request. In no country 
is there so much curiosity felt respecting the interior 
of the lives of public men as in England ; but, on the 
other hand, in "no country is he who ventures to tell 
his own story so little safe from the imputation of 
vcuity and self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in the first, as 
well as in the greater part of the second volume of 
this collection, were written between the sixteenth 
and the twenty-third year of the author's age. But 1 
had begun still earlier, not only to rhyme, but to pub- 
lish. A sonnet to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel 
Whyte, written in my fourteenth year, appeared at 
the time in a Dublin Magazine, called the Antho- 
logist,— the first, and, I fear, almost only creditable 
attempt in periodical literature of which Ireland has 
to boast. I had even at an earlier period (1793) sent 
to this magazine two short pieces of verse, prefaced 
by a no'e to the editor, requesting the insertion of the 
'•following attempts of a youthful muse;" and the 
fear and trembling with which I ventured upon this 
step were agreeably dispelled, not only by the appear- 
ance of thecontributions, but still more by my find- 
ingmyself, a fewmonths after, hailed as "o'uresteem- 
ed correspondent, T. M." 

It was in the pages of this publication, — where the 
whole of the poem was extracted,— that I fiist met 
with the Pleasures of Memory ; and to this day, when 
1 open the volume of the Anthologia which contains 
it, the very form of the type and colour of the paper 
brings back vividly to my mind the delight with 
which I first read that poem. 



My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though amusingly 
vain, was a good and kind-hearted man ; and. as a 
teacher of public reading and elocution, had long 
enjoyed considerable reputation. Nearly thirty years 
before I became his pupil, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
then about eight or nine years of age, had been placed 
by Mrs. Sheridan under' his care"; i and, strange to 
say, was, after about a year's trial, pronounced," both 
by tutor and parent, tobe "an incorrigible dunce." 
Among those who took lessons from him as private 
pupils were several young ladies of rank, belonging 
to those great Irish families who still continued to 
lend to Ireland the enlivening influence of their pre- 
sence, and made their country-seats, through a great 
part of the year, the scenes of refined, as well as hos- 
pitable festivity. The Miss Montgomerys, to whose 
rare beauty the pencil of Sir Joshua has given im- 
mortality, were among those whom my worthy pre- 
ceptor most boasted of as pupils ; and," I remember, 
his description of them long haun'ed my boyish 
imagination, as though they were not earihly women, 
but some spiritual " creatures of the element." 

About thirty or forty years before the period of 
which I am speaking, an eager taste for private thea- 
trical performances had sprung up among the higher 
ranks of society in Ireland ; and at Carton, the seat of 
the Duke of I.tinster, at Castletown, Marley, and 
other great houses, private plays were got up, of 
which," in most instances, the superintendence was 
entrusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general the prologue, 
or the epilogue, contributed by his pen. At Marley, 
the seat of the Latouches, where the Masque of Omiis 
was performed in the year 1776, while my old master 



» Some confused notion of this fact has led the 
writer of a Memoir prefixed to the '' Pocket Edition " 
of my Poems, printed at Zwickau, to stale that P>rins- 
ley Sheridan was my tutor ! — " Great attention was 
paid to hi> education by his tutor, Sheridan." 

~~ ("T~ 



12 



PREFACE, 



supplied the prologue, no less dis inguished a hand 
than that of our " ever-glorious GraHan.'' ' furnished 
the epilogue. This le ic of his pen too, is the ni re 
memorable, as being, I believe, the on y poetica. com- 
position he "as ever known to produce. 

At the hue when I first began to attend his school, 
Mr. Whyte still continued, to the no small alarm of 
many parents, to encouiage a taste for acting among 
his pupils In this line 1 was long his favoui ite show- 
scliolar ; and am ng the play-bills introduced in his 
volume, to illustrate Ihe occasions of his own pro- 
logues and epilogues, there is one of a play got up in 
the year 1790, a: Lady Borrowes's private thea're in 
Dubi.n, where, among the items of the evening"s 
entertainment, is "An Epilogue, .# Squeeze to St. 
Paul's, Master Moore." 

With acting, in leed, is associated the very first 
attempt at verse-making to w hich my memory enables 
me to plead guil'y. It was at a period. I th'nk, even 
earlier than the dale las' mentioned, that, while pass- 
ing the summer holidays, with a number of other 
young people, at one of'tho-e bathing-places, in the 
neighbourhood of Dublin, which atl'ord such fresh 
and healthful retreats to rs inhabitants, it was pro- 
posed among us that we should combine together in 
some theatrical performance; and the Poor Soldier 
and a Harlequin Pantomime being the entertainments 
agreed upon, the pans of Patrick and 'he Motlej hero 
fell to my share. 1 was also encouraged to write and 
recite an appropriate epilogue on the occasion; and 
the following lines alluding to our speedy return to 
school, and remarkable only for their having lived so 
long in my memory, formed part of this" juvenile 
effort : — 

Our Pantaloon, who did so aged look. 
Must now resume his youth, his tasts, his hook: 
Our Harlequin, who ski| p'd. laugh'd. dane'd, and died, 
Must now staud trembling by his master's side. 

I have thus been led back, step by step, from an 
early date to one still earlier, with the view of ascer- 
taining, for those who take any interest in literarv 
biography, at what period I first showed an aptitude 
for the now common craft of ve se-making; and the 
result is— so far back in coildhood lies ihe epoch— that 
1 am really unable to say at what age 1 first began to 
act, sing, and rhyme. 

To these different talents, such as they were, the 
gay and social habits prevailing in Dublin aff rded 
frequent opportunities of display ; while, at home, a 
most amino e father, and a mother, such as in heart 
and head has rarely been equalled, furn'^hed me wi'h 
that pur est stimulus to exertion — the de-ire to please 
those wh"in we, at once, most love, and most respect. 
It was, 1 think, a year or two after my entrance into 
college, that a masque written by myself, and of 
which I had adapted one of the songs to the air of 
Haydn's Spirit-Song, was acted, under our own hum- 
ble roof in Aungiei Street by my elder sister, myself, 
and one or two other young persons. The little 
drawing-room over the shop was our grand place of 
representation, and young , now an eminent pro- 
fessor of music in Dublin, enacted for us the part of 
orchestra at the piano-forte. 

It will be seen from all this, that, however impru- 
dent and premature was my first appearance in the 
London word as an author, it is only lucky that I had 
not much earlier assumed tint responsib'e character : 
in which c ise the public would probably have treated 
niv nursery productions in much the same manner in 
which that sensible critic, my Uncle Toby, would 
have disposed of the " work which the great Li| sius 
produced on the day he was born.'' 

While thus the turn 1 had so early shown fnrrhyme 
and song, was, by the gay and sociable ciicle in which 
I lived, called sir encouragingly into play, a far deeper 
feeling— and, I should hope, power— was at the same 
time awakened in me by the mighty change then 



l Bvrou. 



working in the political aspect of Europe, and the 
Stirling influence it had begun to exercise on the spirit t 
and hopes of Ireland. Born of Catholic pirents, ' j 
had come in'o the world with the slave's joke around ; 
my neck ; a' d it was all in vain hat the fond ambi- j 
tiun of a mother looked forward to the Bar as open- 
ing a career that might lead her son to affluence and 
honour. Ag inst the young Papist all such avenues to 
distil ction were closed ; and even the University, ihe 
professed source of public education, was to him "a 
fountain Sealed." Can any one now wonder that a 
people thus trampled upon should have hailed the 
first dazzling outbreak of the French Revolution as a 
signal to the slave, wherever suffering, that the day 
of his deliverance was near at hand ? i remember 
being taken by my father (1792; to one of the dinners 
given in honour of that gieat event, ai d sitting upon 
The knee of Ihe chairman while the follow ii g toast 
was enthusia-tically sent round : — •• M ly the breezes 
from France fan our Irish Oak into verdure." 

In a few months after was | assed Ihe memorable 
Act of 17S3, sweeping away some of the mo.-t mon- 
strous of herem-'ining sanctions of the penal code; 
and 1 was myself am: ng the Cist of the young Helots 
of Ihe land, who ha-tened to avail themselves of the 
new privilege of being^ educated in their couutry's 
university,— th ugh still excluded from all share in 
those college h nours and emoluments by which the 
amlition of the youths of the ascendant class was 
stimulated and rewarded. As I well ki ew that, next 
to my attaining seme of the e distinctions, my show- 
ing that 1 deserved to attain them would mot gratify 
my anxious mother, I en tred as cand.d te for a schol- 
arship, and (as far a- the re ult of the examii atinn 
wen') successfully. But, of course, the mere barren 
c edit of the effort was all 1 enjoyed for my pains. 

It was in this year (1794), or about the beginning of 
the next, tha' I remember having, for the fiist lime, 
t:ied my hand at po.iical saiire. In their very worst 
times of slavery and suffeiii g. the happy disposition 
of my countrymen had k< pt their chee fulness still 
unbroken and buojant ; anl, a' the period of which 1 
am spe king, the' hope of a brighter day dawning 
up^n Ireland had given to the society of the middle 
classes in Dublin a more than u ual flow of hilarity 
and life. Among other gay resul s of ibis festive 
spirit, a club or socie'y, was i siituted by s me of our 
most convivial citizens, one of whose objects was to 
burlesque, good-humouredly. the forms ai d p< mpc of 
royalty, with this view they established a sort of 
mock kingdom, of which Da:key, a sn a;l i-land near 
Dublin, was made the seat, and an en.inen' pawn- 
bn ker. r.amed Stephen Ai milage, much reuowi ed 
for his agreeable singing, was the clu sea aid popular 
monarch. 

Before public affairs had become too serious for 
such pastime, it was usual to celebrate, jearh, at 
D<lkey. the day of this sovereign's accession; aid, 
among the gay "scenes that still l.ve in my memory, 
there are few il recalls with n.ore freshness hm the 
celebration, on a fine Sunday in summer, of one of 
these anniversaries of King" Stephen's ozonation. 
Ihe picturesque sea-views from that spot, 
crowds along the shores, the innumerable boats, full 
of life, floating ab,.u\ aid. above all. tht true spirit 
of mirth which he liish temperament never fails to 
lend to such meeting?, rendered the whole a scene ix>t 
easily forgotten. The sate cert m lues of the day 
wee performed, with all due gravity, within the 
ruins of an ancient church hat stands on the island, 
where his mock niajest\ lestowed the orderi f knight- 
hood upon cer'ain favoured per onages, and among 
others, I recollect, upon Inclec'on, the ,i 
singer, who arose fiom under tie touch of the royal 
sword with the appropriate title of Sir Charles 
Melody. There was also selected, for the favours of 
the crown on that day, a lady of no ordinary poetic 
talent. Mis. Battier, who had "gained much fame by 
led satires in the manner of Churchill, and 
whose kind encouragement of my early attempts in 
versification were to me a source of much pride. 



rF 



PREFACE. 



13 



3 ~1 



This lady, as was officially anncunced, in the course 
of the d iy, had been appointed his majes y's poetess 
laureate, under t'.ie style and title of Henrietta, Coun- 
tess of Laurel. 

There could hardly be devi-ed a more apt vehicle 
for lively polit.cal satire than this gay travesty of 

i monarchical power, and its showy appurtenances, so 
temptingly s pplied. The very day, indeed, afer 

; this commemoration, there appe red, in the usual 
recoid of Da. key -late intelligence, an amusing pro- 
climalion fiom 'the king offering a large reward in 
cronebanes,* to the finder or finders of his majesty's 
crown wh eh, owing to his "having measured boih 
5 des of the raid" in hi< pedestrian prog' ess from 
Dilkey on the preceding night, had unluckily fallen 

i from he ri.yal b.ow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that whatever na'ural 
turn 1 may have possessed for the lighter skirmishing 
of satire should have been called into play by so plea- 
sant a held f * its exeicise as the s'a'e affaiis i f 'he 
Dilkey kingdom afforded; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his Majesty, King 
Stephen, con rasting the happy state of stcurity in 
which he lived among his merry lieges, with the 
" metal coach, ' and other such precautions against 
mob violence, said to have been adopted at that time 
by his oyal brother of England. S >ine portions of 
this juvenile squib still live in my memory; but they 
fall far too short of the lively demands of the subject 
to be vvonh preserving, even as juvenilis. 

| In college, the fits! circumstance that drew any 
attention to my rhyming powers was my giving in a 
theme, in English verse, at one of the q> arterly 
examin itioiis. As the son of short essays required on 
those occasions were considered, in geneial, as a mere 
mater of form, and were written, at that time, 1 
believe, invaiably, in Latin prose, the appearance of 
a theme in English verse could hirdly fail to attract 
some notice, ft was, therefore, with no small anxiely, 
that, v hen he moment for judging of the themes ar- 
rived, I saw the examiners of the different divisions 
as emble, as usual, at the bottom of ihe hall for that 
puipose. Still more trying was it when I perceive.) 
that the reveend inquisitor, in whose hands wa- my 
fate, had left the rest of the awful group, aid was 
bending h 3 steps towards the table where 1 was :eat- 
ed. Leaning across to me, he asked suspiciously, 
whether the verses which 1 had just given in were 
my own; and. on my answering in the affirmative, 
added these cheering words, -'They do you great 
citdii ; and I shall not fail to recommend them to the 
notice of the Board." '1 his result of a step, ven ured 
upon with some little fear and scruple, was, of course, 
very gratifying to me; and the premium 1 received 
from the Board was a well-bound copy of the Travels 
of Anacharsis, together with a cerlifice, sating, in 
not very lofty L<tin, that this reward had been con- 
ferred upon me, "propter laudab.lem in veisibus 
componendis progressum." 

Ihe idea of attempting a version of sime of the 
Songs or Odes of Anacreon had very eaily occurred 
to me; and a specimen of my first ventures in this 
undertaking may be found in the Dublin Magazine 
already referred to, where, in the number of that 
work for February, 1794, appeared a "JPaiaphrase of 
Anacreon's Fifth Ode, by T. Mooie." As it may not 
be uninteresting to future and bet'er translators of the 
poet to compare this schoolboy experiment wiih my 
later and more laboured version of the same Ode, 1 
shdl here extract the specimen found in the Antho- 
logia : — 

"Let us, with the clustering vine, 
The rose, Love's blushing flower, entwine. 
Fancy's had our chaplels wreathing, 
Vernal sweets around ua breathing; 
We 'II gaily drink full goblets quaffing, 
At frighted Care securely laughing. 
"Rose! thou balmy-scented flower, 
Rear d by Spring's most fostering power, 



* Irish halfpence, so called. 



Thy dewy blossoms, opening bright, 
To gcds themselves can give delight; 
And Cypria's childi With roues crown'd, 
Trips with each Grace the mazy round, 
"Bind my brows,— I 'II lone the lyre, 
Love my rapturous srrains shall fire. 
Near Ea rhus' gr*pe-eiicircli d ,-hrine, 
While mans fresh rny b.ows miwioe, 
Led by the wineed I mi u of l'kasuies, 
I Ml dance with nymphs to sportive measures.' 1 
In pursuing further this light task, the only object 
I had for some time in view was to lay before the 
Board a select number of the Odes I had' then tra'i s- 
lated, with a hope suggested by the kind ei couragc- 
ment I had al eady receive!,— that '.hey misht con- 
sider them as deserving if some honour or "reward. 
Having experienced much hospitable attention fiom 
D, ctor Kearney, one of ihe siiiior fel ows.2 a man 
of most amiable characier, as well as of rt fined 
scholarship, I submitted to his perusal the manusciipt 
of my translation as far as it had then pioc. eded, and 
requested his advice tespecti g my intention of lav- 
ing it before the Boaid. On this latter point his 
opinion was such as, with a little more thought, I I 
might have at ticip^'ed. namely, ibat ie did not see 
how the Boaid of the University could lend their 
sanction, by any public iewad. to writings i f so con- 
vivial and smalo ry a i atuie as weie almost all those 
r.f Aiacieon. He ve y good-naturedly, howeer, 
lauded my transl ition, and advised me to complete 
and publish it I wa< also indebted to h m for the 
use, during my task, of Spaleoi s curious publication, 
giving a facsimile of iho e pages of a MS. in the 
Vatican Library which contain the Odis, or " Sym- 
posiac-," attributed to AnaceoD.3 Ami lee I shall 
venture to add a few pa-sing words i n a point « hich 
1 once should live th ugh! it profanation to que tion, 
— the authenticity of these p ens. 'J he cry laised 
against their genuineness by Rotorte! us and other | 
enemes of Henry Stephen, when 'h»I eminent scholar 
first introduced them to the leaned uoild. may be 
thought to have long since entirely sub-ided, leaving 
their claim to so ancient a ] ate.ni'y safe aid unques- 
tiored. Bui I am forced to confess, however leluc- 
tantly, that tbeie appear to me -trong gionnds for 
pronoui.cng these light and beau iful lyrics to be 
merely modem fabrications. S' me of die re sons 
that incline me to adopt tlii - unwelcme conclusion 
are thu- cleaily stated by ihe same able scholar, to 
whom 1 am iiiileb'.ed for the emendations of mv own 
juven le Gteek ode : — " 1 do not see how it is'poss.- 
ble, if Anacreon had written ch.efly in Iambic d me- 
ter vetse, that Ifoiace should have' wholly neglected 
that metre. 1 may add that, of 'hose fragments of 
Anacreon, of who e genuineness, fiom internal evi- 
dence, there can be no doubt, almost all are written 
in one or other of the lighter Horat an met es, and 
scarcely one in Iamb c dimeter verse. This may be 
seen by looking through the I st in Fi chtr.'' 

1 he unskilful attempt at Creek veise f cm my own 
pen, which is found prefixed to the I rans a ini. was 
intended originally to illustrate a picture, represent- 



3 Appointed Provost of the University in Ihe year 
1799, and made afterwards Bishop of Ossory. 

3 When the monument to Piovost Baldwin, which 
stands in the hall of the College of Dublin, armed 
from Italy, there came in the same packing-case wilh 
it two copies of th s work of Spalett', one of which 
was presented by Dr. T'oy, the Roman Catholic a'ch- 
bishop, as a gift Lorn the Pope to the L.bary of the 
University, and the other i of which 1 was subsequent- 
ly favoured with the use) he piesented, in tike man- 
ner, to my friend, Dr. Kearney. Thus, curiously 
enough, while Anacreon in English was consideied— 
and, I grant, on no unreasonable grounds — as a nn-k 
to which grave collegiate authorities could not openly 
lend their sanction, Anacieon in Greek was thought 
no unfitting piesent to be received by a Protestant 
bishop, through the medium of a Catholic archbishop, 
from the hands of his holiness, the Pope. 



14 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ins: Anacreon conversing with the Goddess of Wis- 
: dom, from which the frontispiece to the first edition 
! of the work was taken. Had 1 been biought up with 
1 a due fear of the laws of prosody before my eyes, 1 
certainly shculd not have dared to submit so untutor- 
! ed a production to the criticism of the trained proso- 
dians of the English schools. At the same time, I 
cannot help ridding that, as far as muse, die inct fiom 
me're, is concerned, 1 am much inclined to prefer the 
: Ode as origi ally written to its present correced 
shape; and that, a* all events. I entertain but very 
! little doubt as to which of the two a composer would 
most willingly set lo mus c. 

For the mens of collecting the materials of the 
notes appended 'o the Translation, I was chiefly in- 
debted to the old library adjoining St. Patiick's Ca ! he- 
j dral. called, from tbe name nf the achbishop who 
! founded it, Marsh's Library. Through my acquaint- 
ance with ihe deputy libr ri-m, the Kev. Mr. Cradnck. 
I enjoyed the privilege of constant access to this col- 
j lection, even at that period of the year when it is 
always closed to the public On these occasions 1 
used to be lockel in ihere alone; and to the many 
' solitary hours which, both at the time I am now 
speaking of and subsequently, I p ssed in hunting 
j through the du,ty tomes of this old library, I owe 
much of that odd and out-of-the-way sort of reading 
which may be found scattered through some of my 
eatlier writings. 

Early in the year 1799, while yet in my nine eenth 
year, 1 left Ireland, for the ti st time, and proceeded 
, to London, with the two not very congenial objec's, 
| of keeping my terms at the Mi. Idle Temple, and pub- 
lishing, by subscription, my Translation of Anacreon. 
One of those persona to whom, through the active 
eeal of friends, some part of my manuscrpt had been 
submitted before it went to press, was Doctor Laur- 
ence, the able fnetid of Burke ; and. as an ins'ance. 
however slijlit, nf that rea.iy variety of learnine, as 
well the lightest as the most solid, for which 1-aur- 
ence was so remarkable, the following extract from 
the letter written bv him, in returning the manu-cript 
to my friend, Or. Hume, may not be without s:me 
interest : — 

■ Dec. 20, 1799. 

" I return you the four odes which you were so 

kind to communicate for my poor opinion. They 

are, in many parts, very elesant and poetical ; and, in 

some passages, Mr. Moore has added a pretty turn not 



to be found in the crignal. To confess the truth, 
however, they are. in not ?. few places, rather more 
paraphiastical than suits my notion (peihaps an incor- 
rect notion) of translation. 

" In the fifty-third Ode there is, in my judgment, a 
no less sound than beautiful emendation suggested — 
D suppose it?— by aDutch Lawyer. ~ Mr. M. 
possibly may not be aware of it. 1 have endeavour- 
ed to express the sense of it in a c upiet interlined 
with pencil. Will you allow me to add, that I am 
n. t certain whether the translation has not missed the 
meaning, too, in the former part (f that pa-sage 
which seems to me to intend a distinction and climax 
of pleasure : — ' It is sweet even to prove it among the 
briery paths; it is sweet asain, pluckinj, to cherish 
wi'h'tender hands, and carty to the fair, ihe flower of 
love.' This is nearlv li'eial, including the 
tuial correction of Mynheer Medcnbach. If th.s be 
right, instead of 

"T is sweet to dare the tangled fence, 

I would propose something to this effect : — 

'T is sweet the rich perfume to prove. 
As by the dewy busu you r ve ; 
*T is sweet to dare the tangled fence. 
To cull the timid beauty theme, 
To wipe with tender hands away 
The tears that nn its blushes lay; I 
Then, lo the bosom of the fair, 
The flower of lore in triumph bear. 

"I would drop altogether the image of the steins 
'druffinsr with - it is a confused 

and false metaphor, unless 'he painter should take the 
figure of Aurora from Mrs. 1 1 

'•There is ano her emendation of the same critic, 
in the following line, which Mr. M. may seem, by 
accident, tn have sufficiently expressed in the phrase 
of • roses shed their /iVAJ.' 

"1 scri .rreat has'e. but fear that 

vou and Mr. Mrote will find me too lone, minute, and 
impertinent. Believe me to be, very sincerely, 
"Your obedient, humble servant, 

•■ F. LACRENCE." 



i " Query, if it ought not to be lie ? The line 
might run, 



ODES OF ANACREON 

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE: WITH NOTES. 



TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
THE PRINCE OF WALES. 

Sir, — In allowing me to dedicate this Work to 
Your Royal Hijhness, vou have conferred upon me an 
honour which I feel very sensibly: and I have only to 
regret, that the pages which you have thus distin- 
guished are not more deserviug of such illustrious 
patronage. 

Believe me, Sir, 
With every sentiment of respect, 

Your Royal Htghness's 
Very grateful' and devoted Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It mav be necessary to mention, that, in arranging 
the Odes, the Translator lias adopted the order of the 



Vatican MS. For those who wish to refer to Ihe 
original, he has prefixed an Index, which marks the 
number of each Ode in Barnes and the other editions. 



INDEX. 
Ode. Barnes. 

1. ANAKPEQN ic\uv nt 63 

2. Aot£ /tor. Xvpijv 'O/ti/poti- • - • 4S 

3. A>£, £u>vpaC''uii' apio-rs ..... 49 

4. Tov apytpov Tootxtnv 17 

5. Ka.XXiTEX'va fiot Topstcov .... 18 

6. I.ti$os 7t\£»:uji' iro6' clgov ^9 

■ - 11 

8. Of /iot tjsXti ra Tt •> ov - • • - • - 15 

9. A0£j pt tovs -Sech'J crot 31 

10. Ti trot StAfic troino-co 18 



ODES 


OF ANACREON. 


15 


11. Epuira <cijptvov tic. . . . . • 

12. OS ntv k«Aijv Kv/5t/£jjv - - - 


- - - 10 

- - - 13 


AN ODE 




13 eeXiu, *eA(o 0tA?/flr<u 


. - - 14 


BY THE TRANSLATOR. 




14. Et 0vAAa iravra tj£vtfpu)» • - 


. . - 32 


EIII (5odoivois TOfflJOT, 










16. Ay£, £tuypa0ajv apta-rt - - - • 


- . - 88 


TjjToj »tot' 6 (/.zXio-ttis 




17. rpa</>£ ftot BaflvAAov oirm • - 


- . - 29 


'IAapos yeAiuv ekeito, 




18. Aon /tot, <5ot£ yvvauCEj - - * 


- . - 21 


MeBvuyv rt Kai Avpt£u>v' 




19. ITapa rrjv <ncij?v, BadvAAc - - 


- . - 22 


A/t0i avrov ol £' tpuirts 




20. Al Movcrat tov Eptora - - - - 


- - • 30 


'AiraAot (TDvexoptvo-av 




21. 'H yq fitXaiva ti»u .... 


... 19 


'0 /JeAtj Ta ttjs KvOT]pi)S 




22. 'H TavraAov ttot 1 to-rr) - - - 


- - - 20 


Eitoiti, ipvxfj'i olo-Tovs' 




23. StAiu Atystv ArptiiJaj .... 


. . . l 


'0 Ct XtVKa Kopipvpoio-i 




24. *t(7ij KepaTa ravpoij .... 


... 2 


Kpcva avv p"o£oio-i jtAejoj, 




25. £v /*ev 0iAjj ^eAii?<ov .... 


.-• 33 


£0t\£l <7T£0U)V yspovTa - 




25. £v /itv AsyEtc ra ©i?/3i?y ... 


- - • 16 


'H o"e ^eoiov avao-o-o, 




27. lit itrjaotc jiev firirot- • • • ■ 


- - • 53 


20$IH r-ot' e| OXvfinov 




28. '0 ovjjp 6 T7S Kvfl^p^s ... 


- • - 45 


Ea-opuicr' Ava/cp£0VTo, 




29. XoAejtov to pit (tx.Xi)<ra<. - - • 


... 46 


Eo-opcuo-a tovs tpcuTaj, 




30. ESokovv ovap rpo^a^Etv- - • 


... 44 


'XTTopi.uciao-0-as tixc 




31. 'To«i/0tV(o »ts 0a/3<?ui .... 


. . . 7 


Lo0i, <J : uj AvaKpEOVTa 




32. Eire HVptnvais Ttptcvais * - - 


... 4 


Tov <ro0u)TaTov arravraiv, 




33. MEO-ovvKTtotj toO (jpotj . - - 


... 3 


KrtAEOUO'tV ol (TO0»O"TOl, 




34. Ma/capt£o/t£V o"£, tet7i| ... 


• -- 43 


Tt, ytpouv, teov (3iov fitv 




35. Epwc iror' ev ^oiJoio-i .... 


... 40 


Toij tpuio-i, tu) Avatu), 




36. '0 tcXovtos uyt X9 v<r0v ■ * * 


• - - 23 


K' ovk tfioi KpaTEtv E(Tio)caj; 




37. Ata vvktoc £yica0£i;c"tuv • • • 


... 8 


Tt 0iA>;/ta ttjs Kvdypijs 




38 'lAapot 7Tno/i.£v otvov .... 


. . . 41 


Tt KvirsAAa tov Avaiov, 




39. (piXui ytoovra Ttpnvov • • 


- • . 47 


Aiei y' E7pv0?;o-as ofiuv, 




40. Entity (Sgoros trvxBrjV • • 


- • . 24 


Ovk. tfiovs vo/iovs Ctiao-icuiv, 




41. Tt KaXov to-n Pa6i$uv • • 


--. 66 


Ovk E^tov Ao^tuv aioTov ; 




42. Xlodeui fitv Aiowo-ov - • . . 


... 42 


*0 St Ttjios /iEAto-riys 




43. E.Tt<pavovs /iev KporaQoicri - • 


. . . 6 


Mijte dvo-x£paiv£, 0*70-1, 




44. To p"ocTov to tcov epujTuiv - - 


... 5 


'Ort, $ta, aov y' ovev fitv, 




45. 'Orav irtvtu tov otvov- • 


... 25 


*0 o-o0a>raTos anavTwv 




46. Ic"s, rroj Eaooj 0av£vroc - 


. - 37 


Ilapa ruiv co0<uv KaAov/tat* 




47. Eyui yeptuv /i£v £i/ti • - 


• . 38 


iiXtui, irtui, Avpt^ui, 




48. 'Orav d Ba/c^os £to-£A9i/ • 


2<*> 


Meto t<ov KaXuiv yvvaiKioV 




49. Tov Atoc 6 irate BnK^oj - 


27 


A0eAcus tt TEpirva irat^co, 




50. 'Or' £yu) rrta) tov mvoi/ ... 


39 


'0.$ Xvpj] yap, e^.ov tjTop 




51. Mi; fie 0t>yjf optoo-a . . - . 


- - 34 


Avairvti /iovovj EptuTaj* 




52. Tt he tovs vopovs 6t6ao~Ktis • 


- - - 36 


'QCt fiioTov AaAtjvijv 




53. 'Or' eyio veiov 6/ttAov .... 


.-- 54 


9iXt(uv fiaXicra iravTiav, 




54. '0 Tavpoc ovroy, a> jrat ... 


--. 35 


Ov cro0oj fizXwSos £t/t' ; 




55. £TS0av7;0opov ficr' Hpoc • - 


--. 51 


Tij aoipotTipos fitv £0-rt ; 




56. *0 tov zv Ttovois dTEJpi; - - - 


... 50 






57. Apa Ttj Togtvo-e tcovtov ... 


.-- 49 


. 




58. '0 tfpairtTijs 6 ATpvo-os ... 


--- 66 


REMARKS ON ANACREON. 




59. Tov /tfXavoxpuiTo; /Sorpvv • • 


•-- 52 


There is but little known with certainty of the life 


60. Ava fiapGiTov cTovijcui .... 


... 54 


of Anacreon. Chameleon Heracleotes.i who \ 


vrcte 


61. IIoAtot /t£V ^/ttv t;6"tj .... 


... 56 


upon the subject, has been lost in the general wreck of 
ancient literature. The editors of the poet have col- 


62. Aye cTtj, fop' i>/iiv, u rrot - . 


■ - - 57 


lected the few trifline anecdotes which are scattered 


63. Tov Epcora yap tov iSpov- • 


... 58 


through the ex'ant authors of antiquity, and, su 


)ply- 


64. Towopicu. o - ' tXa<t)T)$oXt ... 


-•- 60 


ing the deficiency of materials by fictions of their 
imagination, have arranged, what they call, a 1 


own 
fe of 1 


65. II<oAe Qpijiai], ti St] /te ... 


... 61 


Anacreon. These specious fabrications are intended 


66. Qtauv avacro-a, Kvirpt ... 


- - - 62 


to indulge that interest which we naturally feel i 
biography of illustrious men ; but it is rather a 


i the 
dan- 


67. J2 irat Trapflfviov jiXtTrutv ... 


--- 67 


gerous kind of illusion, as it confounds the limits of ! 


68. Eyai 5' out' av A/iaA0£tj;s 68 

For the order of the rest, see the Notes. 






i He is quoted by Athenxus ev t(/> ntpi tov A 

ptOVTOC. 


va«- 



16 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



hi toiy and romance, 1 and is too often supported by 
unfaithful cita'i"n.s 

Our poet was born in the city of Teos.s in the deli- 
cious region of Ionia, and the time of his birth appears 
to have been in the sixth centuy jefore Christ.* He 
flourished al that remarkable period, when, under he 
polished tyrants Hippaichus and PolycrMes, Athens 
and Samba were bee >me the rival a>ylum; 1 f genius. 
There is nothing certain known ab u' his family, and 
those who pretend to discover in Plato that he was a 
descendant of the monarch Codrus, show much more 
of zeal than of either accuracy or judgment. 5 

The disp sition and talents of Anacreon recommend- 
ed him to the monarch of Samos, and he was formed 
to be the friend of such a prince as Polyerates. Sus- 
ceptible only to the pleasure-, he felt not the corrup- 
tions of the court; and, while Pythag Tas fled from 
the tyrant, Anacreon was celebrating his praises on the 
lyre. We are told too by Maximus Tyrius, tint, by 
the influence of his amatory sonss. he softened the 
mind of Polycrates into a spirit of benevolence to- 
wards b s subjects. 6 

The amours of the poet, and the rivalship of the 
tyrant, i I shall pass over in silence; and there are 
few, I presume, who will regret the omission of most 
of those anecdotes, which the indus'ry of some editors 
has not only promulged, but discussed. Whatever is 
repugnant to modesty and virtue is considered in ethi- 
cal science, by a suppo-ition very favourable to 
humani y, as impossible; and this amiable persuasinD 
should be much more strongly entertained, where the 
transgression wars with nature as well as virtue. Bui 
why are we not allowed to indulge in the presump- 
tion ? Why are we officiously reminded that there 
have been really such instances of depravity ? 

Hipparchus, who nw maintained at Athens the 
power which his fa her Pi-istratus had usurped. wa> 
one of (hose princes who may be said to hive polished 



» The History of Anacreon, by Gacon (le Poete 
sans fard, as he styles himself.) is professedly a 
romance ; nor does Mademoiselle Scuderi. from n h m 
he borrowed the idea, pretend to historical veracity in 
her account of Anacreon and Sappho. Th.se, then, 
are allowable. But how can Barnes be forgiven, ivhn, 
with all the confidence of a biographer, traces every 
wandering of the poet, and settles him at last, in his 
old age, at a country villa near Teos ? 

3 The learned Bayle has detected some infidelities 
of quotation in Le Fevre. (Dicticnuiain Hiftoriqut, 
&-C.) Madame Dacier is not more accurate than her 
father: they have almost made Anacreon prime min- 
ister to the monarch of Samos. 

3 The Asiatics were as remarkable for genius as for 
luxury. " Ingenia A-iatica inclyta per genles fecere 
Poetae, Anacreon, inde Mimnermus et Antimachus, 
&c" — Solinus. 

* I have not attempted to define the particular 
Olympiad, but have adopted the idea of Bayle, who 
sa\'s,"Je n'ai point Marque d'Olympiade ; 'car pour 
un homme qui a vecu S5 aus, il mesemble que Ton ne 
doit point s'enfermer dans des bornes si etroites." 

* This mistake is founded on a false interpre'ation 
of a very obvious passage in Plato's Dialogue on Tem- 
perance ; it originated with Madame Dcier, and has 
been received implicitly by many. Gail, a late editor 
of Anacreon, seems to claim to himself the merit of 
detecting this error; but Bayle had observed it before 
him. 

s Ava/cptwv Eauioic IIoXv<cparjji> vtttptotrt. 
Maxim. Tyr. J 21. Maximus Tyrius mentions this 
among other instances of the influence of poetry. If 
Gail had read Maximus Tyrius how could he ridicule 
this idea in Moutonnet, as'unauthenticated ? 

i In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to which I 
allude is told of a young girl, avith whom Anacreon 
fell in love while she pets nated the god Apollo in a 
mask. But here Mademoiselle Scuderi consulted 
nature more than truth. 



the fetters of their subjects. He was the first, accord- 
ing to Plato, who edited the poem- of Homer, and 
commanded them to be sung by the Rhapsodies at the 
celebration of the Panuthena^a. From bis cour , w hich 
was a sort of galaxy of genius, Anacreon could not 
long be absent. ~ Hipparchus sent a b <rsje for him ; the 
poet readily embraced the invitation, and the Muses 
and the Loves were wafted with him to Athen-.s 

The manner of An icreon's death was singular. We 
are told that in the e:ghty-6fth year of his age he was 
choked by a grape-stone ; s and, however we may 
smile at heir enthusiastic partiality, who see in this 
easy and characteristic death a peculiar indulgence of 
Heaven, we cannot help admiring that his fate should 
have been so emblematic of his disposition. Cslius 
Calca»ninus alludes :o this catastrophe in the follow- 
ing epitaph on our poet : — »° 

Those lip*, then, hallow'd sa»e, which pour'd along 
A mi.se sweet as any cygi. - 

The grape hath cl'w'il for ever ! 
Here let Ihe ivy kiss Ihe pact's l"mb. 
Here let Ihe rose he lov'd with laurels bloom. 

Id bands that ne'er shall sever. 
But far be thoo, oh ! far, unholy vine, 
By whom Ihe favourite minstrel of the >";ne 

Lost bis sweet vital breath; 
Thy God himself now blushes to confess. 
Once hallow'd vine! he feels he loves Ihee less. 
Since poor Anacreon's death. 
It has been supposed by some writers that Anacreon 
and Sappho were contemporaries ; and 'he very 
thought cf an intercourse between persons so conge- 
nial, both in warmth of passion and delicacy of genius, 
gives such play to the imagination, that then 
to indulge in it. But Ihe vision dissolves before hi tori- 
cal truth ; and Chamjeleon and Hennesianax, who are 
the sou'ee of the supposition, are considered as having 
merely indulged in a poetical anachro, i-m.u 

To infer the moral disj from the 

tone of sentiment which |ervades his work-. 
limes a very fallacious analogy ; but the a ul of Aea- 



8 There is a very interesting French poem founded 
upon this anecdote,' imputed to'Desyve'.aui, and called [ 
"Anacreon Cit yen. - ' 

9 Fabricius ai pears not to trust very implicitly in 
this 'tory. " Uvae pa-si acino 'andem "tt! 
credinus Suidge in oivgtotjjc ; alii ei.im h 

genere periisse tradunt Sophoclem.' — 
thee. Orsc. lib. ii. cap. 15. It must be confr-sed that j 
Lucian, avho tells us that Snphoc es w 
jiapr-stone. in the very s me Ueati-e mentions the 
longevity of Anacreon. and yet is silent on U 
ner of his dea'h. Cculd he have been ignorant of ! 
such a remarkatle c > ncidence, or, k> owj. g, could he ' 
have neglected to remark it ? See Reguier's introduc- 
tion to his Anacreon. 

to At te, sane'e senex. acinus sub Tar'ara misit ; 
dausjl qui * ibi vocis iter. 
Vos, hederae. tnmulum. tumulum vos cingite, lacri, 

Hoc ro-a perj.e do vernei odora loco ; 
At vitis procul hire, procul bine odiosa faces&at, 

Q- 38 causam dine protulit. uva, necis, 
Creditur ipse minus vitem jam Bacctus amare. 
In vatem tanlum quae fuit ausa nefas. 
The au'hor of thi~ epitaph, Cxlius Ca 1 : 
has translated or imitated the epigram- 
Mvpcuwc t 3ovv, which are given under the name of 
Anacreon. 

H Barnes is convinced (but very gratuitously '.of Ihe 
synchronism of Anacreon a 

authorities, he has stiangely neglected the line quoted 
by Fulvins V> sinus, as from Anacreon, amoig the 
testimonies to Sappho : — 

Ei/ii XqSiov ao-opaj He- "•$•»•». 

Fa r cius thinks that 'hey might have been contempo- 
rary, but cf'i.-iiers their amour as a Uleof in . 
Vrssius rejects 'he idea entirely : as do alio 
richius and others. 






ODES OF ANACREON. 



17 



creon speaks so unequiv cally through his odes, that 
we may safe y consult them as the truthful miirors of 
hi^ heart. 1 We lin.l him there the elegant voluptuary, 
difl'ushg the seductive charm of sentiment over pas- 
sion, and propensities at which rigid morality must 
Crown. His heart, devoted to indolence, seems to have 
thought tliat there is wealth enough in happiness, hut 
seldom happiness in meie wealth. The cheerfulness, 
indeed, with » Inch he brightens his old age is interest- 
ing and endearing: like his own rose, he is fragrant 
even in deciy. But the most peculiar fea'tire of his 
mind is that love of simplicity, which he attributes to 
himself so feelingly, and which breathes characteristi- 
cally throughout all that he has sung. In truth, if we 
omit those few vices in our estimate which religion, at 
that time, not only connived at, but consecrated, we 
shall be inclined to say thai the disposition of our poet 
was amiable; that his morality was relaxed, but not 
abandoned ; and that Virtue, with her zone loosened, 
may be an apt emblem of the character of Anacreon.^ 
Of his person and physiognomy time has preserved 
such uncertain memorials, that it were better, perhaps, 
to leave the pencil to fancy; and few can lead the 
Odes of Auacreon without imagining to themselves the 
form of the animated old bard, crowned with roses, 
and singing cheerfully to his lye. But the head of 
Anacreon, prefixed to this work, 3 has been considered 



1 An Italian poet, in some verses on Belleau's 
translation of Anacreon, pretends to imagine that our 
bard did not feel as he wrote : — 

I.yaetim. Venerem, Oupidinenique 
Scuex lusit Anacreon poeta. 
Sell quo tempore nee oapaciores 
Roaaliat cyathoa, nee inquietis 
Urrtmtiir amoribus, seil ipsis 
Tantnm vereibus et jncia amahat, 
Nullum prae se habitum gerena amnntis. 
To Love and Bacchus ever young 

While sage Anacreon touched the lyre 
He neither U It Hie loves he sung, 

Nor fill'd his bowl to Bacchus higher. 
Those Bowery days had faded long, 

Whin youth could act the lover's part; 
And passion trembled in his sons, 

But never, never, reach'd his heart. 

2 Anacreon's character has been variously coloured. 
Barnes lingers on it with enthusiastic admiration ; but 
he is always extravagant, if not sometimes also a little 
profane. Baillet runs too much into the opposite ex- 
treme, exaggerating also the testimonies which he has 
consulted ; and we cannot surely agree with him "lien 
he cites such a compiler as Athenaeus, as " un des plus 
si vans critiques de I'antiquite." — Jugement des Sea- 
vans, M.CV. 

Haines could hardly have read the passage to which 
be refers, when he accuses Le Fevre of having cen- 
sured our poet's character in a note on Longinus: the 
note in question being manifest irony, in allusion to 
some censure passed upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. 
It is clear, indeed, i h > t pnise rather than censure is 
intimated. See Johannes Vulpius (de Utilitate Poeti- 
ces), who vindicates our poel's reputation. 

3 It is taken from the Bibliotheca of Fulvius Ursi- 
nus. Pellori has copied the same head into his Ima- 
gines. Johannes Filer, in his description of the coin 
of Ursinus, mentions .ino'her head on a very beautiful 
cornelian, which be supposes was worn in a ring bv 
some admirer of the poet. In the fennographia o'f 
Cuiini there is a youthful head of .Anacreon from a 
Grecian medal, with the letleisTF.IOS aiound it ; on 
the reverse >h=rp i, a Neptune, holding a spear in his 
right hand, and a do'phin, with the word TlANflN 
inscribed, in the left; " volendoci denotn.e (savs 
Canini) die quelle cittadini 1» comassero in honore del 
suocompatriota poeta." There is also among the coins 
of De Wilde one, which though it bears no effigy, w is 
probably struck to the memory of Anacreon. It has 
the won! TH1S2X, ei. circled with an ivy crown. "At 
quidni respicit ha-e corona At acreontcm, nobilem !y- 
ricam!" — De Wilde. 

~" 2* 



so authentic, that we scarcely tould be justified in the 
omission of it ; and some have even thought that it is 
by no means deficient in that benevolent suavity of 
expression which should characterise the countenance 
of such a poet. 

Alter the very enthusiastic eulogiums bestowed both 
by ancients and moderns upon the poems of Anacreon,* 
we need not be diffident in expiessing our raptures at 
their beauty, nor hesitate to pronounce them the most 
I olished remains of antiquity.* They are, indeed, all 
beauty, all enchantment. s He s'eals us so insensibly 
along with him, that we sympathise even in his ex- 
cesses. In his amatory odes there is a delicacy of com- 
pliment not to be found in any other ancient poet. 
Love at that period was rather an unrefined emotion : 
and the intercourse of the sexes was animated moie by 
passion than by sentiment. They knew not those lit- 
tle tendernesses which form the spiritual part of affec- 
tion ; their expression of feeling was therefore rude and 
unvaried, and the poetry of love deprived it of its most 
captivating graces. Anacreon. however, attained some 
ideas of this purer gallantry ; and the same delicacy of 
mind which led him to this refinement, prevented him 
also from yielding to the freedom of language, which 
h.s sullied the pages of all the other poets. His descrip- 
tions are warm ; but the warmth is in the ideas, not 
the words. He is sportive without being wanton, and 
ardent without being licentious. His poetic invention 
is always most brilliantly displayed in those allegorical' 
fictions which so many have endeavoured to imitate, 
though all have confessed them to be inimitable Sim- 
plicity is the distinguishing featuie of these odes, and 
they interest by their innocence, as much as thev fasci- 
nate by their beauty. They may be said, indeed, to be 
the very infants of ihe Muses, and to lisp in numbers. 

I shall not be accused of enthusiastic partiality by 
those who have read and felt the original; but, to 
others, 1 am conscious, this should not be the language 
of a translator, whose faint reflection of such beauties 
cau but ill justify his admiration of them. 



* Besides those which are extant, he wrote hymns, 
elegies, epigrams, &c. Some of the epigrams still 
exist. Horace, in addition to the mention of him (lib. 
iv. od. 9.), alludes also to a poem of his upon the rivalry 
of Circe and Penelope in the affections of Ulysses, lib. 
i. od. 17.; and Ihe scholiast upon Nicander cites a 
fragment from a poem upon Sleep by Anacreon, and 
attributes to him likewise a medicinal treatise. Ful- 
gentius mentions a work of his upon the war between 
Jupiter and the Titans, and the origin of the consecia- 
tion of the eagle. 

See Horace, Maxin.us Tvrius, &c. " His s'vle 
(says ScaligerJ is sweeter than ihe juice of the Indian 

." — Poet. lib. i. cap. 44. ''Fiom the softness of 
his verses (says Olaus Borrichius) the ancients bestowed 
on t ■ i in the epithets sweet, delicate, graceful, &c." — 
DisscrtalivHC.? Academics?, de Poet is", diss. 2. Scali- 
ger again praises him thus in a pun ; speaking of the 
/t£>oc, or ode, " Anacreon aiilem non solum dedit ha?c 
pt\T) sed eti>m in ipsis mclla.'' See 'he passage of 
Rapin, quoted by all the editors. I cannot omit citing 
also the following very spirited apostrophe of the au- 
thor of ihe Commentary prefixed to the Paima edition : 
" () vos sublimes anima?, vos ApolKnis alumni, qui post 
nnum Alcmanem in tota Hellade lyricaro poesim ex- 
suscitastis, coluistis, anrplificastis, qnaeso vos an ullus 
unquam fuerit vales qui Teio eantori vel naturae can- 
dore vel metri suavitate palmam praeripueiit." See 
likewise Vincenzo Gravini della Rag. Poetic, libro 
primo, p. 97. Among Ihe Rilratti of Marino, there is 
one of Anacreon beginning " Cingetemi la fronte," 
&c. &c. 

s " We may perceive." savs Vossins, " that the ilera 
tion of his words c nduces very much to Ihe sweelness 
of bis style." Henry Stephen lemarksthe same beauty 
in a note on the forty f urth ode. This figure of itera- 
tion is his most appropriate grace: — but Hie modern 
writers of Juvenilia and Basia have adopted It loan 
excess which destioys the effect. 



B 



18 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



In the age of Amcreon music and poetry were 
inseparable. Tiiese kindred talents were for a long 
time associa'ed, and Ihe poet always sung his own 

| compositions to the lyre. It is probable that they 
were not set to any regular air, but rather a kind of 

j musical recitation, which was varied according to the 
fancy and feelings of the moment * The poems of 
Anacreon were sung at banquets as late as the time of 
Aulus Gellius, who tells us hat he heard one of the 
Odes performed at a birth-day entertainments 

'Ihe singular beauty of our poet's s'yle, and the ap- 
parent facility, perhaps, of his metre, have attracted, 
as 1 have already remarked, a crowd of imitators. 
Some of ihese have succeeded with wonderful felicity, 
as may Le discerned in the few Odes which are attri- 
buted to writers of a later period. But none of his 
einul.itois have Leen half so dangerous to his fame as 
those Greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, being 
con cious of their own inferiority to their great proto- 
types, determined on removing all possibility of com- 
parison, and, under a semblance of moral zeal, de- 
prived the world of some of the m< st exquisite trea- 
sures of ancient times. 3 Tlie work- of Sappho and 
Alca»us were among those Mowers of Grecian litera- 
ture which thns fell beneath the rule hand of eccle- 
siastical presumption. It is true they pretended that 
(his sacrifice of genius was hallowed by the interests 
of religion ; but 1 have already assigned the most pro- 
bable motive ;« and if Gregorius Nazianzenus had 
not written Anacreontics, we might now.perhaps have 
the works of the Teiau unmutilated, and be empower- 
ed to say exultingly with Horace, 

Nee si quid olim lusit Anacreon 
Delevit atlas. 
The zeal by which these bishops professed to be 
actuated, gave birth more innocently, indeed, to an 
absurd species of parody, as repugnant to piety as it 
is to taste, where the poet of voluptuousness was made 
a preacher of the gospel, and his muse, like the Venus 
in armour at Lacedsemon, was arrayed in all the 
severities of priestly instruction. Such was the 
"Anacreon Recantatus," by Carolus de Aquino, a 
Jesuit, publi-hed 1701, which consisted of a series of 
palinodes to the several songs of our poet. Such, too, 
was the Christian Anacreon of Patrignanus. another 
Jesuit,' who preposterously tiansferred to a most 



* In the Paris edition there are four of Ihe original 
Odes set to music, by Le Sueur, Gossec, Mehuli and 
Chernhici. "On ehante du Latin, et de l'ltalien," 
siys Gail, " quclquefois meme sans les entendre ; qui 
empeche que nous ne coalitions des Odes Grecques?'' 
The chromatic learning of these composers i- very 
unlike what we are told of the simple melody of the 
ancients ; and they hive ail, as it appears to me, mis- 
taken the accentuation of the words. 

^ The Parma commentator is rather careless in re- 
ferring to this passage of Aulus Gellius, .lib. xii. cap. 
9.) The Ode w as not sung by the rhetorician Julianus, 
as he says, but by the minstrels of both sexes, who 
were introduced at the eutertaiumeut. 

3 See whit Colomesius, in his " Literary Treasures,"' 
has quoted from Alcyonius de Erilio; it may he 
found in Haiter. Colomesius, af er citing the pa_-sige, 
ails, " Hxc auro contra cara non poiui non appo- 
ne e." 

4 We may perceive by the beginning of the first 
hymn t f Bishop Synesius,' that he made Anacreon and 
Sappho his models of composition. 

Ayt /tot, \iyua d>op/tiy|, 
Mrra Tnav dotfav, 
MtT-a Atrx&av ts (io\tov. 

Marguniu«s a' d Damascenus were likewise authors of 

pious Anacreontics. 

s Th's, perhaps, is the "Jesui'a quidam G-arculus" 

alluded to by li rues, who his himself con, 

Ai'OKp£iov XptoM J as the rest, but 

somewhat m »re skilfully exi 



sacred subject all that the Grecian poet had dedicated 
to festivity ar:d love. 

His metre has frequently been adopted by Ihe 
modern Latin poets; and Scaliger, Taubroan, Bar- 
hius, 6 and others, have shown that it is by no means 
uncongenial with that language. 1 The Anaceontics : 
of Scaliger, however, scarcely deserve the name; as 
they glit er all over with conceits and, tbongh often 
elegant, are always laboured. 1 he beautiful fictions 
of Angeriaous 8 preserve more bappily than any 
others the delicate turn of those allegorical f bles, 
which, passing so frequently through the mediums < f 
version and imitation, have generally lost their finest 
ra\s in the transmission. Many ot the Italian prets 
have indulged their fancies upon" the subjects, and in 
the manner of Anacreon, Bernardo Tasso first intro- 
duced Ihe metre, which was afterwards polished and 
enriched by Chabriera and other-. » 

To judge by the references of Degen, the German 
language abounds in Anacreonic "imitations; and 
Hagedorn i° is one among many who have assumed 
him as a model. La Farre, Chaulieu, and the other 
light poets of France, have also profe-sed to cultivate 
the muse of Teos; but they have at'amed all her 
negligence with little of the simple giace that embel- 
lishes it. In the delicate bard of Schiras>» we find the 
kindred spirit of Anacreon : some of his gazelles, or 
songs, possess ail the character of our poet. 

We come now to a retrospect of the editions of 
Anacreon. To Henry Stephen we are indebted for 
having first recovered'his remains from the obscurity 
in which, so singularly, they had for many ages re- 
posed. He found the sevenih Ode. as we are told, on 
the cover of an old book, and communicated it to 
Victonus, who mentions the circumstance in his 
"Various Readings.'' Stephen was then veiy young ; 
and this discovery was considered by some cii'icsof 
that day as a literary impo-ition.ia In 1554. however, 
he gave Anacreon to the world, '3 accompanied with 
annotations and a Latin version of the greater part of 



6 I have seen somewhere an account of tin 
Rarthius. written just after his death, which mention- 
many more Anacreontics of his than I believe \ix\e 
ever'been published. 
i Thus too Albertus, a Danish poet : — 
Fidii tui minister 
Gaudebo semper esse, 
Gaudebo semper 1 1 1 i 
Litare thure mulso; 
Gaudi-bo temper :llum 
Laudare puin ilillia 
AnacreoDiieillis. 
See the Danish Potts, collected by Ros'gaard. 
These pretty little esses defy 'ranslation. A 
ful Anacreontic, by Hugo Grotius, may be found, Lib. 
i. Farraginis. 

8 To Angerianus, Prior is indebted for some of his 
happiest mythological subjecs. 

9 See Crescimbeni, Historia della Volg. Poes. 

10 " L'aimat i!e Hagedorn vaut quelquefois Ana- 
creon." — D ■rat. Idee dc la Poesie Ail-. 

«' See Toderini on the learning of the Turks, as 
translated by de Cournard. Prince Onteuiir has 
made the Russians acquainted with Anacreon. See 
his Life, pierixed to a translation of bis Satires, by 
the Abbe de Gua^co. 

is Robortellus, in his work " De Ratione corri- 
onounces these verses to be the trillings of 
some insipid Graecist. 

is Ronsard commemorates th'S event : — 
Je ray boire a Heurie Etienna 
Qui des eofers nous a r- -. 
Du Tieil Anacrron perdu. 
La douce lyre Teienue. Ode it. boot &. 

I fill the bowl to Stephen's Mine. 

Win re>cued from lh<- ek* m nf night 
The Teian bard of frsiir.. fame, 

A lid hruushl his living lyre to hil-.l. 



ODES OF ANACREON 



19 



the Odes. The learned still hesi'ated lo receive them 
as he relics of ihe Teian baid, and su>peced them to 
be Ihe fabrication of some monks of the sixteenth 
century. This was an idt-a from which Ihe classic 
muse lecoiled; and the Vatican manuscript, consult- 
ed bv Scalige- and Salma-ius, confirmed the antiquity 
of most of" Ihe poems. A very iuaccurde copy of 
this MS. was taken by Isaac Vossius, and this is ihe 
authority which Barnes has followed in his c llation. 
Accordingly he misrepresents almost as often as he 
quotes; and Ihe subsequent edilois, reh ing upon his 
authority, have spoken of the nianu-ciipt with not 
less confidence than ignorance. The literary world, 
however, has at length been gratified with this curi- 
ous memorial if thepoe', by the industry of ihe Abbe 
Spaletii, who published at Rome, in 1781, a fac-simile 
of those pases of the Vaiican manuscript which con- 
tained Ihe Odes of Anacreon. i 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of all the dif- 
ferent editions and translations of Anacteon. FinJ- 
ing iheir number to be much greater than I could 
possibly have had an opportunity of consulting, 1 
shall here content myself wih enumerating only 
those editions and versions which it has been in my 
power In collect; and which, though very few, are, J 
believe, the most important. 

The edition by Henry Stephen, 1554, at Paris — the 
Latin version is attributed by Colomesius to John 
Dorat.2 

The old French translations, by Ronsard and Bel- 
leau— the former published in 1555, the 1 itter in 1556. 
It app' ars from a note of Muretus upon one of the 
sonnets of Ron-ard, that Henry Stephen communi- 
cated to this p>et his manuscript of Anacreon, before 
he promulgated it lo the world. 3 

The fid i ion by Le Fevre, 1660. 

The edition by Madame Dacier, 16S1, with a prose 
translation ■* 

The edition by Longepierre, 1654, with a transla- 
tion in verse. 

The edition by Baxter ; London, 1695. 

A French translation by La Fosse, 1704. 

" L'Histoire des Odes d Anacreon," by Gacon ; Rot- 
terdam, 1712. 

A tianslation in English verse, by several hands, 
1713, in which the Odes by Cowley are inserted. 

The edition by Barnes; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, with a Latin ver- 
sion in elegiac metre. 

A translation in English verse, by John Addison, 
1735. 

A collection of Italian translations of Anacreon, 
published at Venice, 1736. consisting of those by Cor- 
siui, Regnier.s Salvini, Marchetti, and one by several 
anonymous authors. 6 



l This manuscript, which Spaletti thinks as old as 
the tenth century, was brought from the Palatine ' 
the Vatican library ; it is a kind of anthology of 
Greek epigrams, and in the 676th page of it are found 
Ihe 'Hfua/tfiia Lvf/.KO<naKa of Anacreon. 

» " Le meme (M. Vossius) m'a dit qu'il avoit pos- 
sede un Anacreon, ou Scaliger avoit marque de sa 
rrnin, qu' Henri Etienne n"etoit pas I'auteur de la ver- 
sion Latine des Odes de ce poete, mais Jean Dorat." — 
Paulus Coliymesius, Particularites 

Colomesius, however, seems lo have relied too im- 
plicitly on Vossius; — almost all these Patticularites 
begin with " M. Vossius m'a dit." 

3 "La fiction de ce sonnet comme I'auteur meme 
m'a dit, est prise d'une Ode d'Anacreon, encore non 
imprimee, qu'il a depuis traduit, £v y.tv 0iAjy 
X£Ai<5wi/.» 

* The author of Nouvelles de la Repub. des Lett, 
bestows on this translation much more praise than its 
merits appear to me to justify. 

* The notes of Regnier are not inserted in this edi- 
tion ; but they must be interesting, as they were for 
the most pari communicated by ihe ingenious Menage, 



A translation in English verse, by Fawkes and 
Doctor Broome, 1760.1 

Another, anonymous, 1768. 

The edition by Spaletti, at Rome, 1781 ; with the 
fac-sinnle of the Vatican MS. 

'Ihe edition by Degen, 17S6, who published also a 
German translation of Anacteon, esteemed the best. 

A translation in English verse, by Urquhait, 1787. 

The ed ition by Gail, at Paris, 1799, with a prose 
translation. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE I. 

I saw the smiling bard of pleasure, 
The minstrel of ihe I eian measure J 
>T was in a vision of the night, 
He beam'd upon my wondering sight 
1 heard his voice, and warmly prest 
The dc-r enthusiast to my breast. 
His tresses wore a silvery dye, 
But beauty spiikled in his e'je ; 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 
Through the mist of soft desire. 
His lip exhal'd, whene'er he sigh'd, 
The fragiance of the racy tide ; 
And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss to meet, 
An infant, of the Cyprian band, 
Guided him on wiih tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drew 
His braid, ot many a wanton hue; 
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breath'd of him and blush 'd with wii.e. 

This ode is the first of the series in the Vatican 
manuscript, which aitributes it to no other poet than 
Anacreon. They who assert that Ihe manu-cripl im- 
putes it to Basilius, have been misUd by the words 
Tov avrov Rao-iXiKuc in the margin, which are 
merely intended as a title to the i'ollowingode. Whe- 
ther it be the production of Anacreon or not, it has all 
the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beautiful 
imitation of the poet's happiest manner. 

Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 

Through the mist of s<jt desire.] " How could he 
know at the first look (says Baxter) that the poet was 
(piXcvvosV There are surely many tell-tales of this 
propei sity ; and the following are the indices, which 
the physiognomist gives, describing a disposition per- 
haps not unlike that of Anacreon: 0<p8aXfioi k\v$o- 
Tjtvoi, /cv/tmvoi'TEC tv avrois, us atpooiMria Kai 
tviraOuav tTtToijvrai. ovri c"e adtKoi, ovrt kokovq- 
yot, otirs Qvvtuis QavXrjs, ovrt arjova-oi. — J3da- 
mantius. "The eyes thai are humid and fluctuating 
show a propensity to pleasure and love ; they be-peak 
loo a mind of integrity and beneficence, a generosity 
of disposition, and a genius for poetry." 

Baptista Porta tel s us some strange opinions of the 
ancient physiognomists on this subject, their reasons 
for which were curious, and perhaps not altogether 
fanciful. Vide Fhysiognom. Johan. Baptist. Porta;. 

/ took the wreath, whose inmost twine 

Breath'd of him, <$-c] Philostiatus has the same 



who, we may perceive, from a passage in the Mena- 
giana, bestowed some research on the subject. '■ Ce t 
anssi lui (M. RigoO qui s'est donne la peine de con- 
ferer des manuscrits en Italic dans le terns que je tra- 
vailloU sur Anacreon."— Menagiana, seconde partie. 

6 1 find in Haym's Notizia de' Libri rari, Venice, 
1670, an Italian translation by Cappone, mentioned. 

1 This is the most complete of Ihe English transla- 
tions. 



20 



ODES OF ANACREON 



I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow, 
And ah! 1 feel its magic now: 
I feel that even his garbnd s louch 
Can njake the bosom love too much. 
tho.ight in one of his EpturtKa, where he speaks of the 
garland which he had sent to his mistress. Et 0£ 
fiovXu tl (piXui £-api$«r8<u, to Xtnpava avrurtfi- 
ipov, /i/jKtTt irviovTii poc"(uV novov aXXa icai aov. 
'• If thou art inclined to gratify ihy lover, send him hack 
the remains of the garland. n» longer breathing of roses 
only, but of thee !" Which pietty conceit is borrowed 
( s the author of the Ob-erver remarks) in a well- 
known little song of Ben Jonson's : — 

" But thou thereon didst only breathe! 
And sent it bark to me ; 
8inee when it looks and smells, I swear, 
Not of itself, but thee '." 
And ah ! J feel its magic now :] This idea, as 
Longepierre remarks, occurs in an epigram of the 
seventh book of the Anthologia. 

E|ot£ y.01. mvovri avvto-raovoa Xapt/cXio 
AaOpn tovs t6totc aiMpeSaXc o~ri<j>avovs, 
Tlvp oXoov Sanru fie. 
While I unconscious quafTd my wine, 

'T was then thy fiutrers slily stole 
Upon my brow that wreath of thine. 
Which since has maddened all my soul. 



ODE II. 



Which Homers finder thrill 'd along; 
But tear away the sanguine -tring, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 
Proclaim the laws of festal rre, 
1 'm m lurch of the bo.rd to-night; 
And all ar und shall brim as high, 
And quaff the tide as deep as I. 
And when the cluster's mell wing dews 
Their warm enchanting b.lm infuse, 
Our feet shall catch th' ela-tic bound, 
And reel us through the dance's round. 
Great Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee, 
In wild but sweet ebrieiy ; 
F'ashing around such spark' of thought, 
As Bacchus could alone have Uagbt, 
Then, give the harp of epic song. 
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along; 



Proclaim the laws of festal rite.] The ancients 
prescribed certain laws of drinking at their festivals, 
for an ace Mini of which see the commentators. Ana 
creon here acts the symposrarch, or master of the fes- 
tival. 1 have translated according to those who con- 
sider rvntXXa $to-(iu)V as an inversion of Sivftovs 
KvxeXXuiv. 



Listen to the Muse's lyre, 

Master of the pencil'sfire ! 

Sketch'd in painting's bold display, 

Many a city first portray ; 

Many a city, revelling free, 

Fulfof lo <ie festivity. 

Picture then a rosy train, 

Bacchants straying o'er the plain; 

Piping, as they roam along. 

Roundelay or shepherd - 

Paint me next, if painting may 

Such a theme as this portray, 

All the eixthly heaven of I'.ve 

The*e delighted mortals prove. 
La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen this poem 
by considerable interpolations of his own, which he 
thinks are indispensably necessary to the completion 
of the description. 



ODE IV. 
Vulcan ! hear your glorious task ; 
I do not from your labours ask 
In gorgeous pmoply lo shine, 
For war was ne'er a sport of mine. 
No — let me have a silver bowl, 
Where I may cr die all my soul ; 
But mind thai, o'er its simple frame 
No mimic C'-ns'ellations , ; u.e : 
Nor grave upon the swelling side, 
Orion, scowling o'er the tide. 
I care no' for the glitl'nng wain, 
Nor yet the weeping sister train. 
But let the vine luxuriant roll 
lis bl..shing tendrils r< und the bowl, 
While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid 
Is cullir g clusters in tbeir shade. 
Let sylvan g«4s, in antic shapes, 
Wildly press the gushing grapes, 
And flights of Loves, in wanton play. 
Wing through the air their winding way; 
While Venus, from her ai hour green, 
Looks laughing at the j yous scene, 
And young Lyams by her side 
Sits, worthy of so bright a bride. 

This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was performed at 
an entertainment where he was present. 

IVhile many a rose-lifj.ed bacchant maid, fyc.] I 
have availed myself here of the additional lines given 
in the Vatican manuscript, which have not been accu- 
rately inserted in any of the ordinary editions : — 

TloiTjcov apircXovs uoi 

Kai [loTovas <ar' aintav 

Kai fiaivafac rovyaioas. 

IIoiei ft Anvov OiVOV, 

AyvoSaras zarovvrac, 

Tods caTVoovs ytXuivrac, 

Kai jforcrot'C rove tpwrac, 

Kai Kv9£pijv yiXuivav, 

'Ofiov KaXto At'iiio, 

Eptura K' AcipociTijv 



ODE V. 



Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 

Grave for me an ample bowl. 

Worthy t i shine in hall or bower, 

When spring-time brings the reveller's hour. 

Grave it with themes of chaste design, 

Fit f r a simple hoard like mine. 

Disp'ay not thee he barbar us rites 

In which religious zeal delights; 

Nor any tale of tragic fate 

Which' 1 lo relate 

No — cull ihy fancies from alcove. 

Themes of heav'n and ihentea of love. 

Let Bacchus Jove's ambmsial boy, 

Distil the gripe 

And while he smiles at every "tear. 

Let warm-ev'd Venus, da cing near, 

With spiiits of the genial led. 

Thede^y he > Inge def '.;. 

Let Love be there, without his arms, 

In timid nakedness of charms ; 
Degen thinks that this Ode is a more modern imita- 
tion of the preceding. There is a poem bv Caclius 
Calcagninus, in he manner of both, where be gives 
nstructious about the making of a ring. 
Tornabis innulum mihi 
£t fibre, et spte, et commode, *c, *e. 

Let Love be there, without his arms, $-e.] Thus 
Sauiiazaro in the eclogue of Gallicio nell' Arcadia: — 
VrgDao li Tighi Aniori 
Stdu rummell*, o sirili, 
Sehertmdo msirnn- pireolelti e audi 



OD ES OF ANACREON. 



21 



And all the Grace 'ink'd with Love, 
Stray, laughing, ttwOugb the shadowy grove; 
While rosy boy- disporting lound, 
In circlets'tiip the velvet ground 
But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 
I tremble for the rosy boys. 

Fluttering on the busy wing, 

A train of naked Cupids tame, 
Spo:ting aroui.d in harmless ring, 
Without a dart, without a tiara;. 
And thus in the Pervigilium Veneris : — 
Ite nymphae, posuit arma, feriatus est amor. 
Love is disarm'd— ye nymphs in safety stray, 
Your bosoms now may boast a holiday ! 

But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 

I tremble for the rosy boys.] An allusion to the 
fable, that Apolio hid killed his beloved boy Hya- 
cinth, while playing with him at quoits. "This 
(says M La Fosse) is assuredly Hie sen-e of the texi, 
and it catmo' admit of any other." 

The Italian transla'ors.'to save themse'ves the trou- 
ble of a noe, have taken the liberty c f making Ana- 
creon himself explain this fable. Thus Salvini, the 
t literal of any of them : — 

Ma con lor non giuochi Apollo; 

Che in fiero risco 

Col duro dsn 

A Giaciulu tiacco il collo. 



ODE VI. 

As late I sought the spangled bowers, 

To cull a wreath of matin flowers, 

Whete tinny an euly rose was weeping, 

1 found the urchin Cupid sleepi g. 

I caught the b''_v. a goble "s tide 

Was richly mantling b> my si le, 

I caujht him by his downy wing 

And whelm'd Dim in the racy spring. 

Then drank I down the poison'd bowl, 

And Love now nestles in my soul. 

Oh, yes, my soul is Cupid's ne^, 

I feel him fluttering in my bre.ist. 
This beautiful fiction, which the commentators 
have attributed to Julian, a royal poet, the Vatican 
MS. pronounces to be the genuine offspring of Ana- 
creon. It has, indeed, all the feilures of the parent : — 
et facile insciis 
Noscitetur ab omnibus. 
Where many an early rose was weeping, 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.] This idea is 
prettily imitated in the following epigram, by Andreas 
Naugerius: — 
Florentes dum forte vagans mea Hyella per hortos 

Texit odoratis lilia cana rosis, 
Ecce rosas inter latitantem invenit Amorem 

El simul annexis flonbus implicuit. 
Luctatur primo, et contra nitentibus alia 

Iudoinitus tentat solvere viucla piicr' 
Mox ubi lacteolas et ilignas matre papillas 

Vidit et ora ipsos nata m.ivere Deos, 
lmpositosque comae ambrosios ut sentit odores 

Quosque legit diti messe beatus Arabs ; 
* I (dixit) mea, quaere novum tibi, mater, Amorem, 

Imperio sedes haec eril apta ineo." 
As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, 
A wreath of many mingled llow'rets wove, 
Within a rose a sleeping Love she found, 
And in the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 
Awhile he struggled, and impatient tried 
To break the rosy bonds the virgin lied ; 
Bot when he saw her bosom's radiant swell, 
Her features, where the eye of Jove might dwell; 
And caught th' ambrosial odours of her hair, 
Rich us the breathings of Arabian air; 
"Oh ' mother Venus," (said the raptur'd child. 
By charms, of more than morial bloom, beguil'd,) 
"On, seek another boy, thou'st lost thine own, 
" Hyella's arms 6hull now be Cupid's throne! " 



This epigrnm of Naugerius is imitated by Lodovico 
Dolce, in a poem, beginning, 

Mentre raecoglie hor uno, hor altro flore 
Vidua a un rio di chiare et lucid' onde 
Lidla, &c, &.c. 

ODE "VII. 
The women tell me every day 
That all my bloom has past away. 
" Behold," the pretty wantons cry, 
" Behold this mirror with a sigh ; 
The locks upon thy brow are few, 
And, like the lest, they 're wi heting too !" 
Whether decline has IhinnM my hair, 
I 'm sine I neither know noi care ; 
But this 1 know, and this 1 feel, 
As onwatd to the tomb I sieal, 
Thai still a- death approaches nearer, 
The joys of life are sweeter, de rer; 
And had 1 but an hour lo live, 
Tlut li.tle hour to bliss 1 'd give. 
Alberti has imitated this Ode, in a poem, beginning, 
Nisa mi dice e Clisri 
Tirsi, tu se' pur veglio. 
Whether decline has thinnd my hair, 
I'm sure I neither know nor care;] Henry 
Stephen very justly lemarks the elegant negligence of 
expression in the original here: 

Eyco C£ ras /co/tac /iev. 

Kit £io-ii', £tr' airn\6ov, 

Oik oido. 

And Longepierre has adduced from Catullus, what he 

thinks a similar instance of this simplicity of man 

uer: — 

Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id qu^que nescit. 
Longepierre was a good critic ; but perhaps the line 
which he has selected is a specimen of a carele-sness 
not very commendable. At i lie same time I confess, 
Ibat none of the Latin poets have ever appeared to me 
so capable of imitating the graces ol Anicreon as 
Catullus, if he had not allowed a depraved imagination 
to hurry him so often into mere vuigar licentiousness. 
Thai still as death approaches nearer, 
The joys of life are tweeter, dearer;] Pojitanus 
has a very delicate thought upon the subject of old 
age: 

Quid rides, Malrona ? senem quid lemnis amanlem 1 

Quisquis amat nulla est londitiniie senex. 

Why do you scorn my want of youth, 

And wiili a smile my brow behold? 

Lady deirl believe tins truth, 

That he who loves cannot be old. 



ODE VIII. 

I care not for the idle s'ate 
Of Persia's king, the rich, the great: 
"The German poet Lessing has imitated this Ode. 
Vol. i. p. 24." Degen. Gail de Editiotiibns. 

Baxter conjectures that (bis was written jpon the 
occasion of our poet's returning the money to Poly- 
crates, according to the anecdote in Stoba;us. 
/ care not for the idle state 

Of Persia's king, fyc] "Thete is a f . gment of 
Archilochus in Plutarch, 'De tranquillitate ani 
which our poet has very closely imitated here; it 
begins, 

Ov fioi ra Fvytiu rov no\vxpvo-ov /*£>£!." 
BJlRKES. 
In one of the monkish imitators of Auacreon we find 
the same thought : — 

ipvxpv t/j.rjv £p<oT<o, 
Tt cm -SeAeic y£V£<r0at ; 
6£A£tj TvyEui ra icai ra ; 



r 22 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



I envy not the monarch's throne, 

Nor wish the treasur'd sold my own. 

But oh ! be mine the rosy wreath, 

Its freshness o'er my brow to bre.vhe j 

Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 

To coo! and scent my lucks of snow. 

To-d >y I 'II haste to <|uaff my wine, 

As if to-morrow ne'er would shine ; 

But if to-morrow comes, why then — 

1 'II haste to quaff my wine again. 

And thus while all our days are bright, 

Nor time his dinim'd their bloomy light, 

Let us the festal hours beguile 

With mantling cup and cordial smile, 

And shed from each new bowl of wine 

The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. 

For Death may come, with brow unpleasant, 

May come, when least we wish him present, 

And beckon to the sable shore, 

Aod grimly bid us — drink no more ! 

Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 
To cool and scent my locks of snow] In the origi- 
nal, uvpoio-i nara6ptx uv v~r) v V v - 0n account of 
this idea of perfuming ihe beard, Cornelius de Pauw 
pronounces the whole ode to be the spurious production 
of some lascivious monk, who was nursing his beard 
with unguents. But he should have known, that this 
was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we may be- 
lieve Savary, still exists : '• Vous voyez, Monsieur (says 
this traveller), que 1'usage antique de se parfumer la 
tete el la barbe,* celebre par le prophete Roi, subsiste 
encore de nos jours." Lettre 12. Savary likewise 
cites this very ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not 
thought the idea inconsistent, having introduced it in 
the following lines: 

Haec mihi rura, roeis et cingere tempora myrto, 

Kt curas multo delapidare rnero. 
Haec mini cure, i umaa et barbam tingere succo 

Assyrio el dukes coulinuare jot-on. 

This be my care, to wreathe my brow with flowera, 
To drench my sorrows in the ami It- bowl; 

To pour rich perfume* o'er my beard in showers, 
And give full loose lo mirlh and joy of soul. 



ODE IX. 

I pray Ihee, bv the gods above, 
Give me the mighty bowl I love, 
Ami let me sing, in wild delight, 
" I will — J will be mad to-night !» 
Alcma-oiionce, as legends tell, 
Was frenzied by the fiends of hell ; 

too, with naked tread. 
Frantic pac'd the mountain head : 
And why? a murder'd mother's shade 
Haunted them still where'er they strayed. 
But ne'er could I a murderer be.' 
The grape alone shall bleed by me : 
Vet can 1 shout, with wild delight, 
" I will — 1 will be mad to-night. 

Alcides' self, in days of yore, 
Imbru'd his hands in youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy. 
The quiver of th' expiring boy : 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield, 
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. 
But I, whose hands no weapon ask, 
No armour but this joyous tbsk ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scalter'd wreath of flowers 
Ev'n I can sing with wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-uight. 



The poet is here in a frenzy of enjoyment, and it is 
indeed, " amabilis insania ;" — 
Furor di poesia, 
Bi lascivia. e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Bac-co, Apollo, et Amore. 

Rilratli del Cavalier Marino. 

This is truly, as Scaliger expresses it, 



ODE X. 

How am I to punish thee, 
For (he wrong thou 'st done to me, 
Silly swallow, pratins thing- 
Snail I clip thai wheeling wing? 
Or, as Tereus did, of old, 
(So the fabled tale is told.) 
Shall I tear that tongue away, 
Tongue th >t ut'er'd such a lay? 
Ah. how thoughtless hast thou been ! 
Long before the dawn was seen, 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind, 
Just when I was nearly blest, 
Loud thy matins broke* my rest ! 

This ode is addressed to a swallow. I find from 
Degen and from Gail's index, that the German |>oet 
Weisse has imitated it, Scheiz. Lieder. lib. ii. carm. 
5. ; that K imler abo has imitated it. Lyr. Blumenlese, 
lih. iv. p. 335. ; and some others. See'Gail de Editi- 
onibus. 

We are here referred by Degen to that dull book, the 
Epis'lesof Alciphron, tenth epistle, third book ; where 
I»phon complains to Erast' n nf being wakened, by the 
crowing of a cock, from his vision of riches. 

Silly swallow, f ratine thine, 4-c] The loquacity 
of Ihe swallow was proverbial ized ; thus Nicostratus • 

Et to trvvtx<»S icai noWa Kai ra^rcos XaXuv 
Hv rov Qpovnv irapatrq/tov, a! xrAtcoi'fj 
EAtyovr' av ^/itov o-ui0poi'£O"T£p<u jroAv. 

If in prating from morning till night 

A sien ot our wisdom there be. 
The swallows are wiser by risht. 

For they prattle much faster than we. 

Or, as Terctis did, ^f old, ^-c] Modern poetry has 
confirmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale ; 
but many respec'abte authorities among the ancients 
assigned this metamorphose lo Frogne, and made Fliilo- 
mel Ihe swallow, as Anacreon does here. 



ODE XI. 

" Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee. 

What in purchase shall I pay Ihee 

For this little waxen tnv. 

Image of the Paphian ! 

Thus I snd, the other 

To a youth who |>as."d u.y way : 

"Sir," - ' ,'he answer'd. and' the while 

At sner'd all in D ric - 

"Take it. for a trifle lake it; 

■T was not I who dared to make it ; 

No, believe me, "t was not I : 

Oh, it has cost me many a sigh, 

It is difficult lo preserve wilh any grace the narra- 
tive simplicity of this ode, and the h 
wilh which it concludes. I feel, indeed, that the 
translation must a; I ludicrous, to an 

English reader. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



23 



And I can no lo.iter keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep !" 

" Here, (hen, here," (I sal J with joy,) 

" Here is silver for the boy : 

He shall be my bosom 2ue"st, 

Idol of my pious breast: - ' 

Now, young Love, I have thee mine, 
Warm me with that torch of thine 
Make mefeel is I have felt, 
Or thy waxen frame shall melt: 
I must burn with warm desire. 
Or thou, my boy — iu yonder tire. 

And I can no lonser keep 

Little gods, who murder-sleep .'] I have not lite- 
rally rendered ihe epithet KavTOQtK-a ; if it has any 
meaning here, it is one, perhaps, belter ornited. 

/ must bum with xva.7~m desire. 

Or ihou, my buy — in yonder fire.'] From this 
Lnngepierre conjectures, that, whatever Anacreon 
might sav, he felt sometimes the inconveniences of old 
age, and here solici's from the power of Love a warmth 
which he could no longer expect from nature. 



ODE XIL 

They tell how Atys, wild with love, 
Roams the mount and haunted grove; 
Cybele's name he howls around, 
The gloomy blast returns the sound ! 
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring, 
The votaries of the laurel I'd king 
Quail' the inspiring, magic s'ream, 
And rave in wild, prophe'ic dream. 
But frenzied dreams are not for uie, 
Gre >t Bacchus is my deity ! 
Full of mirth, and full of nim, 
While floating odours round me swim, 
While mantling bowls are full supplied, 
And you sit blushing by my side, 
I will be mid and raving too — 
Mad, my girl, with love for you '■ 

They UU how Atys, wild with love, 

Roams tin mount and haunted grove;] There 
are many contradictory Wories of the loves of Cybcle 
and Aty's. It is certain that he was mutilated, but 
whether by his own fury, or Cybele's jealousy, is a 
point upon which authors are not agreed. 

CyUle's name he howls around, qVa] I have here 
adopted the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives 
to Cyheie : — 

In montibus Cybelea 
Magno ioaana boatu. 

Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring, q>c] This 
fountain was in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and 
situated between Colophon and Lebedos, in Ionia 
The god had an oracle there, Scaliger thus alludes to 
it iu uis Anacreontica: 

Semel ut concitus oestro, 

Veluti qui Clarias aqua* 

Ebibere Icquaces, 

Quo plus caouut, plura volunt. 

WfctT* floating odours, qVc.] Spaletti has quite 
mistaken the import of tcopt<r8tig, as a| plied to the 
poet's mistress — " Mea fatisatus arnica ; » — thus in- 
terpreting it iu a sense which must want either deli- 
cacy or gallantry ; if not, perhaps, both. 



ODE XIIL 

I wiH, I will, the conflict's past. 
And I '11 consent to love at last. 
Cupid has long, wi'h smiling art, 
Invited me to yield my heart ; 



And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign'd ; 
And so repell'd the tender luie, 
And hop'd my heart would sleep secure. 

But, slighted in his boated charms, 
The angry infant flew to arms ; 
He sluuj his quiver's colden frame, 
He took his bow, his shafts of rlniie, 
And proudly sunimou'd me to yield, 
Or meet him on the martial held. 
Anil what did I unthinking do? 
I took to arms, undaunted, too ; 
As-uai'd the corslet, shield, and spear, 
Aud, like Pelides, smiPd at fear. 
Then (hear it, all ve powers above !) 
I fought with Love! I fought with Love 1 
And now his arrows all were stied, 
And I had jus' in terror fled — 
When, heaving an Indignant sigh, 
To see me thus unwounded fly," 
And. having now no other dart. 
He shot himself into my heart'. 
Mv heart — alas, the luckless day ! 
Receiv'd the GoJ, and died away. 
Farewell, farewell, my fii'hles 'shield ! 
Thy lord at length is f re'd to yield. 
Vain, vain, is every outward care. 
The foe's within, and triumphs there. 

And what did I unthinking do? 

I took to arms, undaunted, too;] Loneepierre 
has here quoted an epigam from the Anthologia, in 
which the poet assumes Reason as the armour against 
Love. 

Q,K\iarp.ai irpoc eptara frrpi <TTtovoi<n \oyurpAv, 
Otto's lit viKTjcru, povos tutv trpoc iva.' 

Qvaroc fi' aOuvaria <rvvi\e.v<rop.at. r)V fie ponOov 
Baicxov txfy Tt fiovos rpoc cV cy<u ivvap-at. ; 
With Reason I cover my breast as a shield. 
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ; 
Thus d gating his ectisSiip. I'll ue'er be dismay'd; 
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 
Alas '. then, unable to combat the two. 
Unfortunate warrior, what should I tot 

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus 
united, is delicately ev|. r es-ed in an Italian poem, 
which is so tiuly Anacreontic, that its introduction 
here may be pardoned. It is ac imitation, indeed, ol 
our poet's sixth Ode. 

Lavoesi Amnre in quel vicioc Some 

Ove giuro (Pastor) che beveod' io 

Bevei !e riamme, auzi ristesso Dio, 

Ch'orcon I'humide piume 

Lascivetto mi echerza al cor iutornn. 

Ma che sarei s' io Io l-.evessi us giorno, 

Baioo, net tuo liquore ? 

Sarei, piu che oon scuo ebro d'Amore. 

The urchin of the bow and quiver 

Was bathing in a neighbouring riv-r. 

Where, as I tlrank on yester-eve, 

(Shepherd-youth, ttw tale believe,) 

T was not a cooling, crystal draught, 

•T was liquid flame I madly qnart'u; 

For Love was io Ihe rippling tide, 

I felt him to my bosom glide ; 

Aud now (he wily, wanton minion 

Plays round my heart with restless pinion. 

A day it was of fatal star, 

But ah, "I were even more fatal far. 

If, Bacchus, iu thy cup of rire, 

I found this flulfriDg jrn i,-d desire : 

Theo, then indeed my Bnul would prove, 

Ev'u more than ever, ttruuk" with love! 

And, having now no other dart. 
He shot himself into my lieart .'] Drydeti fru 
parodied this thought in the following extravagant 
lines : — 

I 'm all o'er Love; 

Nay, I am Love. Love shot, aud shot go fast. 
He shot himself into my breast at last. 



24 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE XIV. 

Count me, on the summer trees, 
Every leaf that courts tbe breeze; 
Count me, on the foamy deep, 
Ever;,- wave that sinks 'to Bleep ; 

The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means 
nothinz more, than, by a lively hyperbole, 10 inform 
us, that his heart, unfettered by any one object, was 
warm with devotion towards the sex in general. 
] Cowlev is indebted to this Ode for the hint of his bal- 
lad, called '• The Chronicle ; " and the learned Menage 
lias imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, which has so 
much ease and spirit, that the reader may not be dis- 
pleased at seeing it here : — 

nPOE BlflNA. 
Ei a^a-Kuv tol ck'AAa, 
Aitiiuiviovs rt /roiac, 
Ei vvktos acrrpa navra, 
IlapOKTioiic te i//a^/ioi;s, 
'AAoc t£ KVfiaTUitri, 
Ativn, Bioov, agidfitiv, 
Kai tovs tfiovs tpwraj 
Avvrj, Bi<uv, apiO/mtv. 
KooTjv, yvvaitea, Xrjoav, 
L/UKpriv, Mtcrnv, Altyio-Tijv, 
AivKijv Tt icai MtXana v, 
Op£iaioc, Nairaiac, 
''ac t£ iracac 
"O troc <£iAoc $iAno-£. 

HaVTUtV KOpOS \LIV £(7TlV. 
AVTT)V VHUV KouiTulV, 

Atcrnotvav A£poc*irnv, 
Xr/va-nv, icaAnv, yAv<£iav, 
Epac/iiar, koOuvijv, 
Ati /j.ovi]V diAno-<u 
Eyioy£ /in lovainrjv. 

Tell the foliage of the wood*. 
Tell the billows of the 
J> umber midnight's narry store. 
And the sai.il* that crowd tl 
Then, my Bion, thou m.iy«t lount 
Of my love* the vast amount. 
1 've been loving, all my days. 
Many nymphs, in maty ways; 

maid, unit w\ e — 
I've been doting all my life. 
Salads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains 

■ a and mountains. 
Fair and table, great and small. 
i*ei 1 Miur I 've invM them all! 
Soon was every pa-sum over, 
I in< but the moment's lover; 
Oh '. I 'in such a rnvmg elf. 
That the CI eeu of Love herself. 
Though she piailisM all her wiles, 
Roay blushes, wreathed - 
All hei le ivour 

C-uld not i-hain my heart for ever. 

Count »)ie, on the tumrmtr trees, 
Every leaf, i-c ] 1 bis li^re is called, by rhetori- 
cian*. The Impossible (aevvarov,) and is very fre- 
quently made u>* of in poetry. The amatory writers 
have exhausted a world of imajery by it, to expiess 
Ihe infinite number of kisses which they require from 
the lips of their mistresses: in this Catullus led the 
way. 

— Quam sidera multa. cum tacet nox, 

! hominum v ilenl amores ; 
Tam te hi,*ia multa basiare 

Ho est: 
Quae nee pernumeiare i 
l'ussint, uec mala fascinare lingua. Carm. 7. 

As many stellar eye* of licht. 
As through the silent waste of night, 
I ii.-ou this world of shade, 
some secret youth aud maid. 



Then, when you hive number'd these 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
C"unt me all the dames 1 prove, 
All the senile nymph- I love. 
Kir-t, ol pure Athenian maids 
ng in their olive shades, 
V U may reckon just a score, 
Is'ay. 1 li grant you fifteen more. 
In the fam*d Coritrh'an grove, 
Where such countle-s wantons rove, 
Chains of beau'ies may be found, 
Chains, by which my heart is I 
Tl ere. indeed, are nymphs divine, 
Dangerous to a soul like mine. 
M .n> biooni in Lesbos" isle: 
Many in Ionia smile ; 
Rhodes a pretty swan:, can boast ; 
Carta too contains a host. 
Sum them all — of brewn and fair 
Y' u may count two thousand there. 
What, you s are ? I ptay you, } I 
More I'll Bud before 1 ce'.se. 
Have I told you all my flames, 
'Mong the amnions Swian d?nies>? 
Have 1 numbered eaery one. 
Glowing under Eeyp - ■ 
t)r the nym| i. sweet 

Deck the shrine of Love in Cree ; 
Where the God, with festal play, 
Holds e'emal t 
Still in clusters, still' remain 

! 'rain ; 
Still there lies a myri d more 
Un Ihe sab!e India's shore; 

\ far remov'd, 
loving— all are lov'd! 

Bar ce thou, and fond as I, 

eie I s umber. 
Uron thi*e dew-bright lips I 'II number; 
So lna< 
Ei.vy . 

goe shall blab the sum. but mine; 
I hall fsMinate. but thine ' 
7?i the fnni'd C 

ve. Sj-c] Corinth 
for the Lrauty ai 

I 

that the gods should iictt-a- 

! 

the verb r 

city of the Corinthiai - 

' ed, art nvmrhs divine, 
Dattfn ''With justice 

has the p et attriLuUra beauty to the .' 
— Degen, 

F<uw. the author of Disserta'inns upon the 
Greeks, is of a different opinion; It 
capricious partial \ had "ill 

Ihe beauty ; and I 

count for a very singular depravatiou oi instinct among 
that people. 

farm, chtirinr train;] The G 
girls were like the Faladienes of li 
are thus described I y a ¥•■ 
sont pre-que toutt - 
le dessein, les »H 

s character of theii da-c; _ 
Martial : — 

Oui.tioa qui Xili.qui (isd:ta«e scnmit. 

cpig. 63. 
Lodovico Ariosto h?d th s ode of our batd in Lis 
en he wrote his poem " De diversis amori- 
lorum. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



25 



ODE XV. 

Tel. me, why, my sweetest dove, 
Thus your humid pii ions move, 

: ling through 'he air in showers 
Kssence of the balmiest flowers? 
'Jell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweelest dove. 

Curious stranger, I belong 
To the bard of Teian sonic ; 
Wi h his mandate now I Hy 
To the nymph of azure eye ; — 
She, whose eve has maddcn'J many, 
But the poet in: re than any. 
Venus, for a hymn of love, 
Warbled in her votive grove, 
('T was in sooth a gentie lay,) 
Gave me to ihe bard away. 
See me now his faithful minion, 
Thus with softly gliding pinion, 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of , a-si n through the air. 
Oft he blandly whispers lue, 
"Soon, my bird. 1 Ml sei you free." 
But in vain he'll bid me fly, 
1 shall serve him till I die. 
Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruflltng v\ inds' and Chilling rain, 
O'er Ihe plains, or in Ihe dell. 
On the mountain's savage swell, 
Seeking hi ihe desert wood 
Gloomy shelter, ruslic food. 
Now Head a life ot ease, 
Far from rugged haun s like these. 
From Anacreon's hand I eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet; 

The d-ne of Anacreon. bearing a letter from the poet 
to his niislre-s. is met by a stringer, wilh whom this 
dialogue is imagined. 

The ancients made u-e of letter-carrying pigeons, 
when they went any distance from h me. a> the most 
ceitin means of conveying intelligence back. That 
tender domestic attachment, which attracts this deli- 
ca'e iittle biid through every d mgtr and difficulty, till 
it set les in its native nes'. attb'ds to the author of "The 
Pleasures of Mem ry" a hue and interesting exempli- 
fication of his subject. 



See the poem. Daniel Heinsius, in speaking of 
Dousa, who adopted this method at the siege of Lcyden, 
expresses a similar sentiment. 

Quo patriae nnn tendit amor? Mandata referre 
Postquam hominem nequiit miltere, misit avem. 

Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, the 
Christians intercepted a letter, tied to the legs of a 
dove, in which the Per-ian Emperor promised .ssist- 
ance to the besieged.— Holy War, cap. 24, book i. 

She, whose eye has madden'd many, tfc] For 
rvpavvov, in the original. Zeune and J-chneider con- 
jeciuie thai we should lead rvpavvov, in allusion to 
the stiong influence which this object of his love held 
over ihe mind of Polyctates. See Degen. 

Venus, for a hymn of love, 

Warbled in her votive gr.jtte, f,-c.] "This passage 
is invaluible. and 1 do not think that any ihing so beau- 
tiful or so delicae has ever been said. What an idea 
does it give of the poetry of the man, from whom Ve- 
nu- herself, the mother of the Graces and the Pleasures, 
purcha-es a little hymn with one of her favourile 
doves ! v — Lonsejiitrre. 

De Pauw ol jects to the authenticity of this ode, be- 
cause it makes Anacreon his own panegyrist : bu' 
poets have a license for praising Ihems-lve-, which, 
With some indeed, may be cons dered as comprised 
under Ibeir general privilege of fiction. 



Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, 
Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then, when I hive wauton'd round 
To his lyie's beguiling sound ; 
Or with gently moving wings 
Fann'd (he mi'n-ire) while he sings: 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dieaming still of dulcet numbers ! 

This is all — away — away — 
Vou have made me waste the d iy. 
How I 've challei'd '. prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 



ODE XVI. 

Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
Mimic form and soul infuse, 
Be.-t of i ain ers, come portray 
'J he lovely maid that 's faraway. 
Far away, my soul ! thou art, 
But I've thy beauties all by heart. 
P.iut herjeity ringlet* pi i; i,.sr, 
Silky locks, like tendrils s'lraymg . 

This ode and the next may be called companion- 
pictures ; they ate highly finished, and give us an ex- 
cellent idea of ihe laste of the ancient* in beauty. 
Franciscus Junius quotes them in his third book ''De 
Pictura Vete'um." 

'J his ode has been imitated by Ronsard, Giuliano 
Goselini, &c. &c. Scaliger alludes to it thus in his 
Anacreontics : 

01 im lerore blando, 
Litis v. rsibns 
Candidas iVnacreoa 
Quam i iogen I amicus 
Dcscripsit Venerem suara. 

The Teian hard of former davs. 
Attuu'd his sweet descriptive lays, 
And taught the painter's hand io trace 
His fair heloved'a every ^race. 

In Ihe dialogue of Caspar Parlae-us, enti'led "An 
formosa sit ducenda," the leader will find many cu- 
rious ideas and descriptions of womanly beauty. 

Thou, whose soft and rosy huet 

Mimic form and scud infuse,] I have followed 

re the reading of the Vatican 
is called " ihe rosy art," either 
ing, or as an indefinite epithet of excellence, fr^m the 
association of beauty with 'bat flower. Salviui has 
adopted this reading in his literal translation: — 

Delia rosea arte siguore. 

The lovely maid that 's far away. ] If this portrait 
of the poet's mislri-ss be not merely ideal, the oini-sion 
of her name i- much to be regretted. Melea^er, in an 
epigram on Anacreon, mentions "ihe golden Eury- 
pyle" as his mistress. 

Bi6\tjkws xQ v0 ~ cr l v X tl 9 a S tx' EvovrrvXtj-v. 

Paint her jetty ringlets flaying. 

Silky locis like tendrils straying;] The ancients 
have been very enthusiastic in their | raises of the 
beauty of hair. Apu'eius, in the second book of his 
Milesiacs, says, that Venus herself, if she were bald, 
though surrounded by the Graces and 'he Loves, could 
n t be pleasing even to her husband Vulcan, 

Stesichorns gave the epithet KaAAitrAoica/ioc to Ihe 
Graces, and Simonides bestowed ihe same upon Ihe 
Muses. See Hadriin Junius's Dissert oti n upon Hair. 

To this passage of O'.r poet, Srlden alluded in a iute 
on the Poljoibio'i of Drayton, Sons the -ecoid, where 
observing that the epithet '• black-hartd" w.-.s given 
by some of the ancients to the soddess Is s, he says, 
•'N t will I swear, but that Anacreon (a man very 
judicious in the provoking motives of wanton love), 



2C 



ODES OF ANACREON, 



And, if paicting hath the skill 
To make the spicy balm distil, 
Let every little lock exhale 
A sigh of perfume on the gile. 
Where he tresses' curly flow- 
Darkles o'er the brow of snow, 
Let her forehead beam to light 
Burnish'd as the ivory b ight. 
I«et her eyebrows smooth]; rise 
In jetty arches o'er her eyes, 
Each, 'a crescent gently sliding, 
tdivii"' 



Just I 



JUS! I 



illlg. 



But, hast thou any sparkles warm, 
The lightning of her eyes to form ? 
Let them elluse the azure rays 
That in Minerva's glances blaze, 
Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In Cytherea's languid eyes. 
O'er her nose and cheek be shed 
Flushing white anJ s ften'd red ; 
Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bashful rose. 
Then her liji, so rich in blisses, 
Sweet petitioner for kisse-, 

intending to bestow on his sweet mistress that one of 
the titles of woman's special ornament, well-haired 
(KaAAttrAoica/ioc). thought of this when he gave his 
painter direction to make her black-haired." 

And if painting hath the skill 

To make the spicy balm distil, 4-cl Thus Phi- 
lostratus, speaking of a picture: t~aiv<u *coi tov ev- 
Cpoo-ov tov (ioIuiv, Kai (ptj/ii ytyoatpSai avra utra 
tt/C ocr/ins- "I admire the dewiness of these >oses, 
and could say that their vary smell was painted." 

Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In CylhareaU languid eyes.] Marchetti explains 
thus the* vypov ol the original : — 

Dip ngili umidetti 

Trctnuli e la--civctti, 

Quai gli ha Cipngna l'alma Dea d'Amcre. 

manner the eyes of 



le scintilla on riso 



Within her humid, melting eye* 
A brilliant ray of laughter lies. 
Soft as the broken solar beam, 
That trcmblm iu the azure stream. 

The minzled expression of digni'y and tenderness 
which Anacreon requires the painter to infuse into the 
eyes of his mistress, is more amply described in the 
subsequent ode. Both descriptions are so exquisitely 
touched, that the artist must have been great indeed, 
if he did not yield in painting to Ike poet 

Mingling tints as when there glows 
In snoiuy milk tlie bashful rose.] Thus Proper- 
tius, eleg. 3. lib. ii. 

Ut^ue rosae puro lacte nataut folia. 

And Davenant, in a little poem called ,; The Mis- 
tress," 

Catch at it (alls the Scythian snow. 
Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. 
Thus too Taygetus : — 

Quae lac atque rosas vincis eandore rubenti. 
These last words may perhaps defend the "flushing 
white" of the translation. 

Then her lip, so rich in blisses. 

Sweet yetit toner for kisses.] The " lip, provoking 
kisses." in the original, is a strong and beautiful ex- 
pression. Achilles Tatitis speaks of ^nXt uaXOaica 
irpoc ra ^tAn/tara, " Lips soft and delicae for kiss- 



Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love's invasion. 
Next,"ber,ea'h The velvet chin. 
Whose dimple hides a Love within, 
Mould her neck with grace descending. 
In a heaven of beauty ending ; 
While countless chamis, above, below, 
Sport and flutter round its <now. 
Now let a ('.rating, lucid veil, 
Shadow her f rm~ but not conceal ; 
A charm may peep, a hue may team, 
And leave the rest to Farcy's "dream. 
En uih — 't is she ! 't is all I seek ; 
It glows, it lives, it soon will speak ! 

ing." A grave old commentator, Dinnysius Lambinus, 
in his notes U|>on Lucretius, tells us with the apparent 
authority of experience, that '"Suavus vims osculan- 
tur puellae labiosse, quam q>;ae sunt bievibus 1 ibris " 
And JEneas Sylvius, in his tedious uninteresting story 
of the loves of Euryalus and Lucretia, where he par- 
ticularises the beau ies of the heroine (in a very false 
and laboured style of latinity), describes her lips thus : 
— "Os parvum dcceiisqi.e." labia cirallini cocoris ad 
mor^um aptissima."— Epist. 114. lib. i. 

Aexf, beneath the velxxt chin. 
Whose dimpUs hide a I.ove within, 4 - c] Madame 
Dacier has quoted here two pretty lines of Varro: — 



In her chin is a delicate dimple, 

By Cupid's own finger imprest; 
There Beauty bewitchmgly simple, 

Has chosen her innocent nest. 

Now let a floating, lucid veil, 

Shadow her form, but not conceal, fyc.] This deli- ■ 
cate art of description, which leaves imagination to ' 
complete the picu-e, ha* been seldom adopted in the 
imitations of this beau'iful poem. Rm-ard is excep- 
liombly minute; and P litianus, in his charming por- 
trait of a girl, full of rich and exquisite diction, has 
lifted the veil rather too much. The - questo che to 
m' intendi" should always be lefl to fancy. 



And now with all thy pencil's truth, 
Portray Ba'hyllus. lovely youth! 
Let his hair, in masses bright, 
Fall like floating rays of light ; 
And there the ra 

With the gilden sunbeam's tiuis. 
Let no wrea'h. with artful twine, 
The flowing of his locks confine j 

The reader, who washes fn acquire an accurate idea 
of the judgmeut of the ancients in beauty, will be in- 
dulged by "consulting Junius de Pictura Veteran), lib. 
3, cap. 9.' where he Will find a very curious selection 
of descriptions and epithets of per* nal perfectirns. 
Junius compares this ode with a descrip'iou of Theo- 
doric, kins of the Goths, in the second er istle. first 
book, of Sidonius Apollinaris. 

Let his hair, in masses fright 

Fall tike floating rrys of light. J-cl He here de- 
scribes the" sunny tair." tl i « • ich 'he 
ancients st muck admied. The Roman pave this 
colour artificially to their hair. See Stani: 
zyck. de Luxu Romauoium. 

Let no wreath with art'ul Heine. $-c ] If the 
original here, which is particularly 1 dutiful, can ad- 
mit of anv additional value, that value is conferred by 
Gray's admiration of it. Seehisle't 

Some annotators have quo'ed on this pa«sage the 
description of Photis's hair in Apuleius; but 



ODES OF ANACREON 



27 



Bu> have lliem 'oi'e to every b eeze. 
To lake « hat si ap:- and c urse they please. 
Beneath the fordi ad. far as MOW, 
Jsut i.ush'd with manhood's eai ly glow, 
And guileless a- the dews of dawn, 
Let the majestic bro»s be drawn, 
Of ebon hue. emich'd by gold, 
Such as dirk, shining sixties unfold. 
Mix in his eyes the power alike, 
With love to win, with a>ve to strike j 
Borrow fiom M<rs his look of ire, 
From Venus her s >fl glance of fire ; 
Blend them in such expression here, 
That we by turns may hope and fear ! 

Now from ihe sunny apple seek 
The velvel d-m n that spre.ds h.s cheek ; 
And Ihere. if ar an f.r can so, 
Th' ingenuous blu-h of boyhood show. 
While, for his month — but no. — in vain 
Would word, is witching charm explain. 
Make it the vety seat, the throne, 
That Eloquence would claim her own; 

can be more distant from the simplicity of our poet's 
manner, than that affectation of richness which distin- 
guishes ihe style of Apuleius. 

Butflvsh'd with manhood's early glow, 
And guiUUss as the dews of davjn, 4"C] Torren- 
tius, upon the words •' iiisignem tenui fron'e." in 
Horace. (Jd 33, lib. 1, is of opinion, incorrectly, I 
think, that " lenui" here hears the same meaning as 
the word axaXov. 

Mix in his eyes the power alike, 
IVith love to win, with awe to strike, 4-c] Tasso 
gives a similar character to the eyes of CI01 inda : — 



The poetess Veronica Cambara is more diffuse upon 
this variety of expres.-ion : — 
Occhi lucenti e belli, 

Come eescr puo ch' in un medesmn Istante 
Nascan de voi si nuove f.-rme et tanle ? 
Lieti. mesti, superbi, liumil', altieri, 
Vi mostrate in uu punto, ondc di speme, 
Et di timor, de empiete, ice. &c 

Oh! tell me, brightly-beaming eye. 
Whence in your little orbit lie 
So many difl'erent traits of fire, 
ExpresMiisr each a nrtv desire. 
Now with pride or scorn you darkle. 
Now with love, with gladness, sparkle, 
While we who view the varying mirror. 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 

Chevreau, citing the lines of our poet, in his critique 
on the poems of M ilherbe, produces a Lalin version of 
(hem from a manuscript which he had seen, entitled 
"Joan. Falconis Anacreontic! Lusus." 

That Eloquence would claim her own ;] In the 
original, as in the preceding Ode, Pi ho, the goddess 
of persuasion, or eloquence. It v/as worthy of the 
delicate imagination of the Greeks to deify Persua- 
sion, and give her the lips for her throne. We are 
here reminded of a very interesting fragment of Ana- 
creon. preserved by the scholiast upon Pindar, and 
supposed to belong to a poem reflecting with some 
severity on Simonides, who was the first, we are told, 
that ever made a hireling of his muse : — 

Oud"' agyvoen nor' t\a[iipt ZlziOui. 

Nor yet had fair Persuasion shone 
In silver splendours, not her own. 



And let Ihe lips, though si'ent, wear 
A life-look, as if words weie there. 

Next thou his ivory neck must trace, 
Moulded wilh solt but manly grace; 
Fair as he neck of Paphia's boy. 
Where Paphia's arms have hung in joy. 
Give him ihe Winged He mes' hand, 
With which he waves his snaky wand; 
Let Bacchus the bioad che-t supply, 
And Leda's sou the sinewy thigh ; 
While, through his whole transparent frame, 
Thou shou'st he st-rri- gs 1 f that t'.anie, 
Which kindles, when the first love-sigh 
Steals from the heart, unconscious »hy. 

But sure thy pencil, though so blight, 
Is envious of the eye's delight, 
Or its enamoured t< uch would show 
The -houider, fair as sunle-s snow, 
Which now in veiling -hadow lies, 
Remov'd from all but Fa; cy's eye«. 
Now, for his feet — but hold — forbear — 
I see the sun-god's portrait there; 
Why paint B.ttlyllus? when, in truth, 
There, in thai god, thou'st sketch'd the youth. 
Enough — le' this bright form be mine, 
And send the boy to Samos' shiine; 
Phcebus shall then Bathvllus be, 
Baihyllus then, the deity ! 

And let the lips, though silent, -wear 

A life-look, as if words were 1 Aeie.l In the original 
AaAwv morrn. The niisiress of Petraich " parla con 
silenzio," which is perhaps the best method of female 
eloquence. 

Give him the winzed Hermes' 1 hand, <$-c.] In 
Shakspeare's Cymbeline there is a similar method of 
description: — 

this is his hand. 

His foot mercurial, his martial thigh, 
The brawns of Hercules. 

We find it likewise in Hamlet. Lnngepierre thinks 
that ihe hands of Mercury are selected by Anacreon, 
on account of the graceful gestures which were sup- 
posed to characterise the g^d of eloquence ; hut Mer- 
cury »as also the patron of thieves, and may perhaps 
be praised as a light-fingered deity 

But hold — forbear — 

/ see the sun-god's portrait there ;~\ The abrupt 
turn here is spiri'ed, but requires s nie explanation. 
While the artist is putsuine the portrait of Bathyllus, 
Anacreon. we must suppose, luuis round and sees a 
picture of Apollo, which was intended for an altar at 
Samos. He then instantly tells ihe painter to cease 
his work; that this pic'ure will serve for Bathvllus; 
and that, when he goes to Samos, he may make an 
Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he had 
begun. 

" Bathyllus (says Madame Dacier) could not be 
more elegantly praised, and this one passage does him 
more honour than the statue, however beautiful it 
might be, which Polycrates laised to him." 



ODE XVIII. 



Now the star of dav is high, 
Fly. my girls, in pity fly. 
Bring me wine in brimming urns, 
Cool my lip, it burns, it burns! 

An elegant translation of this Ode, says Degen, 
may be found in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. v. p. 
403. 

Bring me wine in brimming urns, 4-c] Orig. 



33 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



S'.nn'd by the nierid an fire, 

Pautin;, la, guid 1 expiie. 

Give rue all those hunnJ flowers, 

Drop them o'e my brow in sh ■wers. 

Scarce a breathing chainlet now 

L;ve* upon ni) feverish brow; 

Every dewy r.ise I wear 

Sheds ii^ tears, and withers there. 

But to you, my burning- heart, 

Wh,a can now reli.f imparl ? 

Can brimming bowl, or liowret's dew, 

Cool the flame that scorches you ? 

7ri«v afi va-rt. The arnystis was a method of drink- 
among -he Thracians. Thi.s Horace, 
"Tbreicia viocat amystide." Mad. Dacier, Longe- 
pierre, *cc. &c. 

Parrhasius, in his twenty-sixth epistle, (Thesaur. 

Critic, vol i.; explains Ihe amysiis as a draught to Le 

. breath, '• una haustu." A 

note in the margii I l'airh.sius, says, 

'• Puliliauus vestem esse putaba!,'' but adds no re;er- 



Givc 7/ie all those humid flowers, $-c.] According 
to the original reading of ti.is line, the poet savs, 
"Give me the flowei of wine''— IJ-te loecuksj Lyati, 
as it is in the version of Elias Andreas; and 



as Regnier has it, who supports the reading. The 
word Avtioi would undoubtedly bear I his application, 
which is s mew hat sinni.r to'i's import iu the epi- 
gram ot Siinoiiidrs upon Sophocles: — 

Eo-fito-Sijc. ytpait Eotf>cicA££C, avOo$ aoiduv. 

and flos in Ihe Latin is frequently applied in the same 
manner — thus Cetheguj is called by En 
inhbitiis populi, suadaeque medulla. "The immacu- 
late flower of the people, and the very Dtl 
prrsuasr . nses cited by Anlu- Gellius. 

lib. xii., which Cicero praised, and Seneca thought 
ridiculous. 

But iu the passage before us if we admit ikuvuiv, 
icc'irdiug to Fiber's CO jecture, the sense is sufficieut- 
ly cleir, without having recourse to such refinements. 

Every dewy rose I icear 

ill Un. and withers there.] There are 
some beautiful lines, by Angenanus, upon a garland, 
which 1 cauuot resist quoting here: — 

Ante fores madidae sic sic pecdile co'ol!ae. 
Mane orto impneel Caelia vm rapili; 

Aiquutn per mveam ceivtcetn influxerit humor, 
Duite. oon runs sed pluvia baec lacrimae. 

By Celia's arbour all the night 

Hang, humid wreath, the hirer's vow; 

And haply, a' 'h- morning light. 
My lore shall twine thee rjund her brow. 

Then, if uprn her boaom bright 

Imps of dew shall fall from thee. 
Tell her, they are not drops of night, 
B.l tears of sorrow shed by we ! 

Ii .he poem of Mr. Sheri.lan's. " Uncouth is this 
moss-covered groilo of stone." there is an idea very 
singularly coincident with this of Angerianus: — 

And thno, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve 
Some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew ; 

Let them fall on her bosom of -duw, and they '11 serve 
As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. 

But to yon, my burning heart, ,yc] The transi- 
tion here is peculiarly delicate an 1 impassioned ; but 
the commen a'ors have perplexed the seutiment by a 
variety of readings and conjectures. 



ODE XIX. 

Here recline you, gentle maid, 
Sweet is this embowering shade; 
Sweet the est trees, 

Rutlied by the kissing Lreeze ; 
Sweet 'he little foun s that weep, 
Lulling soft the mind to sleep ; 
Haik ! they whi>i er as they roll, 
Calm pe stiasii u to the 
Tell me. tell me, is not this 
All a sii.lj scene of bliss? 
Who, my jirl, would pass it by? 
Surely neither you nor 1. 

The description of this bower is so natural and ani- 
mated, that we almost feel a degiee of coolness and 
fre-hness while we pe:use it. Longepierre has 
quoted from the first book of the Anlhol s 
billowing epigram, as somewhat resembling this 
Ode: — 

EpX t0 Kai Kar ' eflav IS CV *ITw», 4 TO Hl>lX9 0V 

Ilpoc fia\n<ovs 7?££i KtKXiptva y 
Hl'lCt KOI KpOl'VtC/ia /ttAicroitc, £l'^a /i£.Uo-c*io« 
'UCvv tprinawii ijrvov oym icaAa/ioic. 
Come, sit by the shadowy pne 

That covers my sylvan retreat ; 
And see h< w ttic branches in< hue 

The breathing of zephyr to meet. 
See the fr.untain. that, flowing, diffuses 

By its blink, as the traveller muse*, 
1 soothe him to sleep with my lay. 

Here recline yoii, gentle moid SfC.] The Vatican 
MS. rrais la n'Wov, which lenders the wh 

• 'he rrad- 

a ff'ace that I lati ed to in 

writing of his bny .\<m]o. See the epigram cf this 
philosopher, which 1 quo e on he twentv-secoiid 

There is another epigram by this philosopher, p-e- 
:.e word. 
Ao-Ttjo jrpiv fitv £.Va/i7T£C ivi ^cuoitriv fiuoc, 
Nv v (e Savuiv Auartii Iczcooi iv pj/i/wvotc. 

In life thou wert my morning star. 
But now th.il death ha? st p|"u thy light, 

Ab.» : thou shine t dim aid far. 

Like the pale beam that weeps at night. 

In the Veneres Blyenburt l.iad of 

• 4 Allusiones,"' we fin J a number of such frigid con- 
ceits upon names, selected Lorn the p ets ol I 
die ages. 

H'Ao, my eirl, would pass it ly ? 

Svnlt ntilhtr r.nish given to the 

picture "by tins simple exclamation tic ai 
irapiKBot, is inimit ble. Vet a French U 
says o the pasa::c '■ This conclusi 
too trirlirg after sw , and I thought pro- 

per to add some what to the s reogth i f the 



ODE XX. 

One day the Muses twin'd the ' 

Ol infi'nt L ve with I 

An.l • 

The captive infant for her slave. 

The poet apneirs, in this gnreful allegory, to de- 
scribe the softening influence u bich 
the m nl, in making it i^culiar', 

_ rpigram, 
however 

30 the Muses au ; the in- 

fluence of Love. 



ODES OF ANACRE 



a 



Hit mother &ma. wi h many a toy, 



ttna, Ta.v Arpoodtrav 

- .a-rjfUU. 

l tuvtot 






:-uidi, the thought 

ill auree <:hiome Aaiore 
DtHl' i. .x mia' 

•:ii;a, 
Che auu Mflea, ae volea u* 

sienre i 



eterno -more. 



L#ve. wandrrine througn '.he allien m 






Bis mother crimes, with many a toy, 

te Snt idyl 
..j he reward tor air 

..ad: — 

I >Uo-#ot - '^ r/v S 1 , ayaytjs 

cm. rr\tov 

' did -tui show, 
I A \iltm 

lains, 
m sumethmg more jwetl for bis pains. 
*e find in the Vatican IIS. 
■ boast 19 

I interpolation it 'he transcriber : — 
ucpemv 

B.6v u. 

- 
- 

Kat am ■ -£iv. 



uniting: 

- mine, 
And pledge ihe universe ■ 



epitaph on 






•_■.' ; and accord- 
.asitioa 

his Ode, in an 



imbrHes arena 



"• ip» 
uhale* ihe sea S 
Sili": 
Aau Bai-> hu* was <iuiuoue if me : 
1 canii' .-iifShak- 

ire ua are 
j.reserven 



I'll 



.. .. 



ODE XTIL 
The Pi 

And P- ; 'ic maid, 

Is now a swollen* in he shade. 

a wteymg ma 

i 



- 

r a very zraceful 

Ode is exi|m-ite.; 

: icale of 
I' : ve had a 
- 

n Id find 






30 



ODES OF ANACREON 



Oh ! that a mirror's form were mine, 
That I might catch that smile divine; 
And like my own fond fancy be, 
Reflecting thee and only ihee ; 
Or could I be the robe which holds 
That giaceful form within its folds; 
Or, turn'd inio a fountain, lave 
Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perfume f r ihy hair, 
To breathe my soul in fragrance there; 
Or, better ~tilf, the zone, that lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs. 
Or ev'n those envious pearls that show 
So faintly round tha' neck nf snow — 
Yes, 1 would be a happy tern, 
Like them to hang, 10 fide like them. 

a nmch more plausible argument in the features of 
n.odern gallantry which it bears, than in any of those 
fastidious conjecture, upon which some commentalors 
nave presumed so far. Degen thinks it spurious, and 
De Pauw pronounces it to be miserable. Longepierre 
and Barnes refer us to several imi'a'inns of this Ode, 
from which I shall only select the fallowing epigram 
of Dionysius : — 

Ei0' avisos yevo/irjv, trv Ct ye vrtixovcra rrap' 
atvyac, 

T.ri]6ea yvfivuiaats, <ai fit nveovra Aaffoic. 
EtOc dodov ytvop.r)V bnoTtoQ$vpov, o$pa /it \tociv 

Apa/iivi), Ko/iicaic (rrt0t<ri ^ioveoic. 
Ei'Je Ki.ivov ytvoftnv Xcvkoxooov, oipoa /it ^tpcrjv 

Apafitvn, fiaWov o-t/j XV 071 VS Kop*o*ijc. 

I wish I could like zephyr steal 

To wanton o'er Ihy mazy vest : 
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-veil, 

And take me panting to thy breast! 
I wish 1 might a rose-bud grow, 

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower. 
To place me on that breast of snow. 

Where I should bloom, a wintry flower. 
I wish I were the lily'- leaf, 

To fade upon that boson warm ; 
Content to wither, pale and brief, 

The trophy of thy fairer form I 

1 may add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful 
wish in a distich preserved by Laertius: 

Aorcpac £«ra0p£tc, Ao-rnp £/ioy. ei$e ynvot/inv 
Ovpavoc, die rroAAotc, o/ijiao-iv £tc o"£ jiKtnu). 

TO STELLA. 

Why dost thou gaze upon the sky J 
Oh : that I were that spangled sphere, 

And every star should be an eye, 
To wonder on thy beauties beret 

Apulcius quotes this epigram of the divine philoso- 
pher, to justify himself for his verses on Ciitias and 
Cbarinus. See his Apology, where he also adduces 
the example of Anacreon; " Fecere rainen et alii 
talia, et si vos ignoratis, apud Gixcos Teius quidam, 
&c &c.» 

Or, better stM. the zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs .'] This 
7 urn; was a riband, or band, called by the Romans 
fascia and strophium. which 'he women wore for the 
purpose of restraining the exuberance of the bosom. 
Vide Politic Otiomast. Thus Martial : — 

Fascia creseentes dominae compeace papilla*. 

The women of Greece not only wore this zone, but 
condemned themselves to fasting, and made use of cer- 
tain drugs and powders for the same purpose. To 
these expedients tbey were compelled, in consequence 
of their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist 
into a very narrow compass, wbici necessarily cau ed 
an excessive tumidity in the bosom See Dioscorides, 



What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
Oh, any thing that touches thee ; 
Nay, sandals for those airy feet — 
Ev'n to be trod by them were sweet! 

Nay sandals for those airy feet — 

Ev'7i to be trod Ly them were swett!] The sophist 
Philostratus, in one of his love-letters, has borrowed j 
Ibis thought; w aitTM -o<*£C, w /caAAoc tXtvQtgos, | 
w rpio-£tcm;t(ui> iy<o /cat /ta/cacioc tav KaTqctrt 
/*£• — ''Oh lovely feet! oh excellent beauty I ob ! 
thrice h ppy and' blessed should I be, if son would 
but tread on mel" In Shakspeare, Romeo desires to 
be a glove : — 

Oh ! that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might kiss that cheek ! 

And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea 
somewhat like that of the thirteenth line: — 



shy was not la flood V 

In Burton's Ana'omy of Melancholy, that whimsical 
farrago of " all such reading as w as never read." we 
find a transition of this ode made before 1632.— 
"Englished by Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act 



ODE XXIIL 

I often wish this languid lyre. 
This warbler of my soul- 
Could raise the .'lime, 
To men of fime, in former time. 
But when the soarirrg theme I trv, 
Along the ch >rds my numbers die, 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 
"Our ;.cl" 
Indignant at the fe< 
I tore the panting chords 
Attun'd tin in to a uohler swell, 
And struck again the hrea'hing shell; 
In all the elow ' f epic fiie. 
To Hercules I wakette 
But still i s fainting sigbs repeat, 
*• The tale of love alone is sweet V 

According to the order in which the ode 
ally placed, this (OtAoi A£-> uv ATpacVijj forms the 
first of the series ; arid is thought to' be ptculiirly de- 
signed as an introduction to the rest. It 
Characterises the genius of he Teian but very inade- 
quately, as wine, the Jurden of his lays, is not even 
mentioned in it : 

cum mnlto Venerem confundere mero 

Precepit Lrrici Teia Musa seals. Ovid. 

The twenty-ixlh Ode Et' p?v Aiyny to 6ij«nc, 
might, with just as much propriety, be pi .cud at the 
hea I of his 

We find the sentiments of the ode before us ex- 
pressed by Bion w ith much simplicity in his fourth 
idyl. The ab >ve I o para- 

rl ; but the ode has been so freque: 
i ted, that 1 could not otherwise avoid triteness and 
repetition. 

In nil the g-lmc ofrpicfire, 

To Hircides I ipahc the lyre T\ Madame Dacier 
generally translated Avpij into a lute, which I believe 
is inaccurate. " D'eipliquer la lyrede* anci 

par un 1 .111. e'est ignorer la difference qu'il 
y a en!r<- ces deux instrumens de musique." — Biilxo- 
theque Francoise. 

But still Us fainting righs reptat, 

" The talt of loce alone "is ncnt !"] The word *v- 
tmjhuvu in the original. m>y imply that kind of musi- 
cal dialogue practised by the ai'iclen's. in which the 
lyre was - posed br 

This was a method which Sappho «e<L 



ODES OF ANACREON 



31 



Then (\re thee well, seiuctive dream, 
That mad'st Die follow Glory's theme ; 
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit part ; 
And all that one has felt so well 
The Jtlier shall as sweetly tell 1 



ODE XXIV. 

Te all that breathe the air of heaven, 
Some boon of stren?th his Nature given. 
In fi> miig the majestic bull, 
She fenced wi h wreohed horns his. skull ; 
A hoof of strength she lent the steed, 
And wiug'd the" timorous hare with speed. 
She gave the lion fangs of terror, 
And, o"er the ocean's crystal mirror, 
Taught the u number'd scaly ihrong 
To trace their liquid path along : 
While for the umbrage of the grove, 
She plum'd the warbling world of love. 

To man she gave, in that proud hour, 
The boon of Inelleciual power. 
Then, what, oh » Oman, wh it for thee, 
Was left in Nature's treasurv ? 
She gave thee beauty — mightier far 
Thau all the pomp and power of war. 

as we are told by Hermogenes : " brav tt\v \vpav 
iowto. Haircut, km brav avrr] anoicpivijTCu." — 

lUpi ldtWV, TUiJi. itvr. 

Henry Stephen has imitated Ihe idea of this ode in 
the following lines of one of his poems: — 

Provida dat cunctis Nature aniraantibus anno, 

Et sua foemineum possidet armu genus, 
Ungulaque ut del'endit equum, atqua ut corona taurum, 

Armata est forma foemiua pulchra sua. 

And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken 
by Corisca in Pastor Fido : 
Cnmi noi la bellezza 
Cli' e vertu nostra cosi propria, come 
La for/a del lcone, 
K l'iri^egno de 1* huomo. 

The linn boasts his savage powers, 
And lordly roan his strength of mind; 

But beauty's charm is solely ours, 
Pecul.ar boon, by Heav'n assign'd. 

"An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode 
(says Degeu) may be found in Grimm an den Anmerk. 
ubeo einige Oden des Anakr." 

To man she gave, in that proud hour, 
The boon of intellectual power.] In my first at- 
tempt to translate this ode, I had in'erpreted $povr)iia, 
with Baxter and Barnes, as implying o urage and 
military vinue ; but I do not think "that the gallantry 
of the idea suffers by ihe import which I have now 
given to it. For, why need we consider this prs-ession 
of wisdom as exclu-ive ? and in truth, as the design of 
Anacreon is to estimate Ihe treasure of beauty, above 
all the rest which Nature has distributed, it' is per- 
haps even refining upon the delicacy of the compli 
ment, to prefer the radiance of female charms to the 
cold illumination of uisdom and prudence; and to 
think that wrmen's e-es are 



She gave thee beauty — mightier far 

Than all the pomp and power of war.'] Thus 

Achilles Tatius : — KaAAoc divrtoov riToma-Kti /3t 

Aovc, Kai £ia twv o(j>f)a\p.wv tic tt/v Tpvxv v Ka 

Tap(5«- 0$9a.\uoc yap oAoc Epwrtccu rpav/xaTt. 

j "Beauty wounds more swiftly tlian the arrow, and 

j passes through the eye to the very soul ; for the eye is 

' th» inlet to the wounds of love.'' 



Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
Like woman in her conquering hour. 
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
Smile, and a world is weak before thee ! 

Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 

Smile, and a world is weak before ihee .'] LoDge- 

pierre's remark here is ingenious : — " The Romans," 

says he, " were so convinced of the power of beauty, 

that they used a word implying s'rength in the place 



Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 
' Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius, 



ODE XXV. 

Once in each revolving year, 
Gentle bird ! we find thee here. 
When nature wears her summer-vest, 
Thou com'st to weave thv simple nest; 
B ut when the chilling winter lowers, 
Again thou seek'st the eenial bowers 
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where suuny hours for ever smile. 
And thus thy pinion rests and roves, — 
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest ! 
Still every year, and alf the year, 
They fix their fated dwelling here; 
And some their infant plumage try, 
And on a lender winglet flv ; 
While in the shell, impregn'd with fires, 
Still lurk a thousand more desires ; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping, 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves; 
One urchin imps the other's feather, 
Then twin-desires they wins together, 
And fast as they thus take their flight, 
Still other urchins spring to light." 
But is Ihere then no kindly art, 
To chase these Cupids from my heart? 
Ah, no ! I fear, in sadness fenr, 
They will for ever nestle here ! 

We have here another ode addressed to theswallow. 
Alberti has imitated both in one poem, begiuuing 
Perch' io ptanga al tuo canto, 
Kondinella importuna, Sec. 

Mas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 

That brood withi7i this hapless breast, 

And never, never change their jiesJ .'] Thus Love 

is represented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longe- 

pierre from the Anthologia : — 

At£t poi (vvu fttv tv ovao-iv Tj.foc rptoToc, 
0/*/ta et o-jya 7ro6oic to yXvKV taKpv <ptou 

Ovd' ij vv~, ov <ptyyo$ tKoifuxrev, aXX' i~o ci.V 
tquiv 
H<*£ -nov Koatin yvwo-Toc iviari titoc. 

SX nravoi, fir) <ai ttot' tchnrracBai ft.iv eowtic 
Oidar', anoiTTjjvai d" otfl' bcrov icrx vtTS 

'Tifl Love that murmurs in my breast, 
And makes me shed the secret tear; 

Nor day nor night my soul hath rest, 
For night and day his voice I hear. 

A wound within my heart I find. * 

And oh ! 'tis plain woe e Love has been; 
For si ill he leaves a wound behind. 

Such as within my heart is seen. 
Oh, bird of Love', with song so drear, 

Make cot inv soul the nest of pain; 
But let the winp which brought thee hire. 

In pity wait thee hence again ! 



32 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE XXVI. 

Thy bar ;t may sine of Troy's alarms, 
Or tell Ihe tale of Thetnn arms; 
With o her war-, my sons shall burn, 
For other wounds my harp shall mourn 
T was uot the cre-ted warrior's dart, 
That drank Ihe current of my heart; 
Nor na\al arms, nor mailed steed, 
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed; 
No — '! was fr>m eyes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver'd Cupids liew ; 
And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Benea'h that army of Ihe eyes"! 

i ' The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. 
C'-mpaie also U'eisse Scherz. Lieder, lib. iii., der Sol- 
di!." Gail, Dezen. 

A T o — 't was from eyes of liauid bine 
A host nf quiver'd Cupidifltw :] Longepierre has 
quoted ptrt of an epizram from the seventh b< ok of 
the Au'.hologia, which has a fancy something like this. 

Ov lit \e\r]9as, 
To%ora, 7,r)vo<pi\a$ o/ijiaci Kovrrrofiivos. 

Archer Love ! though glilv creeping. 

Well I know where thou dost lie; 
I sa-.v thee through the curtain peeping. 

That fringes Zenophelia's eye. 

The poets abound with conceits on the archery of 
the eyes, but few have turned the thought so naturally 
as Auacreon. Ronsard gives to the eyes of his m'ir- 
tress *'un pelit camp damours." 



ODE XXVII. 

We read the flying courser's name 

Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 

And, by their turban 'd brows alone, 

The warriors of Ihe Ea-t ,.re known. 

But in Hie lover's si ■ « i:<e eyes, 

The inlet to his bosom lies ; 

Through them we sre the small faint mark. 

Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark ! 

This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vati- 
can MS., but I have conformed to the editions in 
translating them separately. 

'•Compare with this (savs Degen) the poem of 
Rainier VVahTZBichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlc-se, 
lib. iv. p. 313." 

But in the hirer's glowing eyes. 

The h. We cannot see into 

the heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover an- 
swers — 

11 cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto. 

M. La Fosse has eiven the following lines, as en- 
larging on the thought of Anacreon : — 

Lorsque je vois on srnanl, 

II cache en vain son tourment, 

A le trahir tout compile, 

Sa lanireur, son embarras, 

Tout ce tju'il pent Taire oo dire, 

Meme ce qu'il ue dit pas. 

In vain the lover tries to veil 
The flame that in his bosom lies; 

His cheeks' contneii n tells the tale, 
We read it in his languid eyes: 

And while his wonts the heart b- tray, 

His silence sptaks ev'n more than they. 



ODE XXVIII. 

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, 

The hu-band of the Pphiau dame 

Moulded ihe glowing steel, to form 

Arrows for Cupid, thrillinz warm; 

And Venus, as he plied his art, 

Shed hoi ey round each new made dart, 

While Love, at hand, to finish all, 

Tipp'd every arrow's poirt with gall j 

It chane'd the Lord of Eattles came 

To visit :hat deep cave of flame. 

'T was f om the ranks of war he rush'd, 

His spear with many a life-drop blueh'd ; 

He saw 'he fieiy darts, and smit'd 

Contemptuous a' ihe archer-child. 

" What '." sa d the urchin, "dost thou smile I 

Here, hold this little dart awhile, 

And thou will find, though swift of flight, 

My bolts are not so feathery light." 

Mars took the shaft — and, oh, thv look, 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took! — 
Sighing, he felt ihe urchin s art, 
And cried, in agony of heart, 
" It is not lizh • — j sink with pain ! 
Take — take thy arrow back -gain.'' 
" No," said the'child. " it musi not be; 
That little dart was made for thee ! " 

This ode is referred to by La Motre le Vayer. who, 
I believe, was the author of that curious little work, 
called ' llcximeron Rustiquc." He makes use of ibis, 
as well as the thirty-fifth, in his ii genious but indeli- 
cate explanation of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. — 
Journee Qudrieme. 

While Live, at hand, to finish all, 

Ti].)''d every arrow's vaint icith gall;] Thus 
Claud ian : — 

Labuntur pemini fontes, hie dulcis, amanis 
Alter, et infusis corrumpil mella \- 
Usde Cupidiueas armavil Tama sag it las. 

In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall. 
And (tie with honey flows, and one with rail; 
In these, if we may' lake the tale from fame. 
The son of Venus di|s his darts of flame. 

See Alclatus, emblem 91, on the close connection 
which subsis s between su. - "Aiies 

ideo pumrunt (says Petronius), quia ubi dulce, ibi et 
acidum in\. 

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, 
in Horace, may vie with this before us in fjucy, though 
not iu delicacy : — 

ferns et I 

Semper atdeulee tcuru, - 
Cote crueuta. 



Secundus has borrowed this, hut has somewhat 
softened the image by the omission of the epithet 
" cruenti."' 

Fallor an ardentes acoebat cote sagittas ? EUg. 1. 



ODE XX'X. 

Yes — lovinz is a painful thrill. 
And not to love more painful still ; 
But oh, it is ihe 

. and not be lov'd 

Yes— loving is a painful thrill. 

And i. painful still: Ire.] The 

fallowing Mcnase to Uaniel 

Huet. enforces, with much grace, the •• necessity cf 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



33 



Affection now has fled from earth, 

Nor fire ol genius, noble bir h. 

Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 

Fiom beauty's cheek One favouring smile. 

Gold is the woman's only theme, 

Gold is the woman's only dremi. 

Oh ! never be that wretch fo given — 

Forgive him no', indignant heaven! 

Whose grovelling ejes could first adore, 

Whose heart c»u;d pant for sordid ore. 

Since that devoted thirst began, 

Man has forgot to feel for man ; 

The pulse of social life i* dead, 

And all its fonder feelings fled ! 

War too has sull ed Nature's charms, 

For gold provoke* the world to arms : 

And oh ! the worst nf all its arts, 

I; rends asunder loving hearts. 

Tltoi rov titiv $i\r)crai. 
IIpoc XIitqov AaviijXa 'Xittov. 
Mcya -S-av/ia rutv aoiouiv, 
XaQiruiv £aAoc, 'Yett«, 
$<\Eou/i£V, a. iraipe. 
$i\tr)(ra.v ol <ro0«rr<«. 
$iAej;o-£ atjivos avrjg. 

To TIKVOV TOV ZluippOVMTKOV, 

Zofarji rrarnp arrao-»/y. 
Ti d" avev yevoir' Epcoroj ; 
Akovi) litv to-ri TpVXVS-* 
Xl7tovy£0-<riv «s OKvpnov 
KaTaKupevovs avaipu 
Bpa6"ea<; Ttrny^cvoLO-i 
Bt.\££<n Ej-ayapEi. 
Tlvpt Xa/iKaCos <pauv<a 
Pv iraptaTcpovs Ka9aipn. 

$lX£(0/i£V ovv, 'TeTTE, 

$t\Eu>ficv to irai.pt. 
Acikui; 6c AotrTopott'Tt 
Ayeouc epeorac rj/imv 
Ka<ov £ti|uiioi to /lovvov, 
'Iva jir\ Cvvair' ckuvos 
iiXstiv T£ Kai tyiXua 6 at. 

Thou ! of tuneful bards the first, 
Thou! by all the Graces nur>t; 
Friend ! each other friend above, 
Come with me, and learn to love. 
Loving is a simple lore, 
Graver men have learn'd before; 
Nay, the boast of former ages, 
Wisest of the wisest sages, 
Sophroniscus' prudent son. 
Was by love's illusion won. 
Oh ! how heavy life would move. 
If we knew not how to love ! 
Love's a whetstone to the mind; 
Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. 
When the soul dejected lies. 
Love can waft it to the skies; 
When in languor sleeps the heart. 
Love can wake it with his d irt ; 
When Ihe mind is dull and dark, 
Love call light it with his spark ! 
Come, oh ! eome then, let us haste 
All the bliss of love to taste; 
Let us love both night and day, 
Let us love our lives away '. 
And when hearts, from loving free, 
(If indeed such hearts there be,) 
Frown upon our gentle flame. 
And the sweet delusion blame; 
This shall be my only curse, 
(Could I, could I wish them worse?) 
May they ne'er the rapture prove, 
Of the smile from lips we love ! 



* This line is borrowed from an epigram by Al 
pneu9 of Milylene which Menage, I think, says some- 
where he was himself the first to produce to the 
world :- 

"tyvxvs tvriv Eptoc aicovi). 



ODE XXX. 

T was in a mocking dream of night — 
I fancied I had wings as light 
As a young bird's, and flew as fleet ; 
While Love, around whose beauteous feet, 
I knew not why, hung chains of lead, 
Pursued me, as I trembling fled ; 
And, strange to say, as swift as thought, 
Spite of my pinions, I was caught ! 
What does the wanton Fancy mean 
By such a s range, illusive scene ? 
I fear she whispers to my breas', 
That you, sweet maid, have slol'n its rest ; 
That though my fancy, for a while, 
Hath hung on many a woman's smile, 
I soon dissolv'd each passing vow, 
And ne'er was caught by love till now ! 

Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet 
manied very late in life. But 1 see nothing in the 
Ode which alludes o marimony, except it be the lead 
upon the feet of Cupid ; and I ajree in the opinion of 
Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, that he was 
always too fond of pleasure to marry. 



ODE XXXI. 

Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, 
(Arms enough for such a god.) 
Cupid bade me wing my pace, 
And try with him the rapid rice. 
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep, 
By tangled brake and pendent steep, 
With weary foot I panting flew, 
Till my tnow dropp'd with chilly dew. 
And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 
To my lip was faintly liying; 

The de-ign of this little fiction is to intimate, that 
much greater pain attends insensibility than can ever 
result from the tenderest impressions 01 love. Lon-e. 
pierre has quoted an ancient epigram which bears 
some similitude to this Ode : — 

Lecto cr,mpositu8. vix prima silentia noetis 
Carpebam, et snmno lumina yicta dabam ; 
Cum me saevus Amor prensum, sureuiuque capillU 

Excitat, et lacerum pervigiiare jubet. 
Tu famulus mens, inqujt, ames cum mille puellas, 

Solus Io, solus, dure jaeere potest 
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tonicaque soluta, 

Omne iter impedio, nullum iter expedlo. 
Nunc propero nunc irepiget ; rursumque redire 

Poenilet; et pudor est stare via media. 
Eece taceul voces hominum, slrepitusque ferarunj. 

Et volucrum rantus turhaque flda canum. 
Solus ego ex runclis paven snmnnnique loruinque, 
Et sequor imperium, saeve Cupido, tuum. 

Upon my couch I lay, at nisht profound, 

My languid eyes in magic slumber bouud, 

When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed, 

And fore'd me many a weary way to treaJ. 

"What! (said the god) shall you, wlirse vows are known, 

Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone ?" 

I rise and follow; all the night I stray, 

Unsheller'd, trembling, doubtful of my way ; 

Tracing with nuked foot the painful track. 

Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back. 

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems iuterr'd. 

Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard, 

I, I alone, a fugitive from rest, 

Passion my guide, ond maduess in my breast, 

Wander the world around, unknowing where, 

The slave of love, the victim of despair! 

Till my brow dropp'd wi'h chiVy dcu>.'\ I have 
followed those who read 7«pev Idpuig for nt.ptT 
ic"poc ; the former is partly authorised by the MS, 
which reads xcipcv ic*pwc. 

And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 

To my lip was faintly flying; ($■<.,] In (ha 



34 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



And now I thought the spark had fled, 

When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, 

And fanning light his breezy pinion, I 

Rescued my soul from death's dominion; 

Then said, in accents hill-reproving, 

" Why hast thou been a foe to loving ?" 

original, he says, his heart flew to his nose ; but our 
manner more na urally tiansfers it to ihe lips. Such 
is the effect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, in a 
disiich quoted by Aulus Gellius : — 
Ti)V ipvx^v, Aya0u>va <pi\wv t tizi ^siXtr/tv ta\ov. 
HAOt yap 17 tXij/xujv die £ia€i]cro[i£.vi). 

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip, 

Ai.U drink thy bieath, in trance divine. 
My soul Iheu nutters in my lip, 
Keady to fly and mix with thine. 
Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, 
in which we find a number of those mignardises of 
expression, which mark the etfemination of the Latin 
language. 

And fanning light his hreezy pinion, 
Rescued my sotd from death's dominion ;] " The 
facility with which Cupid recovers him, signifies lh?.t 
the sweets of love make us easily forget any solici- 
tudes which he may occasion." — La Fosse. 



ODE XXXII. 



Strew me a frasratit bed of leaves, 
Where lotus with Ihe myrtle weaves; 
And while in luxury's dream I sink, 
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hour of revelry 
Young Love shall my attendant be 
Dres' for the task, with tunic round 
His snowy neck and shoulders bound, 
Himself shall hover by my side, 
And minister the racy tide ! 

Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, 
Our life is hurrying to the goal : 
A scanty dust, to feed the wind. 
Is all the tiace 't will leave behind. 
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom 
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 
Can flowerv breeze, or odour's breath, 
Affect the still, cold sense of death? 
Oh. no ; I ask no balm to steep 
With fragiant tears my bed of sleep : 
But now, while every pulse is glowing, 
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing; 
Now let the rose, wi'h blush of fire, 
Upon my brow in sweets expire ; 
And bring the nymph whose eye hath power 
To brighten even death's cold hour. 
Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, 



1 'II make my own elys 



here! 



We here have the poet, in his true attributes, re- 
rlining upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cup-bearer. 
Some interpreters have ruined 'he picture by making 
Epioc the name of his slave. None but Love should 
fill the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her 
fragments, has assigned this office to Venus. E\8e, 
KvTpi, ^ptio-aato-iv tv kvXiksho-iv dopoic (TV a fit ft 
ty/itvov $a\iaio-i vtKrag oivo^ovca Totiroto-i rot $ 
iraipoii tfiois ye /cai o-otc. 

Which may be thus paraphrased : — 

Hither, Venus, quern of kiaees. 

This shall be the night of td.ss.-s ; 

This the night, to friendship dear, 

Thou shalt be our Hebe here. 

Fill the golden biiminer high. 

Let it sparkle like thine eye; 



Bid the rosy current gosh. 

Let it manlle like thy blush. 

Goddess, hast thon e'er above 

Seen a feast so rich in love? 

Not a soul that is not mine ! 

Hot a soul that is not thine! 
" Compare with this Ode (says the Genran 
mentator) the beautiful poem in Ramler's I.yr. 
menlese, lib. iv. p. 296., ' Amor als Dieuer.' » 



T was noon of night, when round the pole 
The sullen Bear is seen to roll; 
And mortals, wearied with the day. 
Are slumberirg all their cares away : 
An infant, at Ihat dreary hour, 
Came weeping to my silent bower, 
And wak'd me with'a piteous prayer, 
To shield him fiom the midnight air. 
"And who art lb.00," I waking cry, 
"That bid'st my blissful visions fly ?» 
" Ah, gentle sire ! " Ihe infant said, 
" lu pity take me to thy shed ; 
Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 
I wander o'er the gloomy w id. 
Chill drops the rain, and" not a ray 
Illumes the drear and misty way ! " 

I heard the baby's tale of woe ; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow; 
And sighing for his piteous fa'e, 
1 trinim'd my lamp and op'd Ihe gate. 
'T was Love"! the little wandering sprite, 
His pinion sparkled ihiough the night. 
I knew him by his bow and dan ; 
I knew him by Dry fluttering heart. 
Fondly I tike liini in, and r.i-e 
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
Press from his dank and clinging haif 
The crys'als of the frees 
And in my hai dad rysom hold 
His little fingers thrilling C"ld. 

And now the embers' genial ray 
Had warm'd his anxious fears aw'ay , 
'• I pray thee," said ihe wanin clii'ld, 
(My b soin trembled as he smil'd,) 
'• I pray thee let me tiy my bow, 
For thiough the tain I've wander'd so, 
That much 1 fear, ihe midnight shower 
Has injut'd its elas ic 1 ■ 
The fatal bow the urchin drew : 
Swift from the string ihe arrow flew ; 
As swiftly flew as glancing flame, 
And to my inmost spi it 
"Fare thee well," I heard him say, 
As laughing wild he wing'd away; 
" Fare thee well, for now I know 
The rain has not re'ax'd my tow; 
It still can -end a thrilling dart. 
As thou shalt own with a 1 thy hf art ! " 

M. Bernard, the au'hor of I. Art d'aimer, has writ- 
ten a ballet calltd ■ Lea Surprises de 1'Aciour." in 
which the subject of the third tntiee is Jnacrton. and 
the s'orv of this 1 - of the scene*.— 

tXuvresde Bernard, Anac. scene 4th. 

The German annoUtnr refeis us hereto an imita- 
tion bv IV, lib. iii.. ••Amor und sein Bruder; " a d 1 
poem of Kleist. -die Heilung." La Fontaine has 
translated, or rather imitated, this Ode. 

" And who art thou.'" I u-aking cry, 

"That bid'st my blissful virions fly ? r ] Ana- 
creon appears to have been a voluptuary even in 
dreaming, bv Ihe lively regret which he ci|resse» at 
being disturbed Irom his visionary eujoymen a. See 
the Odes 1 and xxxvii. 

'Twos Love ! the little tcanrierin? sprite, $c] See 
. the beautiful description of Cupid, by Moschus, id hi 
first idyl. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



35 



ODE XXXIV. 

Oh, thru, of all creation blest, 
Sweet insec , 'hat delighl'st to rest 
Upon the wild woods leafy tops 
To drink the dew that mor ins drops, 
And chi'p thy sons with such a glee, 
That happiest kings mav enw (hee. 
Whatever decks Ihe velvet field, 
Wha>e'er 'he ending seasons yield, 
Whatever buds, whatever blows, 
For ihee it buJs. for thee it grows. 
?>"or vet art fhou 'he peasant's fear, 
To him thy friendly noes are dear; 
For th u ait mild as initio iew ; 
And still, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins 'o paint the bloomy plain, 
We hear thv sweet prophetic strain ; 
Thv s i eet prophe ic strain we hear, 
And bless Ihe note.; and thee revere ! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone; 
Apollo calls thee ail his own ; 
T was he who save thai voice to thee, 
T is he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

Unworn bv age's dim decline, 
The fadeless' blooms of youth are thine. 
Melodious insecl, child of earth. 
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth ; 

In a La'in Ode addressed to the grasshopper, Rapin 
has preserved some of the thoughts of our author : — 

O quae virenti graminis in toro. 
Cicada, hlande sidis, el herbidos 

Baltus oberras, oticsoe 

Ingeniosa ciere cantus. 
Seu forte adultis floribus ineubas, 
Coeli caducis ebria fletibus, &c. 

Oh, thoo, that on the grassy bed 
Which Nature's vernul hand has spread, 
Reclinesl 90ft, and tun'st thy song, 
The dewy herbs and leaves among ! 
Whether thou ly'st on springing flowers, 
Drunk with the balmy morning-showers, 
Or, ic. 



And chirp thy song with such a glee, $-c] " Some 
authors have affirmed (says Madame Dacier), lhat it 
is only male grasshoppers which sins, and that the 
females ire silent ; and on this circumslance is found- 
ed a bon-mot of Xenachus. the cmiie poet, who savs 

£tr' £10-11/ Ol T£TTiy£C OVK EVCat/tOV£C, iiV TOtJ 

yvvaihv ovd' bri ovv ckuvjjc evi ; 'are not the 
grassh piers happy in having dumb wives ?' " This 
note isoriginallv Henry Stephen's ; but I chose rather 
to make a lady my authority for it. 

The Muses love thy shrilly tone, $-c] Phile, de 
Animal. Proprietat. calls this insect Movo-aiy 0«iVoc, 
the darling of the Muses; and Movcrcov opviv, the 
bird of the Muses; and we find Plato compared for 
his eloquence to the grasshopper, in the following 
punning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes Laer- 
tius : — 

Tov xavrtov S' rjyuTO irXaTvo-Taros a\\' oyo- 

pr,Tiic 
'lidviirrj? T£7Ti|iv io-oypa$oc, of 0' * EKadnpov 

A£VC~p£i £<£e£o//.EVOI 0~a A£ipt0£0-O"aV i£lO"t. 

This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, y, 
where there occurs the very same simile. 

Melodious insect, child of earth] Longepierre has 
(rooted the two first lines of an epigram of Antipater, 
from the first hook of the Anthologia. where he pre- 
fers the grasshopper to the swan : 



Exempt from every weak decay, 
That withers vulgar frames away; 
With uo- a dr p of blood to stain 
The current of thy purer vein ; 
So ble t an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a little d_-ity ! 

Ap.<£t T£7Tiyac piBvcrai <?poo-oc, aXAa jriovrtc 
AekJeiv kvkvuiv fieri yeyuij/oTtpot. 

Id dew, that drops from morning's wings, 

The gay Cicada sipping floats- ; 
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings 

Sweeter than any cygnet's notes. 



ODE XXXV. 

Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless U'chin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! 

Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his 
nineteei.th idyl ; but is very inferior, I think, to his 
original, in delicacy of point and naivete of expres- 
sion. Spenser, in oue of his smaller compositions, has 
spotted more diffusely on the same subject. The 
poem to which 1 allude, begins thus : — 

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering 

All in his mother's tap; 
A gentle bee, with bis loud trumpet murmuring, 

About him flew by hap, &c. ice. 

In Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one 
by Li.xorius, co- respondent somewhat with the turn 
of Anacreon, where Love complains to his mother of 
Leing wounded by a rose. 

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. 
The infantine complainings of the little god, and the 
natural and impressive reflec ions which they draw 
from Venus, are beauties of inimiable grace. I may 
be pardoned, perhaps, for introducing here another of 
Menage's Anacreontics, not for ils similitude to the 
subject of th s ode, but for some faint traces of the 
same natural simplicity, which it appears to me to have 
preserved ; — 

Eptoc 7tot' iv x°ptuxis 
Tcuv trapSfi'tov auirov, 
'\'i)v /tot cVXjjv Kopivvav, 

'Qj £IC*£V, U)C TTpOC. aVT1)V 

Tlooatipafit- Tpaxqkto 
Atc"v/tac T£ ^apac airruiv 
<ti\u /i£, pwrtp, £iJ7£. 
KaXovpivi) Koptvva, 
li\t]Tvp, tpvdpia£u, 
'.°-S rrap9svoc u,£i< orcra. 
K' avroc cc dvo-^Epaivuiv, 
'Qc ofifiao-i nXavyStis, 
Epajj £pv0piaj£i. 
Eyiu, 6c of traoatrrac. 
Mi) dvcxtpaivc , #»i/n. 
KiTpiv t£ /cat Koptvvav 
Atayvu>o~ai ovk cxovai. 
Kat ot /3>£-ovt£C ojjv. 

As dancing o'er the enamell'd plain. 

The flow'ret of the virgin train, 

My mat's Corinna liehlly play'd. 

Young Cupid saw the graceful maid; 

He saw, and in a moment flew, 

And round her neck his arms he threw; 

Sav-cg, with smiles of infant joy, 

'• Oh ! kiss me, molher, kiss thy boy !*• 

Unconscious ofa mother's name. 

The modest virgin hlush'd with shame! 

And angry Cupid, scarce believing 

That vision could be so deceiving — 



3G 



ODES OF ANACREOX. 



The bee awak'd — with anger wild 

Tire bee awak'd, and s'uui the child. 

Lou I and j iteous ate his cries ; 

To Venus quick he runs, tie ll.es ; 

'•Oh mother! — 1 am w lunded through - 

1 die with pain — in soo h 1 do ! 

Stung Ly s inie little angry thing, 

Some s=r| ent on a buy wing — 

A bee it was — fir i rice, I know 

I he-ird a rustic ciil it s >." 

Thus he spoke, and she tbe while 

Heard him with a sootl 

Then said, '• My infant 

Thou feel the li tie wild-bee's touch, 

How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, 

The hapless heart that 's stuDg by thee 1" 

Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame! 
It made eVn Cupid blush with »hame. 
"Be mil ashim'd, my boy," I cried. 
For 1 was lingering by his side; 
"Corinua and thy lovely mother, 
B.lievc me, are bo like each other. 
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd. 
And take thy Venus for the maid.*' 

Zilto, in his Cappricciosi Pensieri, has given a 
translation of tins ode of Aoacreon. 



ODE XXXVI. 

If hoarded zold possess*d the power 

To lengthen life's loo fleeting hour, 

And pu' chase from the band of death 

A little span, a moment's breath, 

How I nr<>uld love the precious ore! 

Aud eveiy hour should swell my store; 

That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 

To waft me 'o his bleak dominion, 

I might, by bribes, my doom delay, 

And b d hnn call smie distant day. 

Put, since, not all earth's Z'lden store 

Can buy Cor us one brigh' hour more, 

Whv should we vainly moutn our fate, 

Or s'gh at life's i .ncerfaiu dite i 

Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 

The silent midnight of the b mb. 

No — give to o'heis hoarded treasures — 

Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures; 

The g blet rich, the board of friends 

Whose sochl souls the goblet bleuds ; 

And mine, wh.le yet I 've life to live, 

Those joys that love aloue can give. 

Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his dialogue 
between Anacieon and Aristotle in the shades, where, 
on weighing the merits of both these personages, he 
bestows tbe prize i f wisdom upon the poet 

" The German imitators i f this ode aie, Lessing. in 
hi- p em 'Gestern Riuder.' &c ; Gleim, in the ode 
'An den Tod ;' and Schmidt, in der Poet Blumenl., 
Gotliug. 17S3, p. ".'' — Dtgen. 

That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 
To waft me to his llcah dominion, $-c] The 
commentators, who are so find of disputing "de Una 
capriua." lnve teen very busy on the au hori'y of the 
phrase IV av davuv crrcASn. The reading of IV 
tv 6avuros EitW/j, which de Medenbach proposes 
in bis Amccuitates Literariee, was already hinted by 
Le Fevre, whoseld ui sugges s any thing worth notice. 

The goblet rich, the board of friends, 

H'hose sociil souls the goblet blends ;1 This com- 
munion of fiiendship, which swee enrd the bowl of 
Anacreon, has not been forgotten by tbe author of the 
following scholium, where the blessings of life are 
enumerated with proverbial simplicity. 'Y}taii£iu 
tuv rtfxcrov ovc"pt S-vi]tu). Atvripov £e, «ca,\ov 
Avjjv ytvarBat To rpirov c"c, rrXovrav at'oAuj 
Kat to rtToprov (rvvtSav p-tra tbv fVAtuv. 



Of mortal blessines here the first is health, 

Aud next those charms by which the eye we mm) 

The ihird is wealth, unwounding gniKlesa wealth, 
And then, sweet intercourse with those we lave 



ODE XXXVII. 

T was night, and many a circling bowl 
Had deeply « arm'd my thirsty soul ; 
As lull'd in slumber I was laid, 
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd. 
With maidens, bliou'iing as the dawn, 
I aeem'd to skim the opening iawn ; 
Light, on tiptoe bathd in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew ! 

Some ruddy st iplinjs, who look'd on — 
With cheeks, that 1 ke tbe « ine-god's shone, 
Saw me chasing, free and « ill. 
These blooming ma;ds, and slyly smil'd; 
Smil'd indeed with wanton slee, 
Though none could doubt they envied me. 
And stilt I flew — and now had cauzht 
The pan'ing nymi hs, aud fondly thought 
To gather from each posy lip 
A kiss that Jove Himself mish' sip — 
When sudden nil my dream 
Blushing nymphs and laughing b'ys, 
All were gone! — "Alas!'' 1 said, 
Sighing for th' illusion fled, 



"Compare with this ode the beautiful poem 'der 
Traum' of Uz " — Degen. 

Le Fevre. in a note upon this ode. enters into an 
elaborate and leirned justification of drunkenness ; 
and this is probably the cm-e of the severe repreheu- 
sion which he appears to have suffered for his Ana- 
creon. " Fuit olim fateor (says he in a note upon 
Longinus), cum Sapphonem amalam. Sed ex quo 
ilia me perditissima frxmina pene miserum perdidit 
cum sceleratissiiu osuo conzerroi.e, (Anacreook 
si nesci«, Lector.) noli s] He »d- ' 

duces on this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed 
ebriety, at the Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at 
their fortieth yeir. 'He likewise quo'es the following 
line from Alexis, which he says no one. who is not 
totally ignorant of the wcrld, can hesitate to confess 
the Iruth of: — 

Ot'fnc eV.XotroTijj ta-riv avBpanro; icaieoc. 

"So lover of drinking was ever a vicious man." 

When sudden all my dream of joys. 
Blushing nymj-hs and laughing boys, 
Jill were gone .'] : Bacchus, almost 

in the same words that Auacreou uses, — 

-i oj c*i 
HapQivov ovk LKtxr/<ri, nai ytcXiv axSisiavuv."' 

■Waking, he loot the phantom's chirms, 
The Bjm| on aims; 

iv'd. 
Again to clasp the shadowy maid. 

. PIERRE. 

" Jgain. rweet slecf. th ■ •- 

Oh! let me d'ftini it 
Johnson, in hi* ] 
j upon the 
in every little coineideio 
imilatioh of son., 
ing words to the line ot" A 
have been told t] - [ :eas.n< 

otoer man, the 
same wish on the s . 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



37 



ODE XXXVIII. 
Lei us drain Hie nectar'd bowl, 
J.et us raise lite son? f soul 
Tr> liim, the pud who loves so well 
The nectar d bowl, th-- choral swell ; 
The god who t.iugh' the s ns of earth 
To thiid the tangled dance if mirth ; 
Him, who was ilursd with infant Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian groie ; 
Him, that the snowy (Jueen of Charms 
So oft has fondled ili her arms. 
Oh, 't is from him the transport flows, 
Which sweel hit xicahou knows; 
Wi'h him, the brow forgets iis gloom, 
ADd brilliant graces learn to bloom. 

Behold ! — my boys a goblet bear, 
Whose sparkling foam lights up the air. 
Where aie now the tear, the sigh? 
To !he winds they fly. they fly ! 
Grasp the bowl ; in neciar sinking. 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking I 
Say, can ihe tears we lend to thought 
In life's account avail us aught? 
Can we discern, with all our lore, 
The pa h we He yet to journey o'er? 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
'T is only wine can strike a spark. 
Then let me quart' ihe foamy tide, 
And thr. ugh the dmce meandering glide; 
Let me imbibe the spicy breath 
Of odours chaf'd to fragrant death ; 
Or from the lips of love inhale 
A more ambrosial, richer gale! 
To hear s that court the phantom Care, 
Let him retire and shroud him there ; 
While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl, 
And swell Ihe choral son? of soul 
To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ! 

"Compare with this beautiful Ode to Bacchus the 
verses of Hagedorn, lib. v., 'das Gesellschaftliche J ' 
and of Burger, p. 51, &c. &c." — Degen. 

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms, 
So oft has fondled in her arms.] Robortellus, 
upon the epithrlamium of Catullus, mentions an in- 
genious derivation of Cytheiaea, the name of Venus, 
naga to KtvQuv rove tpmrac, which seems to hint 
that " Love's fairy favours are lost, when not con- 
cealed." 

Alas, alas, in ways sj dark, 

'Tis only wine can strike a spark .'] The brevity 
of life allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as 
the moralist. Among many parallel passages which 
Longepierre has adduced, I shall content myself with 
this epigram from the Anthologia. 

Aovo-afitvoi, npodt/CTj, irvtcao-uifitOa, /cot rov 
aKparov 

' EXiccu/i£V, KuXtKac fiti$ovas apafievoi. 
'Potoc 6 x al 9 0VTU > v £trTl P l0 S' " Ta ra Aoirra 

Tjjpac kooAwm, Kat to tiAos ^avaToc. 

Of which the following is a paraphrase : — 

Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam, 
To plunge us in yon cooling siream ; 
Then, hastening to the festal bower. 
We'll pass ;n mirth Ihe evening hour; 
*T is thus our a»e of blijs shall rly, 
As sweet, though passing as that sigh. 
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip, 
"Come, while you may, uf raplure sip." 
For age will steal the graceful form, 
Will chill the pulse, while throbbing warm; 
Ad! death — alas! that hearts, which thrill 
Lit > yours and mine, should e'er be still ! 



ODE XXXIX. 

How I love the festive boy, 
Tripping ibrough the d tiice of joy t 
How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the veil of age! 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance of joy appears, 
Snows may o'er his head be flung, 
But his heart — his heart is young. 

Snows may o'er his head be flung, 
But his heart — his heart is young.] Saint Pavin 
makes ihe sime distinction in a sonnet to a young 
girl. 

Je sais bien que les destinees 
Ont mal compasse nos annees 
Ne regardr-z que mou amour; 
Peut-etre en serez voua emue. 
11 est jeui.e et n'est que du jour, 
Belle Ins, que je vous ai vu. 
Fair and young thou blonmest now, 
And I full many a year have lold; 
But read the heart and not the brow. 
Thou shall not Sod my love is old. 
My love's a child; and thou canst say 

How much his little age may be, 
For he was born the very day 

When first I set my eyes on thee! 



ODE XL. 

I know that Heaven hath sent me here, 
To mn this moital life's career; 
The scenes which I have journeyed o'er, 
Return no more — alas! uomo'e; 
And all the path I 've >et to go, 
I neither know nor avk to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy fetters round this soul to link ; 
Never can heart thai feels with me 
Descend to be a slave 10 thee ! 
And oh 1 before the vital hrill, 
Which tiembles at my hear', is still, 
I 'II gather Joy's luxuriant flowers, 
And ?ild with bli-s my fadi; g hours; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the tomb ! 

Never can heart that fals with me 

Descend to be a slave to thee !] Longepierre quotes 
here an epigram from ihe Anthologia, on account of 
the similarity of a particular phrase. Though by no 
means Anacreontic, it is marked by au interesting 'sim- 
plicity which has induced me to paraphrase it, and 
may atone for its iutru.-ion. 

EArrtj, icai o~v tvxv pzya x ai -9 £T£ - T0V Xt/tei/' 
tipov. 

OvStV tflOl X* fyuV, TTOl^ETt TOl'S /l£r' £/t£. 

At length to Fortune, and to you, 
Delusive Hope ! a last adieu. 
The charm lhat once beguil'd is o'er, 
And I have reach'd iny destin'd shore. 
Away, away, your flattering arts 
May now belray some simpler h.arts, 
And you will smile at their believing, 
And they shall weep at your deceiving < 

Bacchus shall bid my white: jloom. 
And Venus dance mt to the tomb !] The same 
commentator has quo'ed an eptlapir, writ't. upon our 
poet by Julian, in which he makes him promulsate 
the precepts of good fellowship even from the tomb. 
noAAaxrt fitv rod' atiaa, Kai £/c rvpSov it /3o7)<T(o, 
XllVZTt, ttolv ravrnv a/ir^ifiaAijcQE KOVIV. 
This lesson oft in life I sung. 

And from mv grave I still shall cry. 
"Drink, mortal, drink, while time is young. 
Ere death has made thee cold as I." 



3S 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE XLI. 

When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 

Ho v sweet to walk the velvet green, 

And hear the west wind's senile sighs, 

As o'et the gentle mead it hies ! 

How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 

Re;tdy to burst in tea's ot wii e : 

And with some maid, who breathes but love, 

To walk, at noon ide, through the grove, 

Or sit in some cool, green recess — 

Oh, is not this true happiness t 

And with some maid, vjho breathes but love, 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove,] Thus 
Horace : — 

Quid habes illius, illius 
Quae Hpirabat amorea, 

Quae me surpueral mini. Lib. !v. Carm. 13. 
And does there then remain but this. 

And hast tliou lost each rosy ray 

Of her who breath'd the soul of bliss, 

And stole me from myself awuy ? 



ODE XLII. 

Ves, be the glorious revel mine, 

Where humour sparkles fiom the wine. 

Around rue, let the youthful choir 

Respond to my enlivening lyre ; 

And while the red cup foams along, 

Mingle in soul :is well as song. 

Then, while I sit, with How'rets crown'd, 

To regulate the goblet's round, 

Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, 

Be seated smiling by my side, 

And earth has not a'gift or power 

That I would envy, in that h' ur. 

Envy ! — oh never let its blight 

Touch the gay hearts met here to-night. 

Far heno* be slander's sidelong wounds, 

Nor hirsh dispute, nor discord's s»uuds 

Disturb a scene, where all should be 

Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us hear the harp's gay Dole 
Upon the breeze inspiring 
While lound us. kindling into love. 
Young mai lens through the iiuht dance move. 
Thus blest with n r'h. a- d love, and peace, 
Sure such a lite should never cease! 

The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly 
depicted. His love of socid, harmonised pleasures, is 
expressed with a warmth, ami ble and endearing. 
Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the fol- 
lowing; it is the only one worth translation, and it 
breathes the same sentiments with this ode: — 

On tjxXoS, <5£ Kpijrnpt napa 7tXecu oivoiroTa$u>v, 
Nsiicca xai iroXiu-ov daKpvotvra Xtyci. 

AAX' do-Tic Movtrtaiv re, Kat oyXao <J<up, A0po- 

Zvuiiia-yaiv, tporjjc /ivncKErai £t>0poo-vv)js. 

When to the lip the brimming cup is prest. 

And hearts are all afloat upon its stream. 
Then banish from my board th' unpolMi'd guest, 

\\ ho makes the feats of war his barbarous theme. 
But bring the man who o'er his goblet wreathes 

The Muse's luurel with the Cyprian flower: 
Oh! gne me him whose soul expansive hreathes 

And Wends reHHiuenl wilh the social hour. 



While our rosy fillets shed 
Freshness o'er each fervid h 



With many a cup and many a smile 

The fes'al moments we beguile. 

And while the harp impa-sion'd, flings 

Tuneful rapture from its strings, 

S me airy nymph, with graceful bound, 

Keeps measure to the music's sound ; 

Waving, in her si owv hand. 

The leaiy Bacchanalian wand, 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 

Tremble* all over 10 her sighs. 

A y uth 'be while, with loosen'd hair, 

Floa'ingou the listles' air, 

Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, 

A bile of woes, alas, his own ; 

And oh. the sadnes, in his sigh, 

As o'er his lip the accents die ! 

Never sure on earth has been 

Half si brigh', so blest a scene. 

It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home ; — 

And Venus, too, with all her wsles, 

And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, 

All, all are here, tn had wi'th me 

The Genius of Festivity ! 

And while the harp, impatsion'd. flings 
Tuneful rapture from its strings, ire.] Respecting 
the barbiton a host of authorities may be collected, 
which, af'er all, leave us ignorant of the nature of the 
instrument. There is scarcely any point upon which 
we are so totally uninformed 'as the music of the an- 
cients. The authors* extant upon the subject are, 1 
imagine, little understood ; and certainly if one of 
their moods was a progression by quarter-tones, which 
we are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, 
simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their 
melody ; for this is a nicety of progression, of which 
modern music is n"t susceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenseus, at- 
tributed to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it 
is called to evprifia to Avukoeovtoc. Neaothetof 
Cyzicus, as quo'ed by Gyraldus, asserts the same. 
Vide Clnbot, in Horat. on the words " Lesboum bar- 
biton," in the first ode. 

And oh, the sadness in his sieh. 
As o'er his lips the accents die !] Longepierre has 
quoted here an epigram from the Anlhologia : — 

KotipJj tic /i'£4*.\no-£ !rot?£<rrr£prt xe^env {lypoic. 
N*£(CTap £ijv to r^Aij/io. to yap o-ro/ia v£<ropoj 

tirvtu 
Nvv pe9vu> to rfxAn/ta, xoXvv tov spaira xt- 

iruiicttic. 

Of which the following paraphrase mav give some 
idea: — 

The kiss that she left on my lip. 

Like a dew-drop shall lingering lie: 
Twas neriar she gave me to sip, 

•T was nectar 1 drank in her sigh. 
From the moment she printed that kiss. 

My whole soul has been drunk wilh the bliss. 
And feels a delirium divine 1 

It teems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chotcn home : — ] The intro- 
duction of these deities to the festival is merely allego- 
rical. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet describes 
a masquerade, where these deities were personated bv 
the company in masks. The translation will conform 
with their idea. 

All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Fettivity .'! Kujuoc, the deity or 
genius of mirth. Phi lost ratus. in the third of his pic- 
tures, gives a very lively description of this god. 



Collected by Meibomios. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



39 



ODE XLIV. 

Bu'ls of roses, virgin flowers, 

Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers, 

In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 

Till with crimson drops they weep. 

Twine the rose, the garland twine, 

Every leaf distilling wine; 

Drink and smile, and learn to think 

That we were boru lo smile and drink. 

Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 

That ever dt auk the amber shower; 

Rose, thou ait Ihe fondest child 

Of dimp'ed Spring, the wood-nymph wild. 

Even the G"ds, who walk the sky, 

Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 

Cupid, too, in Paphiau shades, 

His hair with ro^y lillets biaids, 

When, with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces. 

Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 

And shed them o'er ms while I sing, 

Or, while, great Jhcchus, round thy shrine, 

Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 

I lead some bright nymph through the dance, 

Commingling soul w'ith every glance ! 

This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose; and 
again, in Ihe fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author 
rich in the praises of that flower. In a fragment ol 
Sappho, in the romance of Achilles Tatius, to which 
Barnes relets us, the rose is fancifully styled " the eye 
of flowers;" and the same poetess, in ano her fiag- 
ment, calls the favours of the Muse " Ihe roses of Pie- 
ri i." See the notes on the fifty-fifth ode. 

" Compare with this ode (says the German annota- 
ted the beautiful ode of Uz, ' die Rose.' " 

When with the blushing, sister Graces, 

T/te wanton winding dance he traces.] " This 

sweel idea of Love d Hieing w ilh the Graces, is almost 

peculiar 10 Anacreon." — Dcg^n. 

Head same bright nymph through the dance, $•<:.] 
The epithet fiuHvK.o\no<;, which he gives to the 
nymph, is literally " full-bosomed." 



ODE XLV. 

Within this goblel, rich and deep, 

I cradle all my woes to sleep. 

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 

Or pour the unavailing te .r? 

For death will never heed the sigh, 

Nor soften at Ihe tearful eye ; 

And eyes that sparkle, eyes lhat weep, 

Must all alike be seal'd in sleep. 

Then let us never vainly stray, 

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way ; 

But wisely quaff the msy wave, 

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave; 

And in the goblet, rich and deep, 

Cradle our crying woes to sleep. 

Then let us never vainly stray, 
In search nf thorns, from pleasure's way ; fyc ] I 
have thus endeavoured to convey the meaning of ri 
6c tox Siov rrAavio/tat ; accoiding to Regnier's pata- 
phrase ~t the line: — 

E che val, fuor della Etrada 
Del piacere alma e gradila, 
Vaneggiare in quesla vita 7 



Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wmgj 



While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billows'of the deep 
Hive languish'd into silent sleep ; 
And mark! the Hitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecling wave} 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial slar of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away; 
And cultur'd field, and winding stream, 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery hells; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; 
All along the branche> creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 

The fastidious affectation of some commentators 
has denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronoun- 
ces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some 
miserable vers:ficator, and Brunck condemns the 
whole ode. II appears to me, on the contrary, to be 
elegantly graphical ; full of delicate expressions and 
luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of I<?£ irwc eapo$ 
QaviVTOS is striking and spirited, and has been imi- 
tated rather languidly by Horace : — 

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum 

Soracie 

The imperative ide is infinitely more impressive; — 
as in Shakspeare, 

Ent look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yen high eastern hill. 

There is a simple and poetical description of 
Spring, in Catullus's beautiful farewell to Bithynia. 
Carni. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this 
ode was written afler he had returned from Athens, 
to settle in his paternal seat at Teos; where, in a 
little villa at some distance from the civ. command- 
ing a view of the .Egean Sea and the islands, he con- 
templated Ihe beauties of naure and enjoyed the 
felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes in Ai.a'c. Vita, 
^ XXX v. This supposition, however iinaulhenticatcd, 
forms a phasing association, which renders the poem 
mote interesting. 

Chevreau says, lhat G-egory Nazianzenus has para- 
phrased somewhere this description of Spring; but 1 
cannot meet wi h it Sie Chevreau, CEuvres Melees. 

'■ Compare with this Ode (says Degen) the verses of 
Hagedorn. book fouith, 'der Fiuhling,' and Look filth, 
' der Mai.' " 

While virgin Graces, wnrm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy vjay.] De Fauw reads, 
Xapirac (5o<5a Bovovo-tv, "the 10-es display their 
graces." This is not uningeni ms; but we Inse by it 
the beauty of the personification, lo the boldness of 
which Regnier has rather frivolously objected. 

The murmuring billows of the deep 

Have languisU'd into silent s:eep ; fyc] It has 
been justly remarked, thai the liquid flow of Ihe line 
aira\vvtrai yaKr/vr/ is perfectly expre = sive of the 
tranquillity which it descr.bes. 

And cultur'd field, and winding stream, <$-c] By 
flooruiv tpya "the works of men " (siys Baxter) he 
means cit'ns temples, and towns, which aie then 
illuminated by the beams of the sun. 



ODE XLV1I. 
Tis true, my fading years decline, 
Yet can I quaff ihe brimming wine 



[40 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



As deep a? any stripling fair, 
Whose che-ks (he flush of morning wear; 
And if, amidst the wanton crew, 
1 in cali'd lo wind the dance's clue, 
Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, 
Not filtering on the hacchant's wand, 
But blandishing a rosy fluk. 
The only thyrsus e'er 1 '11 ask 1 

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, 
Embrace her in the field of arms ; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
Breathes not a wish beiond this bowl. 
Then till it high, my ruddy slave, 
And bathe me in its brimming wave. 
Fur though my fading yeais decay, 
Th'iush manhood's prime hath pass'd away, 
Like old Silenus, sire divine, 
With blushes borrow'd Irom my wirje, 
I '11 wanton 'mid ;he dancing tiaiu, 
And live my follies o'er again 1 



But brandishing a rosy flask, <$-c.] Aoxoc was a 
kind of leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as 
should seem by the proverb aaxoc Kai ^vAaicoc, 
which w.s applied to those who were intemperate in 
eatiug and dr.nkin*;. This proverb is mentioned in 
some verses quoted by Atheuajus, from the Hesioue of 
Alexis. 

The only thyrsus e'er I HI ash .'1 Phornutus assigns 
as a reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bac- 
chus, that inebriety often renders the support of a 
stick very necessary. 



ODE XLVIII. 

When my thirsty soul I steep, 
Every Borrow s luil'd to sleep. 
Talk of moinrchs ! 1 am then 
Riche-t, happiest, first of men ; 
Careless o'er my cup I -ing, 
Fmcy makes me more than king; 
Gives me wealthy Crcesus' store, 
Can 1, can I wish for more? 

On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves my brow entwining, 
W'hile my soul expands with glee, 
What aie kiuirs and crowns lo me. 
If before my fee- : 
I would spurn them all away ! 

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the salsuiue fight ; 
But let me, my buddiug vine ! 
Spill no olher" blood than thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see, 
Thai alone sfaull vanquish me — 
Who think it better, wiser far 
To fali in banquet than in war. 



Ivy leaves my brow entwining, $-c.] « The ivy 
was con-ecrated In Bacch'i* [sa>s Mntfaucon), be- 
cause he formerly lay hid under that tree. or. as othe'S 
will have it, because i's leaves resemble those of the 
vine." Other reasons for i's consecration, and the use 
of it in era- lands at hanque s, may be found in Longe- 
pierre, Barnes, &c. &c. 

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ;] I have adopted 
the interpretation of Regnier and others : — 



ODE XLIX. 

When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 
The rosy harbinger of joy, 
Who, with the sunshiiie'of the bowl, 
Thaws the winter of our soul — 
When to my inmost core he glides, 
And bathes it with his ruby tides, 
A flow of joy. a liveiy heat, 
Fires my br*in, at d wings my feet, 
Calling up round me visions known 
To lovers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing of love, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float around, 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to i's murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blissful trance, 
Again we 'II sport, again we '11 dance. 

This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the 
same character, are merely chansons a boire ; — the 
effusions probably of the moment of conviviality, and 
afterwards sung, we may imagine, with rapture 
through ut Greece. But that in eresting association, 
by which they always recalled the convivial c 
th<t produced them.'can now be little felt even by the 
most enthusi s'ic reader; and much iess by a phleg- 
matic grammarian, who sees nothing in them but dia- 
lects and par icies. 

IVho, with the sunshine of the bowl, 

Thaws the winter uf our soul — 4-c.] Aririoc is 
the tile which he gives to B-echus in the original. It 
is a curious circumstance, that Plutarch mistook the 
name of Levi anion; the Jews for Asti (one of the 
bacchanal cries), and accordingly supposed that they 
worshipped Bacchus. 



ODE L. 



When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic elory ri-e ; 

And fresheu'd by the gobli 

My vul invokes the heavenly Muse, 

When wine I drink, a'l sorrow - s o'er ; 

I think of doubts and fears no more ; 

But scatter to Hie railing 

Each gloomy r.han'om of the mind. 

When 1 drink wine, in' ethereal boy, 

Bacchus himself, partakes 1 

Faber thinks this Ode spurious ; but, I believe, he is 
sitieular in his opinion. It has all the spirit of our 
author. Like the wreath which he presented in the 
dre'm, " it smells of Anac 

The f rm of the original is remarkable. It is a kin I 
of song of seven quatiain stanzas, each beginning with 
the line 

'Or' rym jticu tov Oivov. 



" Compare with this poem (says Degen) the verses 
of Hagedon. lib v., ' der Wein',' where that divine 
poet his wantoned in the praises of wine." 

When wine J quaff. l<fcrt my eyes 

Driair. Anacreon is not 

the only ere) wh m wine las in- 

spired with poetry. We find an e; g'ini in the first 
book of the Anthologia, n hich begins thus : — 

Otvoj toi x a - note's*, 

'Tfuip <?£ wiWDV, icjXov ov Ttxotc tiros. 
If with water you fill op your etasars. 

Fir wine "s the true hone of Parnassoa, 
Which carries a barj to the skin! 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



41 



And while we dance 'hrough vernal bowers, 
Who e every b.eatn comes fresh from flow jrs, 
In wine he m >ke- my senses swim, 
Till the gale breathes of nought but bim I 

Again I drink, — and, lo, there seems 
A calmer light to fill my dreams ; 
The lately ruffled wreath I spread 
Wiih s.eadier hand around my head ; 
Then tike the lyre, and sing •' how blest 
'J he life of him who lives at rest !" 
But then comes witching wine again, 
With glorious woman in its train ; 
And, while rich perfumes round me rise, 
Th t seem the b>ea!h of woman's sighs, 
Bright shapes, of evety hue and form, 
Upon my kindling fancy swarm, 
Till the whole world of beauiy seems 
To crowd into my dazzled dreams ! 
When thus I drink, my heart refines, 
And ri-es as the cup declines ; 
Rises in the genial flow. 
That none but social spirits know, 
When, wi'h young revellers, round the bo jvl, 
The old themselves grow young in soul ! 
Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, 
There "s bliss in every drop of w iue. 
All other blessings I have known, 
I scarcely dar'd to call my own ; 
But this the Fates can ne er destroy, 
Till death o'ershadows all my joy. 

And while we dance through vernal bowers, tfC.'] 
If s me of the t-anslators had ob-erved Doctor Trapp's 
caution, with regard to Ko\vav8t<rtv /t' tv atipaic, 
"Cave ne codum inteliigas," they would not hive 
spoiled the simplicity of Anacreon's fancy, by such 
extravagant conceptions as the following: — 

Quand je bois mon oeil s'imagine 
Que, ilans un touroilluu pleine de parfums divers, 
Bacchus mVmporte dans- lee airs, 

Rempli de sa liqueur divine. 

Or this: — 

Indi mi mena 
Mentre lieto ebro. deliro, 
Baccho in giro 
Per la vaga aura serena. 

When, with young revellers, round the bowl, 
The old themselvis grow young in soul'.] Sub- 
joined to Gail's edition of Anacreon, we find some 
curious letters upon the Qiacroi. of the ancient*, which 
appeared in the French Journals. At the opening of 
the Odeon in Paris, the managers of that spectacle le- 
quested Professor Gail to give them some uncommon 
name for their fetes. He sugnested the word "Thiase," 
which was adopted; but the literati of Paris ques- 
tioned the propriety of the term, and addressed their 
criticisms to Gail through the medium of the public 
prints. 



ODE LI. 

Fly not thus my brow of snow, 
Lovely wanton ! fly not so. 
Thouzh Ihe wane of age is mine, 
Though you h's brilliaTit flush be thine, 

Alberti has imitated this ode ; and Capilupus, in the 
following epigram, has given a versiou of it : — 

Cnr, Lalage, mea vita, mens contemnis amorest 
Cur fugis e nostro pulchra puella sinu? 

He fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora canis, 
Inque t:io roseu3 fulgeat ore color. 

Aspice ut intextas ileceant quoque Hore corollas 
Candida purpureas lilia mista rosia. 

Oh ! why repel my soul's impastsion'd vow. 
And fly. belf.Ycd maid, these lonying arms? 

Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow, 
While Ihine are all tlu> summer's roseate ctanos t 



Still I 'm doom'd to sigh for thee, 
Bles', if thou couldst sigh for me ! 
See iny 'iider flowery biaid, 
CulPd tor thee, my blu-hing maid, 
How the rose, of orient glow, 
Mingles with the lily's snow; 
Mark, how sweet their tints agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me ! 

Bee the rich garland cull'd in vernal weather, 
Where the young rosebud w.th the lily glows! 

So, in Love's wreath we both may twine togethe], 
And I the lily be, and thou the rose. 

See, in yonder flowery braid, 

CuWdjor thee, my blushing maid .'] " In the same 
manner that Anacreou pleads for the whiteness of his 
locks, from the beauty of the colour in garlands, a 
shepherd, in Theocritus, endeavours to recommend his 
black hair :— 

Kai to lov fieXav to-rt, /cat a ypanra (laxc-vOo;, 

AAA' tfiiras zv toi$ o-TEipavots ra Trpuira \iyov- 

1 01. ' ' Longepierre, Bonus, $•& 



ODE LII. 



Away, awav, ye men of rules, 

What have I to do with schools? 

They 'd make me learn, they 'd make me think, 

But would they make me love and drink? 

Teach me this, and let me swim 

My soul upon the goblet's brim ; 

Teach me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsive heait to mine, 

For, age begins to blanch my biow, 

I 've time for nought but pleasure now. 

Fly, and cool my goblet's glow 
At yonder fountain's gelid flow ; 
I 'II quaff', my bov, and calmly sink 
This s ul to slumber as I drink. 
Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, 
You "11 deck your mas'er's grassy arrave ; 
And there's an end — for ah, you know 
They drink but li' tie wine below ! 

"This is doubtless the work of a more modern poet 
than Amcreoii; for at the period when he lived 
rhetoricians were not known." — Jlegin. 

Though this ode is found in the-Vatican manuscrip', 
I am much inclined to agree in this argument against 
its authenticity; for though the dawning- of the art 
of rhetoric might already have appeared, the first 
who gave it any celebrity Va- Coral of Syracuse, and 
he flourished in the centui y afer Anacreon. 

Our poet aniicipaed ihe iJeas of Epicurus, in his 
aversion to the labours of learning, as well as his 
devotion to voluptuousness. riao-av naiitiav 
liaicaoioi (bevyere, sa d Ihe philosopher of the garden 
in a letter to Pythocles. 

Teach me this, and let me twine 
Some fond, responsive heart \o mine.] By ^pivo-^c 
AtbpoSirns here, 1 understand some beautiful girl, in 
the same manner that Avotoc is often used for wine. 
"Golden'' is frequently an epithet of beauty. Thus 
in Virgil, "Venus aurea;" and in Proper ius. "Cyn- 
thia aurea." Tibullus, however, calls an old woman 
"golden." 

The translation d'Autori Anonimi, as us'aal, Ron- 
tons on this passage of Anacreon : 

E m' insegni con piu rare 
Forme accorte d'mvolare 
Ad amabile beltade 
II bel ciolo d' cuestade. 

And there's an end —for ah, you Xnow 
They drink but little wine belou .'J Thus Miia- 
ard: — 



4» 



AH 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



La Morte nous guette; et qaand sea loi» 

Knas out enfermes une f.iis 

Au sein d'une (esse profunde. 

Adieu brn.s vms el boa lepas; 

Ma science ne Irouve pas 

Des cabarets co l'aulre moude. 

From Mainard, Go nbauld, and De Cailly, old 
French poets, some of the best epigrams of the Eng- 
lish language have been borrowed. 



ODE LUI. 

When I behold the festive train 

Of dancing youth, I 'm young again ! 

Mem-iry wakes h.-r miiic trance, 

And wings me luh ly through the dance. 

Come. Cybeba, smiling maid ! 

Cull i he flower and twine the braid; 

Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Burnu[inn my forehead's snows; 

And let me, while Hie wild and young 

Trip the m >zy dance alo:-;i, 

Fling my heap of yra s away, 

And be as wild, as young, as they. 

Hither haste, s une coidial snul '. 

Help to my lips Hie brimming bowl; 

And you shall see llns hoary sage 

Forget at Once his locks and age. 

He still can chant 'he fe-tive hymn, 

He still can ki-s the goblet's brim ; 

As deeply quart, as largely fill, 

And play the fool right nobly still. 

Bid the blush of rummer's rose 

Bum upon my funhead't snowt ; tyc.] Licetus, 
in his Hieioelyphica, quoting two of our poet's odt-s, 
wheie he calls to his a'tendants for garlands, remarks. 
'• Constat igitur floreas coronas poelis et potantibus in 
symposio c mvenire, uon anient sapientibus et philoso- 
phiam affect mtibus.''— " It appears that wreaths "f 
flowers we>e adapted for poets and revellers at ban 
quets, but by no means became h >se who had preten 
si uis to wisdom and philosophy." On thi- princip e, 
in hs \ri I chapter, he discovers a refinement in 
Virgil, descr.biig the garland of the poet Silenu 
fallen oil'; which distinguishes, he thinks, the divine 
intoxication of Sileuus Irom that of eo mmnn drunk- 
ards, who always weir their ciowns while they 
drink. Such is "the "labor iueptiaium" of com- 
mentators ! 



Be still can kist the goblet's brim ; $*.] Wine is 
prescribed by Galen, as an excellent medicine for old 
men: 'Quod frigi los et humoribus expletos cale- 
faciat, &c. ; " but Nature was Anacreon's phy-ician. 

There is a proverb in Eriphus, as quoted by 
Athenxus. which says, •• that wiue mikes an old man 
dance, whether he will or not." 

Aoyos cot' apxaiog, ov kclkuis tx^v, 
Otvov Xtyova-i tovs ytpovroc, to Ka.no, 
HuBuv X"°cciv ov &z\ovrai. 



ODE LIV. 

Me'hinks, the pic'ur'd bull we see 
Is amorous J ve — il must be he ! 
How fondly blest he seems 'o bear 
That fairest of Phcenici m fair : 
How proud he b-eas's the f amy title, 
And spurns the billowy -urg!- aside! 
Could any bea«t of vulgar vein. 
Undaunted thus defy ihe main ? 



No : he descends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove! 

This Ode is written upon a picture which repre- 
sented the rape of Europa." — Madame Dacitr. 

It may probably have been a de-cription of one of '■ 
those coins, which the Sid nians -truck off in honour 
of Europa, representing a woman carried across the 
sea by a bull. Thus Natalis Comes, lib viii. cap 23. 
"Sidonii uumisirtitacum fcemii a lauri dorao insidente 
ac mare transfretante cuderunt in ejus honorem." In 
the little t'eatise upon the goddess of Syria, a'tributed I 
very falsely to Lucian, thee is mention of ihis coin, | 
and of a temple dedicated by the Sidonians to Astarte, 
whom some, it appears, co-founded with Europa. 

The poet Mi sc'bus has left a very beautiful idyl on 
the story of Europa. 

No : he descends from climes above. 

He looks the God, he breathes of Jove .'] Thus 
Moschus: — 
KpVsl't $tov /cat rotipt c"£/iac" (cat ytvtro rovpoj. 



ODE I.V. 



While we invoke the wreathed spring, 
Resplendent rose ! to th-e we 'II sing ; 
Resplendent rose, the fl wer of flowers, 
Whose breath i ei fumes ih' Olympian bowers. 
Wh'se virein bl .sh, of chasten'J dye, 
Enchants st much our moral eye. 
When pleasure's spring-tide season glows, 
The Graces love to wrea'he the I 
And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, 
An emblem of herself pe ice ives. 

This Ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. "All 
antiquity (says Barnes) has produced nothing more 
beautiful." 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which the 
ancients attached to this fl iwer. arose a preity p'over- 
bial expression, us.d by A'istophanes, according 10 
Suidas, (5oc*a/i.' apijcas", "Yoa have s;^k 
a phrase somewhat s;mihr to the -dire desfleurettes" 
of Ihe French. In the fame idea of excellence 
originated. I doubt not, a very curious application of 
thewoid pWov, for which the inquisitive reader may ; 
consult Gaulminus up n the epithalamium of our 
p e', whe e it is introduced in the romance of Theo- 
dorus. Muretus. in one of his elegies, calls his mis- 
tress his r s e: _ 
Jam te ieitur rur«u« troeo, forraosuls, jam te 

(Quid Irepidaa ?) lens. ; jam, him, te teneo. Kleg. 8. 

Now I --gain may clasp thee, dearest, 

■What is there now, on earth, thou fearest ? 

Again Ihese longing arms enfVId thee, 

Again, my rose, again I bold thee. 

This, like most of the terms of endearment in the 
modern Lat.n poets is taken fr am liautns : they were 
vulgar and colloquial in his lime, but are among the 
elejancies of the m -dern I. 

Passeratius alludes to the ode before us, in the be- 
ginnii g of his poem on the K 

Carmine digna rosa est : vellem rancretnr nt illam 
Teius ar.- ne vate*. 

Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;] I have 
passed over the line mi' {rarest ai;£i/itAirr>v, which 
is corrupt in this original readme, and has been very 
little improved by the aoi I suppose 

it to be an interpolation, if it were not for a line 
which occurs afterwards : ksy<aji— ■ 

And r.mrJ. in its fmh-tjjicn leaves, /ft.] Belleau, 
in a note up^n an old French poet, qu ting the origi- 
nal here afJpoc"trriiui' r' atftp/ta, translates it, 
" comme les del ices et migUardises de Venus." 



ODES OF ANACREON 



43 



Oft hath the poe 's mng'ic tongue 
Tlie r «e*s f.tir luxuriance sung ; 
And long he Muses, heavenly m^ids, 
Hive reai'd it in their tuneful shades. 
Whe i, at the early glance of mom, 
It slrers iipnn the glittering thorn, 
>Tis sweet to lar.- the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid floweret Iheuce, 
And wipe « iih lender hand away 
The tear that on its blushes lay ! 
>T is sweet to hold the infant stems, 
Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, 
And fresh inhale ihe spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 

When revel reigns, when mirth is high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exh ile, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There's nought in n .<ure bright or gay 
Where rose* do not shed their lay. 
When morning paims ilie orient skies, 
Her fingers bu n with roseate dyes ; 
Young nymphs be'ray the rose's hue, 
O'er whi est arms it kindles through. 
In Cvtherea's form it glows, 
And mingles with the living snows. 

The rose distill a healing balm, 
The beating | nhe of pain to calm; 
Preserves the cold i' urned clay, 
And mocks the vestige of decay : 

Oft has the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's far luxur,a7icc sung ; <$-c] The follow- 
ing ts a fragment of the lesbian poetess It is cited 
in the romance of Achilles Tatius. who appeirs to 
have resolved the numbers into prose. Ei rot; av\ 
Btaiv yQe\iv 6 Zevc tiztOuvai [3am\ta, to QoSov 
av tuiv avfltuiv c/3ao-iXtt'£. yq<; ea-ri K00710C, tf>v- 
Tiov ayXai<r/ia, oi^tfaXjtoc av^eoiv, Aei/iiovoc tov- 
Or]ft.a., KaAXoc ao-Tpairrov. Epioros rtvu, A<j>poc~t- 
Ttjv iroolivu, evutccri <t>v\\oi$ Kofia, tinaviyrotc 
n-traAotc Tpi'0a. to KtraXov rp 7.iv(j>vpaj ytXa., 

If Jove would give the leafy bowers 
A qu-en for all their world of flowers. 
The rose would be the choice of Jove, 
And blush, the queen of every grove. 
Sweetest child of weeping morning, 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning; 
Kye of gardens, light of lawns, 
Nursling of soft summer dawns; 
Love'e own earliest sigh it breathes, 
Beauty's brow wi'h lustre wreathes, 
And, to young 2ephyr's warm caresses, 
Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, 
Till, blushing with the wanton's play, 
Its cheek wears ev'n a richer ray '. 

When morning paints the orient skies. 
Her fingers burn with raieaie dyes; <$-c] In the 
original here, he enumerates the many epithets of 
beiuty, borrowed from roses, which were used by the 
poets, rapa tuiv <ro<t>uiv. We see that poets were 
dignified in Greece wi'h the title of sages: even'the 
careless Anacreon, who lived but for love and volup- 
tuousness, was called by Plato the wise Anacreon — 
"fuit haec sapieutia quondam." 

Preserves the cold inurned clay, q"-c] He here al- 
ludes to the use of the rose in embilmine ; and, per- 

| haps (as Barnes thinks), to the rosy unguent with 
which Venus anointed the corpse of Hector. — Ho 

I mer's Iliad xp. II may likewise regard the ancient 
practice of putting gariands of roses on the dead, as in 
Statius, Theb. lib. x. 7S2. 



hi veris honore soluto 



And when at length, in pale decline, 

lis florid beauties fade and pine, 

Sweet as in vou'n, i s balmy breath, 

Diffuses odour e>en in death ! 

Oh ! whence c >uld such a plant hare sprung? 

Listen, — for thus the tale is sung. 

When, humid, from the silvery stream, 

Etfusing beau y"s » amies' beam, 

Venus api card, in flu-hing hues, 

Mellow d by ocean's bri y dews ; 

When, in the starry courts above, 

The pregnant brain of mighty Jove 

l)isclo-'d the nymph of azure glance, 

The nymph who -hikes the mart al lance; — 

Then, hen, in strange eventful hour, 

The ear'.h produe'd au infant (lower, 

Which sprung, in blushing glories drest, 

And want n'J o'er its p rent beast. 

The gods beheld this brilliant birih, 

And Inil'd the Kose, the boon of earth ! 

With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 

The swee ly orient bud- they dyed. 

And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 

Of him who gave the glorious vine; 

And bade them on the -pangled thorn 

Expand their bosoms to the morn. 

Where " veris honor," though it mean everv kind of 
flowers, may seem more particula ly to refer to the 
rose, which our poet in anoher ode calls tapoc /nX- 
ij/ta. We read, in the Hieroglyphics of Pierius. lib. 
lv. that some of the ancients used to order in their 
wills, that roses should be annually scattered on their 
tombs, and Piei ius has adduced some sepulchral in- 
scriptions to this purpose. 

And mocks the vestige of decay :] When he says 
that this flower prevails over lime itself, he still al- 
ludes to i's efficacy in embalnient (teuera pmieret ossa 
rsa. Proper!, lib, i, eleg IT.), or perhaps 10 the 
subsequent idea of its fragrance surviving its beauty; 
for be cm scarcely mean 10 praise for duration the 
"nimium breves Bores" of ihe rose. Ptiilostratu- 
compares this liower with love, and says, that they 
both defy the influence of time; X9 UV0V o" £ ovti 
Eocdc, ovti poi?a oic~tv. Unfortunately ihe simili- 
tude lies not in their duration, but their transcience. 

Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odour even m death .'] Thus C isper Bar- 
laeus, in his Ritus Nupliarum : 



Nor theu the rose its odour loses, 
When all its flushing beauties die; 

Nor less ambrosial balm dill ses. 
When wither'd by the solar eye. 

With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 

The sweetly otient buds they dyed, ^r.] The author 
of the " Pervigilium Veneris" (a poem attributed to 
Catullus, the slyle of which appears to me to have 
all ihe laboured luxuriance of a much later period) 
ascribes Ihe tinc'ure of the rose to the blood from the 
wound of Adonis — 



Fusae aprino de cruore — 

according to the emendation of Lipsras. In t'-e fol- 
lowing epigram this hue is differently accounted tor :— 

Ilia quidem studiosa suum defendere Adonim, 
Graviilus strirto qu.-m petit ense fcrox, 

Afnxit duris vestigia caeca resells, 
Albaque divino picta cruore rosa est. 

While the enamour'd qreen of joy 
Flies to protect her lovely boy, 

On whom the jealous war-god rushes: 
She treads upon a I horned roue, 
And while the wound with crimson flows, 

The si.owy flow'ret feels her blood, and blushes '. 



44 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE LVT. 

He, who instructs the youthful crew 
To b it tie them in the brimmer's dew, 
And tas'e. uncloy'd by rich excesses, 
All the bliss that w ine possesses ; 
He, who inspires the youth to bound 
Elastic through the dice's round, — 
Bacchus, the god again is here, 
Arid leads along the tlu-hing year ; 
The blushing year with vintage teems, 
Ready to shed those cordial streams, 
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 
Illuminate the sons of earth ! 

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine — 
Blest infan' of the pregnant vine, 
Which now in mellow cluster- swells, — 
Oh : iv hen it butsts its roseate cells, 
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow, 
To balsam every mortal woe ! 
None shall be then cat down or weak, 
For health and joy shall light each cheek ; 
No heart will ihe'n desponding sigh, 
For wine shall bid despondence fly 
Thus — till another autumn's glow 
Shall bid another vintage flow. 

"Compare with this elegant ode the verses of Cz, 
lib. i. 'die Weinlese. "' — Dcgcn. 

This appears to be one of the hvmns which were 
sung at the anniversary festival of the vintage ; one of 
the imXr/vioi v/jlvoi, as our poet himself terms tbem 
in the fifty-ninth nde. We cannot help feeling a soil 
of reverence for these classic relics of the religion cf 
antiquity. Hoiace may be supposed to have written 
the nineeen h ode of ht's second book, and the twenty- 
fifth of the third, for some bacchanalian celebration of 
this kind. 



tVhich, sparkling in the cup o/mirt/t, 
Illuminate the sons of earth!] In the original 
norov aarovov koiii^iuv. Madame Dacier thinks 
that the poet here had the nepenthe of Homer in his 
mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. This nepenthe was a some- 
thing of exquisite charm, infused by Helen into the 
wine of her guests, which had the power of dispel- 
ling every anxiety. A French writer, De Mere, con- 
jectures thai "his spell, which made the bo»l so be- 
guiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See 
Bayle, art. Helene. 



ODE LVII. 



Whose was the artist hand that spread 
Upon this disk the ocean's bed ? 
And, in a flight of fancy, high 
As autht on earthly wing can fly, 

This ode is a very animated description of a picture 
of Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess 
in her first emergence from the waves. About two 
centuries after our poet wrote, the pencil of the artst 
Apelles embellished this subject, in his famous paint- 
ing of the Venus Anadyomene, the model of which, 
u Pliny informs us. was the beautful Campaspe, 
given to him by Alexander; though, according to 
Natalis Comes, lib vii. cap 16.. it wa- Phryne who 
sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes in the readng of the 
ode before us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne. 
Brunck. &c. to denounce the whole p «m as spurious. 
But, '-non ego paucis otlendar maculis." 1 think it 
is quite beautiful enough to be authentic. 

Whose teas the artist hand that spread 
Upon this disk the ocean's bed ?J The abruptness 
of opa tis Toptt'o-t jtovtov, is finely expressive of 



Depicted thus, in semblance warm, 

The Queen of Love's voluptuous form 

Floating along the silv'ry sea 

In beauty's naked mijesfy ! 

Oh 1 he hath given th' enamour'd sight 

A witching banquet of delight, 

Whe:e, gleaming through the waters clear, 

Glimp-es of undreamt charms appear, 

And all tha' mystrry loves to screen, 

Fancy, like Fa'ith, adores unseen. 

Light as a leaf, that on the breeze 
Of summer skims the glassy seas, 
She float- along the ocean'-' breast, 
Which undula'e- in sleepy res' ; 
While s ealihg on, -! e gently pillows 
Her bosom on ihe heavfi g billows. 
Her bo^om, like the dew-wash'd rose, 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows, 
Illume Ihe liquid path she (racis. 
Aid burn nitbio the -t earn'- embraces. 
Thus on she move-, in languid pride, 
Endrclel by the azure 
As some fair lily o'er a bed 
Of violets bends its graceful head. 

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance, 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance, 
Beating in triumph vm.ns Desire. 
And infant Love with smiles of fire! 
While, glittering throt gh the silver waves, 
The tenants of the briny caves 
Around the pomp their gambols play, 
And gleam along the watery way. 

sudden admiration, and is one of tho e beau'ies, which 
we cannot but admire in their source, tl 
frequent imitation, they are now become famil.ar and 
unimpressive. 



And all that mystery loves to screen, 

Fancy, like Faith, ad,ns unttrn, <j-c.l The pic- 
ture here has all the delicate character of the fWJii- 
reducta \ , of what 

the poetry of passion ought to* be — glowing but 
through a veil, an 
eealmeut. Few of the ancients have att 

f description, which, like the gulden cloud 
that hung over Jupiter and Juno, is impervious to 
every beam but that of fancy. 

Her bosom, like the devc-^cash'd rott, fyc.] " ' Pofttov 
(says an anonymous anool si eiithet 

for" the bisom.'' > - n r Gray have 

been of his opinion. The former has the expression, 

En hie in roseis Islet papillis. 

And he latter, 

Lo '. where the rosy-bosom'd hoars, *e. 

Crottus, a modern Latini-t, might indeed be cen- 
sured for too vague a use of tie epithet " r sy," when 
he applies it to the r:ycs : — " e roseis oculis." 

young Desire, ^-c.] In the original 'T/»ipoc, 

who was the same deity with Jocus anohg -V Ro- 
mans. Aurelius Augurellus has a poem beginning — 



J cum. Curidii.em. 
Which Parcell has closely imitated : — 

Gav Bacchus, liking M sss a r^ wine, 

A noble mr»! It-, 
And for Ihe eurfia thml were to Jib-. 

Brought Conns, Love, and Jocus, lie. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



40 



ODE LVIII. 

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion, 
Escapes like any faithle-s minion, 
And flies me (as lie flies me ever,) 
l)o I pursue him? never, never I 
No, let the fal-e de-eter go, 
For who would c url h.s direst foe? 
But, when 1 feel my lighen'd mind 
No more by grovelling gold confii'd, 
Then loose' 1 ill such dinging cares, 
And cast them to (he vagiant airs. 
Then feel I, to >, the Muse's spell, 
And wake to life the dulcet shell. 
Which, rous'd once more, in beauty sings, 
While love dissolves along the strings 1 

But, scarcely has my heart been laugh* 
How little Gold deserves a thought, 
When, !o '. the slave returns once more, 
And Willi him waits delicious s'ore 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
In slumber seals the anxious heart 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps for ever 1 

Awav, deceiver ! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? 
Sweet is the song of amorou- hie, 
Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre; 
Oh ' sweeier far ihan all the gold 
Thy wings en waft, thy mines can hold. 
Well do 1 know lliy ar s, thy wiles — 
They wither'd Love's young wreathed smiles; 
And o'er his lyre such d irkness shed, 
I thought its soul of song was fled ! 
They dash'd the wine cup, ilu , by him, 
Was tilled with kisses to the brim. 

I have followed Barnes's arrangement of this ode, 
which, though deviating somewhat from the Vatican 
MS., appears to me thi) more natural order. 



When Gold, as fleet a? zephyr's pinion, 
Escapes like any faithless minim, S/c] In the 
original '0 dparrr rjic 6 xpwoj. 1 here is a kind of 
pun in these words, as Midame Dicier has already 
remarked; for Chrysos, which siguilies gold, was 
also a frequent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's 
dialogues, there is, I think, a similar play upon the 
word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called 
golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are, in gen- 
eral, even more vapid than our own ; some of the 
best are those recorded of Diogenes. 

And flies me (as he flies me ever), $«.] Att o", 
ati /it (pevysi. This grace of itera'ion has already 
been taken notice of. Though sometimes merely a 
playful beauty, it is peculiarly expressive of impas- 
sioned sentiment, and we may easily believe that it 
was one of the many sources of that energetic sensi- 
bility which breathed through the slyle of Sappho. 
See Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be said 
that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who 
can feel its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he 
complains of the infidelity of his mistress, Lesbia: — 

Coeli. Lesbia nostra, Lesbia ilia, 
Ilia Lesbia, quam Citullus unam, 
Flos quam se atque suos amavit omnes. 
Nunc, <fcc. 

Si sic omnia dixisset ! — but the rest does not bear 
citation. 



They lash'd the wine-nip, that, by him, 

Was filled with hisses to the brim.] Original : ■ 



Go — fly to haunts of sordid men, 

But come n r>1 near the hard again. 

Thy sh ter in the Muse's shide, 

Scares fion her bower the tuneful maid; 

And not foi worlds would I forego 

That mome.it of poetic slow, 

When my full soul, in Fancy's streim. 

Pours o'er ihe lyre its swelling theme. 

Away, away! to wot Idling- hence, 

Who feel not this diviner sense ; 

Give g. Id to those who love that pest, — 

But leave the poet poor and blest. 

Horace has " Desiderique temperare poculum," not 
figuratively, however, like Anacreon, but importing 
the love-philtres of the witches. By " cu| s of kisses " 
our poet may allude to a favourite gallantry among 
the ancients, of drinking when the lips of their mis- 
tresses had touched the brim : — 



As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostratus ; and 
Lucian has a conceit upon the same idea, " Tva neat 
mvris ana Kai $iAijs," " that you may at once both 
drink aud kiss." 



ODE LIX. 



$(.Xr)u,aTiov <te Ktdviuv, 
Ho9uv KvntWa «tpvijs. 



Bipen'd by the solar beam, 
Now Ihe ruddy clusters teem, 
In osier baskets borne along 
By all ihe festal vintage throng 
Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 
Ripe as the melting liuits they bear. 
Now, now they | ress the prcg ant grapes, 
And now the captive stream e cape's, 
In fervid tide of nectar gu»hini, 
And for ils bondage proi.dly blushin? ! 
While. roi;nd the vat's impurpled brim, 
The choral song, the vintage hymn 
Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 
Steals on the charm'd and echoing air. 
Maik, how they d.ink, with all their eyes, 
The orient tide that sparkling flies, 
Ti.t infant Bacchus, born in mirth, 
While Love stands by, to hail the birth. 

When he. wh'se verging years decline 
As deep into the vale as mine. 
When he inhales the vintage-cup, 
His feet, new-wiiig'd, fr. in ranh spring up, 
And as he dances, "the fitsh air 
Plavs whispering through lus silvery hair. 
Meanwhile young groups whom li ve invites. 
T" jovs ev'ii rivalling wine's delights, 
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, 
And there, in wo>ds and hrx ks of love, 
Such as fund lovers look and say. 
Pass the sweet moonligh: hours'away.* 

The title EiriXiyvioj i'fivoc, which Barnes has 
given to this ode, is by no means appropriate. We 
have alieady had one cf those hymns (ode 56.), but 
this is a description nl the vintage; and Ihe title tic 
oivov, which it bears in the Vatican MS , is more coi- 
recl than any that have been si giested. 

Dexen, in the true spirit if literary scepticism, 
doubts that this ode is genuine, wi h ut assigning any 
reason for s>ch a suspicion ; — " non amo te, Sab di, 
nee possum dicere quae." But this is far from being 
satisfactory criticism. 



* Those well acquainted wih the ordinal need 
hardly be reminded that, in tl ese few concluding | 
verses, 1 have thought right to give only the general | 
meaning of my author, leaving •in details untouched. 



46 



ODES OF A NACRE ON" 



ODE LX. 

Awake to life, my -leepirg shell. 
To Phoebus let thy numbere s ^ ell ; 
And though no glorious p'ize be thine, 
No Pythian wreath around hee twine, 
Yet every hour is glory's hour 
To him who gathers wisdom's flower. 
Then wake thee from 'hy voiceless slumben 
And to the soft anJ Phrygan numbers, 
Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat, 
Send echoes from thy chord a< sweet. 
T is thus the swan, wish fading notes, 
Down the Caster's current floats, 
While amor us breezes linger round, 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 

Muse of the Lyre ! illume my dream, 
Thy Phoebus is my fancv"s theme ; 
And ballow'd is the harp 1 bear, 
And hallow'd is the wreath 1 wear, 
Hallow 'd by him. the god of lays, 
Who modulates the chonl maze. 
1 sing the lo»e which Daphne twin'd 
Around ihe godhead's yielding mind; 
1 sing the blushing Daphne's flight 
F'Om this ethereal son of Light ; 
And how Ihe tender, timid maid 
Flew trembling to the kindly shade, 
Re-ign'd a form, alas, too fair, 
At d grew a verdant laurel there ; 
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, 
In terror seeni'd to tremble still ! 
The g d pursu'd, with wing'd desire; 
And when his hope* were all on fire, 
And when to clasp the nymph he thought, 
A lifele-s tree was all he caught ; 
And. stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, 
Heard but the west-wind in the leaves ! 

But. pause, my soul, no more, no more — 
Enthusiast, whi'lherdo I soar? 
This swee'ly-mad'ning die m of soul 
Hath hurried me bevond the goal. 
Why should I sing :"he mighty darts 
Which fly to wound celes'ial hearts. 
When ati. the song, wiih sweeer tone, 
Can tell the darts that wound my own ? 



This hymn to Apollo is supposed r.ot to have been 
written by Anacreon ; and it is undoubtedly rather 
sublimer flight than Ihe Teian wing is accustomed 
soar. But, in a poet of whose works so small a pro- 
portion has reached us, diversi'y of style is by no 
means a safe criterion. If we kiiew Horace but as a 
satirist, should we easily believe there could dwell 
such animation in his lyre ? Suidas says that our pre* 
wro'e hymns, and this" |>erhap- is one'of them. We 
can perceive in what an altered and imt«rfec! state 
his works are at present, when we find a scholiast 
upon Horace citing an ode from the third book of 
Anacreon. 

And how the tender, timid maid 
Fkw trembling- to the kindly shade, $c.] Origin- 
al:— 

To ii£V tKnufitvyt Ktvrpov, 
ivo-io>$ 6' aii£iv>£ tiop^nv. 

I find the word Ktvrpov here ha* a double force, as 
it also signifies that '•omnium pareutem, quam sane- 
tus Numa, &c. &c." (See Martial. ) In order to con- 
firm this import of the word here, those who are 
curious in new readings, may place the stop after 
cVno-£u)j, thus : — 

To fitv iKT-edtvyt Ktvrpov 
*t'0-£iuc, d' afitiTpt /ioo<p>iv. 



Still be Anacreon. still inspire 

Tie dscant of the Te an lvre: 

Still le ihe necard numbers float, 

Dis'illmg love in every no'e ! 

And when j->me you'll, whose g'oningioul 

Has felt the Paphiau star's control, 

When he the liquid lays hill hear, 

His heart will flutter to his ear, 

And drinking there of song divine, 

Banquet ou intellectual wine ' 

Still be .inacreon, still inspire 

The descant of the Teian lyre:] The criminal is 
Tov AvaKptovra fii/iov. 1 have translated it under 
the supposition that the hymn is by Anacreon; though, 
1 fear, from this very line, that his claim to it can 
scarcely be supported. 

Tov AvaKptovra pLiuov, "Imitate Anacreon." 
Such is the lesson given us by the li rist ; and if. in 
poetry, a simi !e elegance rf sentiment, ei riched by 
the most playful felicities rf fancy, be a charm which 
invi'es or deserves imitation, where shall we fii d 
such a guide as Anacieon? In morality, too, with 
some little reserve, we need not blush," I think, to 
folbw in his footsteps. For if his s ng !e the lan- 
guage of his heart. th> ugh luxurious and relaxed, he 
was" art'ess and benevolent; and who would no 1 for- 
give a few irregularities, when atoned for by virtues 
so rare and so endearing? When we think of the 
sentiment in those lines : — 



how many are there in the world, to whom we would 
wish to say, Tov AvaKptovra pt/iov ! 

Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS., 
whose authority helps to confirm the genuine antiquity 
of them all. though a few h ve Itolea among the 
number, which we mav hesitae in altribu ins to 
A> acreon. In the lit le rssay pier.\ 
tion. 1 observed thit Barges' has quoted t.' 
script incorrectly. 

it, which Isac Vossius had taken. I shall 
tion two or three instances of this inaccracy — the 
fir-t which occur to me. In the ode of the Dove, on 
'he words IlT£fo<o-i ciycahwin. he says, "Vatican 
MS. awKi.a£ujv, eliani Prsuaiio invito : r but the 
MS. reaJs utuu'id. «itb o-vo-Ktacui inteilined. 
De-gen too, on tht sane line, is s mew hat in error. In 
the twenty -second < de of 'hi> series, line thirteenth, 
the MS. has rma wi h a» interlintd. 'i,d Birnts im- 
putes to it the re dn g of i -eventn, 
line twelfth, he prof.sst-s to have peseiYed'the read- 
ing of the M>. A ~ airij. while the 
latter has oXoAn/itfoc c" nr' avra. Almost all the 
other annusalois have transplau ed these errors from 



ODE LXI. 



Touth"s endearing charms are fled; 

Hoa:v 

Blooi'nv graces, dallian 

All thi 

The intrusion of ths melancholy ode. among tlie 
ore'ess levities of o..r joe', remind' -s of • 
tons which the 1 _ 
lanquel-roouis. tn uiculc- 

even amids' the d - *eienot 

for the besu y oi ■ 
disown : 
rarat am res? ' 

To St^bseus we are indebted for it. 

311 the' flowers of life decay.') Horact rf*en. with 



ODES OF ANACREON, 



47 



Withering age begins to trace 
Sid memorials o'er my face ; 
Time has -heJ its sweetest bloom, 
All the future must be gloom. 
This it is that ses me sighing : 
Dreary is Ihe thought of dying! 
Lone and dismal is ihe road, 
Down to Pluto's da:k abode ; 
And, when once the journey 's o'er, 
Ah ! we can return no more J 

feeling and elegance, deplores the fugacity of Immni 
enjoyments. See book ii. ode 11. ; and "thus in the 
second epis'le, book ii. : — 

Siogula de nobis anni praedantur euntes 
Eripuere jocos, vrneiem, couvivia, ludum. 

The win? of every passing day 
Withers some blooming joy away; 
Anil w rfts from our en imour'd arms 
The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms. 

Dreary is the thought of dying! 4-c] Re»nier, a 
libertine Fiench poet, has written some sonnets on the 
approach of dea'h, full of gloomy and trembling re- 
pentance. Chiulieu, however, supports more consist- 
ently the spirit of the Epicurean philosopher. See his 
poem, addressed lo Ihe Marquis de Lafare — 

Plus j'approche du terme et mains je le redoute, io. 

And, when once the journey 's o'er, 

Ah ! we can return no more .'] Scaliger, upon 
Catullus's well-known lines, " Qui nunc it per iter 
&c," remarks, that Acheron, with the same idea, i: 
cr.lled avelooos by Theocritus, and o"vo-£(Cfjpo|toc by 
Nicander. 



ODE LXII. 

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, 

As e'er was fill'd, as e'er was quaff 'd ! 

But iet the water amply flow, 

To cool Ihe grape's intemperate glow ; 

Let not the fiery god be sinile, 

But with the nymphs in union mingle. 

For though the bowl 's the grave of sadness, 

Ne'er let it be the birth of madness. 

No, banish from our board to-night 

The revelries of rude delight ; 

This ode consis's of two fragments, which are lo be 
found in Athenaeus, book x., and which Barnes, from 
the similarity of their tendency, has combined into 
one. I think this a very justifiable liberty, and have 
adopted it in some other fragments of our poet. 

Ee«n refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. iv., "der 
Tr Inker." 

Bid let the water amply flow, 

To cnol tlie graphs intemperate glow ; §-c.] It was 
Ampliictyon who first taught the Greeks to mix water 
with their wine; in commemoration of which circum- 
siar.j? .hey erected altars to Bacchus and Ihe nymphs. 
On this mythological allegory the following epigram 
ii founded : 

Ardentem ex u ero Semcles lavere Lyaeum 

Naiades, extini'to fulmints igne sacri; 
Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine nymphis 
Caudeuti rursus fulmine corripilur. 

Pterins Valerianus. 
Which is, non verbum verbo,— 

While heavenly fire consum'd his Theban dame. 
A Naiad caught young Bacchus from the flame, 

And dipp'd him burning in her purest lymph ; 
Hence, still he loves the Naiad's crystal urn, 
And when his native tires too fiercely burn. 

Seeks ihe cool waters of the founiain-nymph. 



To Scythians leave these wild excesses, 
Ours be t lie joy thai soothes and b'esses! 
And while the temperate bowl we wreathe, 
In concert let our voices breathe, 
Beguiling every hour along 
With harmony of soul and song. 



ODE LXIII. 

To Love, the soft and blooming child, 
I touch the harp in descant wild ; 
To Love, ihe babe of Cyprian bowers, 
The boy, who breathes and blushes flowers; 
To Love, for heaven and earth adore him, 
And gods and mortals bow before him 1 

"This fragment is preserved in Clemens Alexandri- 
nus. Strom, lib. vi. and iu Arsenius, Collect. Graec." 
— Barnes. 

It appears to have been the opening of a hymn in 
praise of Love. 



ODE LXIV. 

Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear 

Wounds the fleeting mountain-deer 1 

Dian, Jove's immoral child, 

Huntress of Ihe savage wild ! 

Goddess with the sun bright hair ! 

Listen to a people's prayer. 

Turn, to Lethe's river turn, 

There thy vanquished people mourn ! 

Come to Lethe's wavy shore, 

Tell Ihem they shall mourn no more. 

Thine their hearts, their altars thine; 

Must they, Dian — must ihey pine? 

This hymn to Diana is extant in Hephaeslion. There 
is an anecdote of our poet, which has led some 10 
doubt whether he ever wrole any odes of this kind. 
It is related by the Scholiast upon Pindar (Istlunionic. 
od. ii. v. 1. us cited by Barnes] that Anacreon being 
a ked, why he addressed all his hymns to women, and 
none to the deities? answered, "Because women aie 
my dei ies." 

I have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting this 
anecdote, the si me liberty which I have thought it 
tight lo take in translating some of the odes; and it 
were lo be wished that thee little infidelities were 
always allowable in interpreting the writing- of the 
ancients; thus, when nature is forgotten in the original, 
in the translation " tamen usque recurret." 

Turn, to Lethe's river turn, 

There thy vanquish'd people mourn .'] Lethe, a 
river of Ionia, according to Strabo, falling into Ihe 
Meander. In its neighbourhood wis the city called 
Magnesia, in favour of whose inhabitants our poet is 
supposed to have addressed 'his supplication to Diana. 
It was written (as Madame Dacier conjectures) on the 
occasion of some battle, in which the Magnesians had 
been defeated. 



ODE LXV. 

Like some wanton filly sporlin?, 

Maid of Thrace, thou fly'sl my courting. 

Wanton filly ! tell me n hv 

Thou Irip'st away, with scornful eye, 

And sepm'st to think my dotting heart 

Is novice in the bridling at ? 

Believe me, girl, it is not so: 

Thou 'It find this skilful hand can throw 

The reins Around that tender form, 

However wild, however warm. 



48 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Yes — trust me I en lame thy force. 
And luin and wii.d thee in the course. 
Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 
Th >u sporl amid the herb* and Mowers, 
Soon shall thou fee! Ihe rein's control, 
And tiemble at tlie wished for goal ! 

This ode, which is addressed to some Thracian ?>rl, 
exis:s in Heraclides, and h*s been imita'ed very" fre- 
quently by Horace, as all the annotamrs have re- 
ma ked. Madame Dacier rejects the allegory, which 
runs so obviously through the poem, and supposes it to 
have been addiessed to a young mare belonging to 
Polytra'es. 

Pierius, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyphics, 
cites this ode, and informs us that the horse was the 
hieroglj phical emLleui of pride. 



To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest of all that fairest' shine ; 
To thee, who rul'st with darts of fire 
This world of mortals, yom g Desire! 
And oh ! thou nuptial Power, to thee 
Who bear'sl of life the guard.an key, 
Breathing my soul in fervent praise, 
And weaving wild my votive lays. 
For thee, () Queen! I wake the lyre, 
For ihee, Ihou blushing young Desire, 
And oh ! for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 

Look on thy bride, too happy boy, 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all' her blushing chirms, 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, 
Before the lovely, trembling prey. 
Like a young birdling, wing away '. 
Turn, Stratncles, too happy youth. 
Dear lo the Queen of amorous truth, 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
VVill soon resign he- nil thine own. 
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye, 
Breathe to Myrilla, brea he thy sigh. 
To those bewitching beau'ies turn ; 
For thee they blush, for thee they burn. 

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers, 
Than she unrivall'd grace discloses. 
The sweetest r se, w heie all are roses. 
Oh ! may the sun. benignant, shed 
His bl indest influence "'er thy bed ; 
And foster there an infant tree. 
To bloom like her, and tower like thee! 

This ode is introduced in the Romance of Theod' rua 
Prodi 'onius and is that kind of epithalamium which 
w.is sung like a scol.um at the nuptial binc,uet. 

Among the many works of the impassioned Sappho, 
of which lime and ignorant superstition have dep-ived 
us, the loss of her epi halamiums is not one of the 
least Dial we deplore. The following lines are cited 
as a relic of one of those poems : — 

Ox/Jit ya/i/3p£. aoi /aev (n yawoc die agao, 
EKTtTt\«TT\ £,\-«S <*£ nagQtvov av agao. 

See Scaliger, in his Poetics, ou the Epithalamium. 



To bloom like her, and tower like thee .'] Original 
KvunpiTToc <?£ neivKoi <rtv tvt Knx to. Passeratius, 
upon the words "cum castum anusit floreni," in the 
Nuptial Song of Ca'ullns. after explainirg "flos" 1 in 
somewhat a similar sense to that which Gaulminus 
attributes to (5oc"ov, says. " Hor uni quoque voeant in 
quo flos ille carpitur, et Gratis kijjtov ictl to ii>n- 
fiaiov ■yvvaiMov." 



I may here remark, in passing, that the author of the 
Greek version of this charming ode of Catullus has 
neglected a av s striking and anacreontic beauty in 
those verses "Ul flos in septis, &c." which is the 
repetition of the line, •' Multi ilium pueri, murae op. 
tavere puellse," wiih the slight alteration of nulli and 
nullae. Catullus him elf, however, has been equally 
injudicious in his version of ihe famous ode of Sappho ; 
having translated yeXwcras ifitgotv. but omitted al] 
no'ice of the ace unuanying charm, dcti tjiuvot'irac. 
Horace has caught the spirit of it more faithfully : — 

Duke ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 



Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
The weal h of Amalthea's horn ; 
Nor should I ask to call the throne 
Of the Tartessian pri ce my own : 
To totter through his train of years, 
The vicim of Ueclinii g fears. 
One little hour of joy to me 
Is worth a dull eternity ! 

This fragment is preserved in the third book of 
Strabo. 

Of the Tartessian prince my own ;] He here al- 
ludes to Argan'honius, who lived, according to l.ucian, 
an hundred and fifty years ; and reigned, according to 
Herodotus, eighty, bee Barnes. 



ODE LXVI1I. 

Now Neptune's month our sky def orm.% 

The angry night-cloud eems " i > h storms; 

And savage winds, infur ate diiven, 

Fiy howliug in the face of heaven ! 

Now, now, my friends, the gat herirg gloom 

With roseate rays of wine illume : 

And while our wrea'hs of parsley spread 

Their fadeless foliage round our head, 

Let 's hymn th' almighty power of wine, 

And shed libations on his shrine ! 

This is composed of two fragments ; the seventieth 
and eighty-first in Barnes. They are both found in 
Eustathius. 



ODE LXIX. 



They wove the lotus band to deck 
And fan wi h pensile w reiih each neck ; 
Aid every guest, to shade his head. 
Three little fragrant ch«plets spread ; 

Three fragments form this little rde, all of which 
are preserved in A'henyus. They are the eighty 
second, seventy-fifth, and eighty thiid, in Barnes. 

And every cucst. to shade his head, 

Three Utile fragrant ehafUU siread ;] Longe- 
pierre, to give an idea rf the luxurio s esimati. n in 
which garlands were held by 'he arcients. relates an 
if a cour'e-an. who' in order to gra ifv three 
lovers, without leaving canse lor jia! u-y with'any of 
them, gave a kiss to one, let the other drink af'er her, 
and | ut a garland on the brow of the third ; so that 
each was satisfied with his favour, arid flattered him- 
-elt with the preference 

This circumstance resembles very much Ihe sub- 
ject of oue of th. i de Manleon, a 
troubadour. See L'Histoiie Litteraire des 
dours. The recital is a cuii us picture of the pueule 
gallantries of chivalry. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



49 



AnJ one was o" lh' Egyptian leaf, 

The rest were r se-, fair and brief; 

While fn in a g Wen va-e profound, 

To all on flowery beds around, 

A Hete, of celesinl shitie, 

Fuurd the uch droppings of the grape! 



ODE LXX. 

A broken cake, with honey sweet, 
Is all my spare and simple treat : 
And while a generous bowl I crown 
To float my little banquet down, 
1 lake the soft, the amorous lyre, 
And sing of love"s delicious fire : 
In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee ! 

Compiled by Birnes. from Athenaeus, Hepbasstion, 
and Arseuius. See Barnes, 80th. 



ODE LXXI. 



With twenty chords my lyre is hung, 

And while I wake them all for thee, 
Thou, maiden, wild and young, 

Disport'st in airy levity. 
The nursling fawn, that in some shade 

Its anller'd mother leaves behind, 
Is not more wantonly afraid, 

More timid of the rustling wind ! 

This I have formed from the eighty-fourth and 
eighty-filth of Barnes's edition. The two fragments 
are found in Athentsus. 

The nursling faum, that in some shade 
Its anlUr'd mutlitr haves bthiiid, fyc.] In the 
original : — 

*0C EV b\l) KEpOEO-fTTJS 

AnoXci<pOus vko yiijrpoj. 

" Horned" here, undoubtedly, seems a strange epi- 
thet; Madame Dacier however observes, that Sopho- 
cles, Ollimachus, &c. have all applied it in the very 
same manner, and she seems to agree in the conjec- 
ture of the scholiast upon Pindar, "that perhaps horns 
are not always peculiar to the males. I think we may 
with niore case conclude it to be a license of the poet, 
"jussit habere puellam cornua." 



ODE LXXII. 

Fare thee well, perfidious maid, 

My soul, too long on earth delay'd, 

Delay 'd, perfidious girl, by theej 

Is on the wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 

Since thou hast ceas'd to love me here! 

This fragment is preserved by the scholiast upon 
Aristophanes, and is the eighty-seventh in Barnes. 



ODE LXXIII. 

Awhile I bloom'd, a happy flower, 
Till Love approach'd one fatal hour, 
And made my tender branches feel 
The wounds of his avenging steel. 
Then lost I fell, like some poor willow 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 



This is to be found in Hephaestion, and is the eighty. 
nin'h of Larnfs's edition. 

I have omitted, from among the e scraps, a very 
considerable fragment imputed to our poet, HavOn tj' 
EvpvrrvXi) fisXci, &c. which is preserved in the 
twelfth book of Athenaeus, and is the ninety-first in 
Barnes. If it was really Amcrei n who wrote it, 
"nil fuif unquam sic impar sibi." It is in a style of 
gross atire, and ab unds with expressions that never 
could be graceiully translated. 



ODE LXX IV. 

Monarch Love, resistless boy. 

With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, 

And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven's hue, 

D .sporting re id 'he ni"untain-dew ; 

Propitious, oh ! receive my sighs. 

Which, glowing wi'h entreaty, rise, 

That thou wilt whisper to the breast 

Of her I love thy soft behest ; 

And counsel her to learn from thee, 

That lesson Ihou hast taught to me. 

Ah! if my heart no flattery lei I, 

Thou 'It own I : ve learn'd that lesson well ! 

A frajment preserved by Dion Chrysostom. Orat. 
ii. de Regno. See Barnes, 93. 



ODE LXXV. 

Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd, 
Stream on the breeze like floating gold ; 
Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing with light, thy votaiy shroud ; 
And, on those wings that spaikling play, 
Waft, oh, waft me hence a»ay ! 
L"ve ! my soul is full of thee, 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she. the nymph for whom I glow, 
The lovely Lesbian mncks my wee; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues, 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas ! 1 fear she keeps her charms, 
In store for younger, happier arms ! 

This fragment, which is extant in A'hr nius (Barnes, 
101.1, is supposed, on the authority of Chamseleon, to 
have been addres-ed to Sappho. We have also a 
stanza attributed to her. which some romancers have 
supposed to be her answer Id Anacreon. '• Mais par 
malheur (as Biyle says), Sappho vint au monde envi- 
ron cen' ou ^ix ving't ans avant Anacreon." — Null- 
vtlles de la R<p. des'LM. torn. ii. de Novembre, I6S4 
The following is her fragment the compliment of 
which is finely imagined ; she supposes that the Muse 
has dictated the verses of Anacreon : — 

Kuvov, ui x'pi'coOpovE Mow' emo-ttec 
' Y/iVov, ek rijc icaMiyvvaticos eo-OAoj 
T 7710c xcopac bv auie rtpirvus 
np£0-tJvc ayavoc. 

Oh, Muse! who sit'et on golden throne, 
Full ninny a hymn of witching tone 

The TeMii sage is taught by line ; 
But, Goddess, from thy throne of gold; 
The swi-dest hjniu "hnu'sl ever loM, 

He lately learn'd aud sung fur me. 



ODE LXXVI. 

Hither, gentle Muse of mine, 
Come and te ch thy votary old 

M my a golden hymn divine. 
For the nymph with vest of gold. 



l> 



50 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Pretty nymph, of tender age, 

Fair thy silky locks unfold ; 
Listen to a hoary sage, 

Sweetest maid with vest of gold ! 

Formed of the 124th and 119th fragments in Barnes, 
both of which are to be found in Soliger's Poetics. 

De Panw thinks that those detached lines and 
couplets, which Scaliger has adduced as examples in 
his Poetics, are by no means authentic, but of his own 
fabrication. 



ODE LXXVII. 

Would that I were a tnneful lyre, 

Of burnish'd ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dtonysian choir, 

Son»e blooming boy should bear! 

Would that I were a golden vase, 
That some bright nymph might hold 

My -potless frame, with blushing grace, 
Her.- elf as pure as gold i 

This is generally inserted among the remains of 
Alcajus. Some, however, have attributed it to Ana- 
creon. See our poet's twenty-second ode, and the 
notes. 



ODE LXXVIII. 

When Cupid sees how thickly now, 

The snows of Time fall o'er my brow, 

Upon Ins win? of golden light, 

He passes with an eaglet's flight, 

Ami hitting onward seems to say, 

" Fare thee well, thou 'st bad thy day ! " 

See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which I have 
taken the liberty of adding a turn not to be found in 
the orijina., is cited by Lucian in his short essay on 
the Gallic Hercules. 



Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray, 
That lights our life's meandering way, 
That God, within this bosom stealing, 
H.ath waken'd a strange, mingled feeling, 
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing, 
And teases, though so sweetly 'pleasiug ! 

Barnes, 125th. This is in Scaliger's Poetics, 
is omitted it in his collection of fragments. 



Let me resign this wretched breath, 

Since now remains to me 
No other balm than kindly death, 

To soothe my misery 1 

This fragment is extant in Arsenius and Hephaes- 
tion. See Barnes (69th), who has arranged the metre 
of it very skilfully. 



I know thou lov'st a brimming measure, 

And ait a kindly, cordial host ; 
But let me till and drink at pleasure — 

Thus I enjoy the goblet most. 

Barnes, 72d. This fragment, which is found in 
Athenaeus, contains an excellent lesson for the vota- 
ries of Jupiter Hospitalis. 



I fear that love disturbs my rest, 
Yet feel not love's impas-ioird cats; 

I think there 's madness in my breast, 
Yet cannot find that madness ibere ! 

Found in Hephaestion (see Barnes, 95th), and re- 
minds ODe somewhat of the following : — 



I love thee and hate thee, but it I ran tell 
The cause of my love and my hate, may I die. 

I can feel it, alas! I can feel it loo well. 
That I love Ihee and hate thee, but cannot tell why. 



From dread Leucadia's frowning steep, 
1 'II plunge into the whitening deep ; 
And there lie cold, to death resign'd, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind ! 

This is also in Hepbaestion, and perhaps is a frag- 
ment of some poem, in which Anacreon had com- 
memorated the fate of Sappho. It is the 123d of 
Barnes. 



Mix me, child, a cup divine, 
Crystal water, ruby wine: 
Weave the frontlet, richlv flushing, 
0"er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer — Love and I 
Shall no more the contest try. 
Here — upon this holy bowl", 
I surrender all my soul ! 

Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Phalareus and 
Eustathius, and subjoined in his edition to Ihe epi- 
grmis attributed to our pnet. And here is the last of 
those little scattered flowers, which 1 though: | might 
venture with anv grace to transplant ; — happv if it 
could be said of the garland which Ihey form, to d' 
<u£' AvaKptovroc. 



Among the Epigrams of the Anthologia, are found 
some panegyrics on Anacreon, which 1 had translated 
and originally intended as a sort of Coronis to this 
work. But I found upon consideration, that they 
wanted variety ; and that a frequent recurrence, in 
them, of the same thought, would render a collection 
of such poems uninteresting. I shaJl take the liberty, 
however, of subjoining a few, selected from the num- 
ber, that I may not appear to have totally neglected 
those ancient tributes to the fame of Anacreon. The 
four Epigrams which I give are imputed to Antipater 
Sidonius. They are rendered, perhaps, with too much 
freedom; but designing originally a translation of all 
that are extant on the subject, I endeavoured to er. liven 
their uniformity by sometimes indulging in the liber- 
ties of paraphrase. 



ANTin.ATPOT EIACNIOY, EIE AN'AKPE- 
ONTA. 

6AAAOI T£TpaKopvu.Soc, Aiaxptov, afi<j* it 
icto-o-oc 
&Spa Tt Xufiuivwv Kop6vptav TrtTa.Xo - 
jrnyaio" apyivotvToc avaSXiSoivTo yaXfucroc, 

rvodtS S' ano ync f/fv ££oi7o "•£#*', 
o<ppa Kt rot o-^oi'tr; t£ «n otrrta Ttoii'iv apfrtu, 

a c"£ rtc oWt/iti-o:; ; JO-tiva, 

w to cicXov trrfpi-ac, <j».\f , papetrov, a> <rvv a<xc*« 

diaT.VcoovjS Kai crvv tpton /Siov. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



51 



•Around the omb, oh. bard d vine ! 

Where soft thy hallow'd brow reposes, 
Long may the deaihless ivy twine. 

And summer spread her waste of roses ! 

And here shall many a (bunt distil, 
And many a riil refresh the tiowers j 

But i>iie shall be eich purple rill, 
And every fount be milky showers. 

Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 
To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure, 

Who give to love his tenderesi thought, 
Who gave to love his fondest measure,— 

Thu«, after death, if shades can feel, 

Thou may'si, from odours round thee streaming, 
A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 

And live again in blissful dreaming ! 

Antina er Sidonius, the author of this epigram, 
lived, according to Vossius, de Poetis Graecis, in the 
second year of the 169th Olympiad. He appears, from 
what Cicero and Quintilim have said of him, to have 
be. n a kind of improvisators. See Institut. (Jrat. lib. 
x. cap. 7. There is nothing more known respecting 
this poet, excepr some particulars about his illness and 
death, which are mentioned as curi us by Pliny and 
o'hers; — and there remain of his works but a few 
epigrams in the Anlhologia, among which are found 
Ihe^e inscriptions upon Anacreon. These remains 
have been s unetimes imputed to another poet- of the 
sime nime, of whom Vossius gives us the following 
account : — Antipater Thes-alonicensis vixil tempore 
Augusti Caesar i, ut qui saltaniem viderit Pyladem, 
sicut constat ex quodam e.,us epigrammate AvOoXo- 
yias, lib. iv. 'it. £15 op%£<rTp-cJas. At eum ac Ba- 
thyllum primos futs-e pmtomimos ac sub Augusto 
claruisse, satis notum ex Dione, &c. &c." 

The reader, who thinks it worth observing, may 
find a s'rauge oversight in Hoffman's quoation of this 
article from Vossius, Lexic. Univers. By the omission 
of ■< sentence he has made Vossius assert that the poet 
Antipater was one of the first pantomime dancers in 
Home. 

Barnes upon the epigram before us, mentions a ver- 
sion of it by Brodaeus, which is not to be found in 
that commentator; but he more than once confounds 
Brodaeus with another annotator on the Anthologia 
Vincentius Obsopoeus, who has given a translation of 
the epigram. 



And yet, oh, Bard ! thou art not mute in death, 
Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath; 
And st II thy songs of soft Baihylla bloom, 
Green as the ivy round thy mouldering tomb. 
Nor yet has death obscui'd thy fire oHove, 
For still it lights thee through the Elysnii grove; 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th' elect alone, 
And Venus calls thee even in death her own ! 

God of the grape ! thou hast betray'd 

In wine's bewildering dream, 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 

Along the Muse's st 



The Teian, nurs'tl w 
The young Desires, I 



th all those honey'd boys, 

ight Loves, and rose-lipp'd Joys! 



TOT ATTOT, EI2 TON AYTON. 
TTMBO£ AvaKpuovros. 6 Tijioc tvQadt kvkvos 

Ev6si, x 1 '/ naidtuv ^uiporarr] /lavtr). 
AK/jirjV XaoioevTi ficXi^trai a/*$i BaOvXXui 

'I^£pa* Kai kktctov Xzvkos otiioSt Xi9o$. 
Ov6' AiiJtjc vol ipuirns a^iaSto-tv, cv 6' Axtpovros 

Q.v, 6Xo$ wiiveis Kurrpic*t -$£p/toT£pjj. 

Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade; 
Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid. 
Cold, cold ihat heait, which while on earth it dwelt 
All the sweet frenzy of love's passion felt. 

■ the Teian swan is laid.] Thus Horace of 
Multa Dircaeum levat aura cycnum. 
A swan was the hieroglvphical emblem of a poet. 
Anacreon has been called the swan of Teos by an- 
other of his eulogists. 

Ev Totj pzXixpots 'l[i£Qoi<ri o-uvrporf-ov 
Avatoc AvaKpzovra, 1'rfiov kvkvov, 
EaQifXas £yp>? vcurapos puXije'ovT). 

Evytvovs, AvBoXoy. 



Pindar 



I Pleraque tamen Thessalonicensi tribuenda videntur. 
Brunei, Lcctiones et Emendal. 



Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath;] 
Thus Simonides, speaking of our poet : — 

MoXtt^c <5' oti Xr)Qr) /leXirepneos aXX' cri kuvo 
Bapforov ov6c 3-avuiv tvvaa-tv uv a'id-q. 

Liaovicov, AvdoXoy. 

Nor yet are all his numhers mute, 

Though dark within the tomb he lies; 

But livmg still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs! 

This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled 
"divine." though Le Fevre, in his Poetes Grecs, sup- 
poses that the epig ams under bis name are all falsely 
imputed. The most considerable of his remains is a 
sa'irical ponn upon women, preserved by Stobaeus, 
u/oyoj yvvaiKuiv. 

We may judge from the lines I have just quoted, 
and the import of the epigram before us, that the 
works of Anacreon were perfect in the times of Simo- 
nides and Autipa'er. Obsopceus, the commentator 
here, a; pears to exult in their destiuclion, and telling 
us they "ere burned by tic bishops and patriarchs, he 
adds, '• nee sane id necquicquam fecemnt," attributing 
to this nutnge an effect which it could not possibly 
have produced. 



TOT ATTOT, EIE TON ATTON. 

s,E\NE,Ta/f)ovJTapaXiTovAvaiC(inovTOSaXetPmi; 

Et n rot ik. /3t/3Aov rjXQtv zpiuv o(peXos, 
T.Kiio-01- c/it) cnodiif, <rnuarov yavo$, o<j>pa kcv 

OlVu) 

Ocrrta yijOrjo-t ra/ia vort^o/icva, 
'Qc 6 Aiovvvov neptXii/itvos ovam /ctu/toy, 

'Q <piXaK(ir)Tov <rvvrpo(pos ap/iovi^e,, 
Mnc*£ Kara(j>eifj.tvos \iaKxov ttxa rovrov bitoiaui 

Tov yzvtrj fieponuiv X">(">v 0(puXofizvov. 

Oh, stranger! if Anac eon's shell 
Have ever taught thy heart to swell 
With passion';, throb or pleasure's sigh, 
In pity turn, as wandering nigh, 

The spirit of Anacreon is supposed to utter these 



verses from the tomb, — somew 



lat " mutatus ab Ulo," 



at least in simplicity of expression 

if Anacreon's shell 

Has ever taught thy heart to swell, S,-c] We may 
guess fr m the words ik jiijiXuiv efiwv, that Anacreon 
was not merely a writer of billets-doux, as some 
French critics have cal'ed him. Amongst these Mr. 
Le Fevre, with all his professed admiration, has 
given our poet a character by no means of an elevated 
cast : — 



Aussi c'est pour cela 
L'a toujours justemei.. „ . 
Comme un franc goguenard 
Ami de billets-dou 



la posterite 
'age en age chante 

de goinfrerie. 



52 



ODES OF ANACREON 



And drop thy goblet's richest tear 

Id lender est libatii nh re! 

So shall my sleeping allies thrill 

Wi li visions of enj> yment still. 

Not eve. i ID dea h can 1 resign 

The fesl .1 jojs that once were mine, 

When Harmony pursu d my ways, 

And Bacchus w.nton'd to niy lays. 

Oh ! if i.elifht could charm no more, 

If all the g .blet'a bliss were o'er, 

When fate had once our doom decreed, 

Then dying wtmld he death indeed ; 

Nor could "I think, unMest by wine, 

Divinity itself divine ! 
See the verses prefixed to his Poetes Grecs. This is 
unlike the lang are ot Theocritus, to whom Anacreon 
is indebted for the following simple eulogium : — 

EIZ ANAKPKONTOE A.NAP1A.NTA. 
Gacat tov avipuivra tovtov, bj ceve, 

cnovca, Kai Aty', inav ej mkov £V&n$- 
Ava<pzovTo<i tticov' zicov iv Tew, 

Tutv jTpocro" a t<. Kiyto-irov tuConoiuiv. 
itpoo-Qtic 6c X">ti tois vzounv cicero, 

£p£tc arptfrtcus oAov tov ai/cpa. 

Upon the Statue of Anacreon. 

Stranger '. who near this statue chance to roam, 
Let it awhile your studious eyes engage; 

That yuu may say, returning; to your home, 
"I've seen the image of the Ter-in sage. 
Best of ihe bards who deck the Muse's page." 

Then, if you add, "Thai striplings lov'd him well," 

Yuu tell them all he was, and aptly tell. 

I have endeavoured lo do justice to the simplicity of 
this inscription by rendering i! as literally, 1 believe, 
is a verse translation will allow. 

And drop thy goblet's richest tear, 4>c.] Thus 
iimonides, m another of his epitaphs on our poet: — 
Kai /iiv an. TEyyoi vortgr) r3po<TO$, ^c 6 yfpatoc, 

Aaporcpov /taAaieaiv tizvttv « o-Tofiaruiv. 

Let viues, in clustering beauty wreath'd, 
Drop all their treasures on hi* head, 

lips, a dew of sweetness brealh'd. 
Richer than vine hath ever shed! 

And Bacchus ioant<m , d to my lays, $-c] The 
original here is corrupted, the line <ic 6 Aiovt'trov, 
&c. is unintelli;ible. 

Rrunck's emend ition improves the sense, but I 
doubt if it can be commended for elegance. He reads 
the line thus : — 

to$ 6 Aiiuvvo-oio \t\ao~tiivoc. ovtoti kw/icov. 

See Brunck, Analecta Veter. Poet. Graec. vol. ii. 



TOT AYTOT, EIE TON AYTON. 

EYAEIE cv cJSt/iivoio-iv, Avaxptov, to~Q\a jrovtj- 
crac 

tvfzid' h Y\vKtpT) vvKTi\a\o$ KiSapa, 
sifti (cai E/i£pc\c, to Uo9ov cap, u> at) fitXioc'wv, 

BapBir', avaKoovov ve/crap tvappoviov. 
iftBfjtv yap Epiuroc e$v$ oxorroc- 1$ c*e err povvov 

Tola T£ «at o-(coAia j ei^ev iKij/toAiaj. 

At length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, 
And drowsy death that evt-li I steepeth ; 

Thy harp, rfiat vvhisper'd through each lingering 
night, 
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth! 

Thy harp, that whispei-'d through each lingering 
jiif 'if'. S,c.) In another of these poems, " the nightly- 



She too, for wnom that harp profu-e!y shed 

The purest neciarof its numbers 
She, the young spring of thy desires, hath fled, 

And with her blest Anacreon slumbers ! 

Farewell ! thou had'sta pulse for every dart 
That mighty Love could scatter from his quiver ; 

And each new beauty found in thee a heart, 
Which thou, with all thy heart and soul, didst give 
her! 

speaking lyre " of the bard is represenled as not yet 
silent even after his death. 

tic 6 CoiXa<pTjTog tz koi otvoBaprjs cxXoKtopos 
jravvvxios Kpovoi > ttjv eVAorraicVi x^Xvv. 

l.Hiujvicov, as AvaKpiovra. 

To beauty's smile and wine's delight. 
To joys he lov'd on eanh so well, 

Still shall his spirit, all the night. 
Attune the wild, aerial shell! 

She, the young spring of thy desires, 4-c] The 
original, to IIoOujv tao, is beauiful. We regret that 
such praise, should be 1 vished so preposterously, and 
feel that the poefs mis'ress Eunpvle would have de- 
served it better. Her name I as teen old us by Melea- 
grr, as already quoted, and in another epigram by 
Antipater. 

iypa c"£ c'EpKo/EEVoicrtv tv oufiacnv avAov oeuToij, 

aiOvooiuV Xinaprjs avSos itircpOt Ko/ii/s, 
■qt irpoc Evpt'irvAnv Tcrpa/iftEfoc .... 

Long may the nymph arnnnd thee play, 
Eorypyle, thy soul's desire, 

. her beauties in the ray 
That lights thine eyes' dissolving fire' 

Sing of her smile's bewitching power, 
Her every grace that warms an-l blesses; 

Sine of her brows' luxuriant flower. 
The beaming glory of her Ire-see. 

The expression here, ai-floc Kopt)C, " the flower of 
the hair."' is born wed from Anacreon himself, at 
appears by a fragment ol the poet preserved in Sto- 
baeus : Atrajcupas c' ditaAr/c o/iouov avdo%. 

The purest nectar of its numbers, ^-r.] Thus, nys 
Brunck, in the prologue to the S itires of Persius : — 
Cantare credas Peesseium nectar. 

" Melos" is the usual reading in thi? line, and Causa- 
tion has defended it; but "nectar" is, I think, much 
more spirited. 

Farewell ! thou had'st a pulse frr every dart, t-c.') 
icH'C a-KOKos, "scopu era- 

ery falsely inlerpres it. 

Vii cei ' 1 on this passage, contrives 

to indulge us with a little astrological "wis 
talks in a style of learned scandal ab>>ut Venus, "male 
posila cum Marte in domo Saturni." 

And each nexc Itauty found in thee a heart, ^r.] 
This couplet is no' other*" - 

• s it dila'es the thought «h.ch An'ipa'er has 
fiiun'ively exi'res-ed. 

Crina<. of Athens, pays a tribute to the legitimate 
gallantry of Anacreon, Balling him, with elegant con- 
ciseness, ytrauctov ij-tiorrn ua. 

Tov (e yi'vaicatuv ueAeuiv 7r.Uxat'Ta jtot' uw*ac, 
'He'll' ArowaoiTo^. 1 l«fy», 

1.1-tnc oo-iov totiio-fta. ■) 1 - t/iau 



> Bru ck has > 1 ot, the common 

reading, better suits a detached qu 

3 Thus Scaliger, in his dedicatory verses to Ron- 
sard : — 

Bboilus, sriTitorinv.s, duk-i* ABaerroo. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



53 



Teos gave to Greece her treasure, 


When in nightly banquets snorting, 


sj.iir.e Anaereon, suge in living; 


Where's the guest could ever fly him' 


FouJIy weaving lav* 01 pleasure 


When with love's seduction courting. 


For the maids who bluih'd approving. 


Where 'a the nymph could e'er deny him/ 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



PREFACE. BY THE EDITOR.' 

The Perns which I take the liberty of publishing, 
weie never intended by the author to pass beyond the 
circle of his friends. He thought, wi'h some justice, 
that u hat are called Occasional Poems must be always 
insipid and uninteresting to the greater part of their 
readers. The particular situations in which they were 
written ; the cluracter of the author aid of his asso- 
ciates ; all these peculiari'ies must be known and felt 
before we can enter inlo the spirit of such composi- 
ti ns. This consideration would have always, I be- 
lieve, prevented the author himself trom submitting 
these trifles to the eye of dispassionate criticism : and 
if :heir posthumous introduction to ihe world be injus- 
tice to his memory, or intrusion on the public, the 
enor must be imputed to the injudicious partiality of 
friend-hip. 

Mr. I.ittledied in his one-and-twentieth year ; and 
most of these Poems were written at so early a period 
that tleir e rors may lay claim to some indu'gence 
from the critic Their author, as unambitious as in- 
dolent, scarce ever looked beyond the moment of com- 
position ; b it, in general, wrote as he pleased, careless 
wnether he plei-ed as he wrote. I may likewise be 
remembered, that they were all the pioductions of an 
age when Ihe passions very of'en give a colouring too 
warm to the imagination ; and this may pilliate, if it 
cannot excuse, thai air of levity which pervades si 
many of them. '1 he '• aurea legge s'ei pace ei lice," 
he too much pursued, and too much inculcates. Few 
can regie! this more sincerely than myself; and if my 
friend hid lived, ihe judgment of riper years would 
have chastened his mind, and tempered the luxutiai.ee 
of his fancy 

Mr. Little gave much of his time to the studv of the 
amatory writers. If ever he expected to find in the 
ancients that delicacy of sentiment, and variety of 
f\ncy, which are so necessary to retine and animate 
the poetry of Love, he was much disappointed. 1 know 
not any one of them w h i can be regarded as a model 
in that siyle ; Ovid made love like a rake, and Proper- 
lias like a schoolmaster, 'I he mythological allusions 
of the later are called erudition b\ his c immentaturs ; 
but such os'enta ious display, upon a subject so simple 
as love, would be now es'eemed vague and puerile, 
and was even in his own times pedantic. It is astonish- 
ing that so many critics should have preferred him to 
the gentle and touching Tihullus ; but those defects, I 
believe, which a c >mmon reader condemns, have been 
regarded ra'her as beauties by th >se erudite men, the 
commentators; who find a "field for their ingenuiy 
and research, in his Grecian learning and quaint ob- 
scurities. 

Tibullus abounds with touches of fine and natural 
feeling. The idea of his unexpected return to Delia, 
"Tunc veniam sribito,"i &c. is imagined with all Ihe 
aeticate ardour of a lover ; and the sen'imeut of " nee 
te posse cirere velim," however colloquial the expres- 
sion may have been, is natural, and from the heart. 
Bur the poet of Verona, in my opinion, possessed more 
genuine feeling than any of them. His life was, I be- 
lieve, unfortunate; his associates were wild and aban- 
doned ; and the warmth of his nature took too much 



* A portion of the Poems included in this and the 
succeeding volume were published originally as the 
works of •' the late Thomas Little," with the Preface 
here given prefixed to them. 

1 Lib. i. Eleg. 3. 



the advantage of the latitude which the morals of those 
times so criminally allowed to the passions. All this 
depiaved his imagination, and made it ihe slave of his 
sen-es. But still a native sensrbili'y is often very 
warmly perceptible ; and when he touches the choid 
of pathos, be reaches immediately the heart. They 
who have felt the sweets of return to a home from 
which they have long beer, absent will confess the 
beauty of those simple unaffected lines: — 
O quid solutis est beatius rurisi 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
Lahore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum 
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 

Carm. xxix. 
His sorrows on the death of his brother are Ihe very 
tears of poesy ; and when he complains of Ihe ingratt- ! 
tude of mankind, eien the inexperienced cannot but ! 
sympathise with him. 1 wish 1 were a poet ; 1 should J 
then endeavour to catch, by tianslation, the spirit of 
those beauties which 1 have always so warmly ad- 
mi red. 3 

It seems to have been peculiarly the fate of Catul- 
lus, that the better and more valuable pait of his poe- 
try has not leached us ; for there is confessedly nothing 
in his extant works to authori-e the ep thet " doctus," 
so universally bestowed upon him by the ancienis. If 
time had suffered his otiiei writings to escape, we 
perhaps should have found among iheni some more 
purely amatory ; but of those we po-sess. can there 
be a sweeter specimen of waim, \et chastened de- 
scriprion than his loves of Acme anil Sentimius ? and 
the few little songs of dalliance to Lesbia are distin- 
guished by such an exquisite playfulness, that they 
have always been assunud as models by the most ele- 
gan 1 modern L'tini-ts. Still, it must be confessed, in 
the midst of all these beauties, 



Surgiti 

It has often been remarked, that the ancients knew 
nothing of gallantly; and we are sometimes told 
there was too much sincerity in the r love to allow 
them to trifle thus wiih Ihe semb'ance of passion. 
But I ca not perceive that ihey were any thing more 
constant than Ihe moderns: they fell all the same dis- 
sipation of the heart, though ihey knew not those 
seductive graces by which gallantry almost teaches it 
to be miable. Wotton, the learned advocate for the 
moderns, deserts them in considering 'his point of 
comparison, and praises the ancien.s for their ignor- 
ance of such refinements, But he seems to have col- 
lected his notions of gallantry from the insipid 
fadeiirs of the French romances, which have no- 
thing congenial with the graceful levity, ihe "grata 
pro ervitas,'' of a Roches'er or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poe's of our own 
language were the models which Mr. Little selected 
for imitation. To atain their simplicity ("jevo 
rarissima nostro simplicitas ") was hrs fondest ambi- 
tion. He could not have aimed at a grace more dif- 
ficult of attainment ; s and his life was of too short a 

s In the following Poems, will be found a transla- 
ti'n of one of his fine-t Carmina; but I fancy it is 
only a mere schoolboy's es-ay, and deserves to be 
praised for little more than the attempt. 

4 Lucretius. 

5 It is a curious illustration of the labour which 
simplicity requires, that the Ramblers of Johnson, 



5* 



54 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



date to allow Mm to perfect such a tas'e ; bu' how far 
he was likely to have succeeded, the critic may judge 
from his productions. 

1 have found among his papers a novel, in rather 
an impeifect state, which, as soon as 1 have arranged 
and collected it. shall be submitted to the public eye. 

Where Mr. Little was born, or what is the gene- 
alogy of his parents, a*e points in which very few 
readers can be interested. His life was one of those 
humble streams which have scarcely a name in the 
map of life, and the traveller may pa-s it by without 
inquiring its source or direction. His character was 
well known to all who were acquainted with him; 
for he had too much vanity to hide its virtues, and 
not enough of art to conceal i's defects. The lighter 
traits of his mind may be traced perhaps in his writ- 
tings ; but the few for which he was valued live only 
in the remembrance of his friends. T. M. 



TO JOSEPH ATKIXSOX, ESQ.. 

My dear Sir,— I feel a very sincere pleasure in 
dedicating to you the Second Ediiion of our friend 
Little's Poems. I am not unconscious that there are 
many in the collection which perhaps it would be 
prudent to have altered or omitted ; and, to say the 
truth, I more than once revised them for that pu 
pose; but, 1 knew not why, I di-trusttd either my 
heart or my judgment ; and the consequence is, you 
have them in their original form : 



I am convinced, however, that, though not quite a 
casuMtt nlaclic, you have charity enough to forgive 
such inoffensive follies: you know that the pious 
Beza was not the less revered for those sportive Juve- 
nilia which he published under a fictitious uame ; nor 
did the levity of Memho's poems prevent hini from 
making a very good cardinal. 

Believe me, my dear friend, 

With the truest esteem, 
Yours, 

T. M. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXERCISES. 



Nobililas sola 



Btque unica virtus. Ju 



Mark those proud boasters of a splendid line, 
Like gilded rui'ns, mouldering while they shine, 
How heavy sits ihat weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow ; 
Those borrow d splendours, whose con'rast'.ng light 
Throws back the native shades in deeper night. 

Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue, 
Where are the art- by which that glory grew ? 
The genuine virtues that with eag > ! 
Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze! 
Where is the heart by thymic truth refin'd, 
TV exploring soul, whose eye hath read m nkind ? 
Where are the links that twin'd. with heavenly art, 
His country's interest round the patriot's heart ? 



elaborate as they appear, were written with fluency, 
and seldom required revision ; while the simple lan- 
guage of Rousseau, which seems to come flowing 
from the heart, was the slow production of painful 
lalnaur, pausing on every word, and balancing every 
sentence. 



Justuna bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus 
nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes.— Livy. 



Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 
Approv'd by Heav"n, ordain'd by nature's laws, 
Where justice (lies the nerald of our way, 
And truth's pure beams upon the banners play? 

Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath 
To slumb'ring babes, or innocence in death ; 
And urgent as the tongue of Heaven within, 
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin. 

Oh ! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should meet 
An echo in the soul's mos deep retreat ; 
Along the heiri's responding chords should run, 
Nor let a tone there vibrate — but the one ! 



VARIETY. 

Ask what prevailing pleasing power 
Allures the sportive, wandering tee 

To roam, unt.red, from flower to flower, 
He'll tell you, 't is variety. 

Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her chai gr- see ; 

And own, upon Creation'- face, 
The greatest charm "s variety. 

For me ye gracious powers ab ve ! 

Still let me roam, upfix'd and free; 
In a^l things,— but the nymph I love, 

I'll change, and taste variety. 
But, Patty, not a world of charms 

Could e'er estrange my heart fiom thee | 
No. let me ever -eck those arms, 

There still I 'II find variety. 



TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. 
WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 

Is it not sweet, beloved youth. 

To iove through Erudition's bowers, 
And cull the golden fruits of tru'ti. 

And gather Fancy's brilliant flowers? 

And is it not more sweet than this. 
To feel thy parents' hearts approving, 

And pay them lack in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving ? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea, toil is lighter: 
This swee'ecs ail the fruits of truth. 

And makes the flowers of fancy brighter. 
The little gift we send thr 

May sameticBes leach thy soul to ponder, 
If indolence or siren joy 

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 

'Twill 'ell thee that the winged day 

Can ne'er be chain'd bv man's endeavour; 

That life and lime shall "fade av. ,y, 

While heav'n and virtue bloom" for ever ! 



JONG. 



If I savear ty that eye, you '11 allow, 
Its look is so shifting and new. 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance would undo. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 55 


Those babies that nestle so sly 


Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r 


Such thousands of arrows have got, 


Shall feel the wintry air, 


That an oath, on the glance of an eye 


Remembrance will recall the hoir 


Such as yours, may be off in a shot. 


When thou alone wert fair. 


Then talk no more of future gloom ; 


Should I swear by Ihe dew on your lip, 


Our joys shall always last ; 


Though each moment Ihe treasure renews, 


For Hope sh ill brighten days to come, 


1/ niv c "n'tai<;v wishes to trip. 


And Mem'ry gild the past. 


1 may kiss off the oath when 1 choose. 




Or a sigh mav disperse from that flow'r 

Both the dew and the oath that are there j 
And I 'd nnke a new vow ev'ry hour, 


Come, Chlre, fill the genial bowl, 
I drink to Love and thee: 

Thou never cau-t decay in soul, 
Thou It sill be young for me. 

And as thy lips the tear-drop chase, 


To lose them so sweetly in air. 


But clear up the heav*n of your brow 


Which "on my cheek they find. 


Nor fancy my faith is a fea her; 


So hope shall s eal away the 'race 


On my heart 1 will pledge you my vow, 
Aud they both must be broken together I 


That sorrow leaves behind. 


Then fill 'he bowi — away with gloom ! 
Our jovs stall always last ; 




For Hope shall brighten days to come. 
And Mem'ry gild the past. 




TO 


But mart, at thoueht of future years 




When love shall lose its soul, 


Remember him thou leav'st behind, 


My Chloe drops her timid tears, 


Wh »e heart is warmly bound In thee, 
Close as the tend'rest links can bind 


They mingle n ith my Lou L 


How like this bowl of wine, my fair, 


A heart as warm as heart cm be. 


Our loving life shall fleet; 




Though tears may s'nietimes mingle there, 


Oh ! I had Ions in freedom rov'd, 


The draught will still be sweet. 


Though many seem d my snul to share ; 


Then fill the cup — away » ith gloom! 


'T was passion when I thoujht 1 1 v"J. 


Our joys shall alwavs last; 


T was fancy when I thought them fair. 


For Hope will brighten days to come. 
And Mem'ry gild the past. 


Ev'n she, my muse's early theme, 


BeguiTd me only while she warm'd ; 




T was young desire that fed the dream, 
And reason broke what passion form'd. 






But thou — ah ! better had it been 


SONG. 


If I hid still in freedom rov'd, 
If I had ne'er thy beauties seen, 


Hace you not seen the timid tear, 


For then I never should have lov'd. 


Steal trembling from mine eye ? 
Have you not mark'd ihe flush "of fear, 


Then all the pain which lovers feel 


Or caught the murmur'd sigh ? 


Had never to this heart been known ; 


And can jou Ihiuk my love is chill, 


But then, the joys that lovers steal, 


Nor fue'd on you alone ? 


Should they have ever been my own ? 


And can you rend, by doubting still, 
A heart so much your own ? 


Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this, 




Dearest ! the pain of loving thee, 


To you my soul's affections move, 


The very |«in is sweeter bliss 


Devoutly, waimlv true; 


Than passion s wildest ecs asy. 


My life his been a task of love, 


That little cage I would not part, 


One long, long thought of you 
If all vour tender faith be o'er, 


In which my soul is prison'd now, 


If still my truth \ou 11 try; 
Alas, I know but one proof more — 
1 'li bless your name, and die ! 


For the most light and winged heart 


That wantons on the passing vow. 


Still, nay belo 'd ! still keep in mind, 




However fir removal from me, 


Q 


That there is one thou leavV behind, 




Whose heart respires for only thee 5 


REUBEN AND ROSE. 


And though ungenial ties have bound 




Thy fate unto another's care, 


A TALE OF ROMANCE. 


That arm, which clasps thy bosom round, 




Cannot confine the heart that 's there. 


The darkness that hung upon Willumberg 's walls 




Had long been remember'd with awe and disimy ; 
For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, 


No, not that heart is only mine 


By ties all other ties above, 


And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day. 


For'l have wed it at a shrine 


Where we have had no priest but Love. 


Though the valleys were brijh'en'd by many a beam, 




Yet none could the wo.*is of that castle illume ; 




And the lisrhtning, which fiash'd on the neighbouring 
stream, 
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom ! 


SONG. 


When Time, who s'eals our years away, 


" Oh ! when shall this horrible darkress disperse !" 


Shall s'eal our pleasures 'oo, 


Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of the Cave; — 


The mem'ry of the past will stay, 


u It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, 


And half our joys renew. 


" Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!" 



56 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



And who was the bright star of chivalry then? 

Who cuuld be but Reu' en, the fl w'r of the age? 
Foi Reuben was firsi in the c inbtt of men, 

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her 
page. 

For Willumberg's daughter his young heart had 
heat,— 

Fnr R se, v. ho was bijh' as the spirit of dawn, 
When " ith wan I clr ppii:gdiamonds,and silve'y feet, 

It walks o'er the rl.w'rs of the mountain and lawn. 

Must Rose, the i, from Reuben so fatally sever ? 

Sid, -a,l were Hie words i f the Seer of the Cave, 
That darkness sho<ill cover thai cas le for ever, 

Or Reuben be sunk in the mercilesa wave! 

To the wizard she flew, saying, " Tell me, oh. tell ! 

Shall my Reuben no m re be res'or'd to my eye!?" 
" Yes yes — when a spirit sha 1 toll the great bell 

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise ! " 

Twice, thrice he repeated " Your Reuben shall rise ! " 
And R>> e feat a nmmen 's leleise fiom her | ain ; 

And wip'd, u h:le she listen'd. the 'ears from her eyes, 
And hop'd >he might yet see her heio again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death. 

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose ; 

To the Oiler he flew, and there, plunging beneath, 
In the depth ol the billows soon found his <epi^e. — 

H >w -irangelv he order of Jes'iny falls ! — 
Not long in the waters the warri .r lay, 

Whtii a sunbeam w s seen to glance over the walls, 
And the castle of Willttniberg ba-k'd in the ray ! 

All. all but the soul of the maid was in light. 

There sorrow and tenor I iy gloomy and blank : 
Twodava did she wander, anil all the long night, 

In quest of her love, on the wide livei's b;mk. 
Oft. oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, 

And heard but 'he breathings of night in the air; 
Long, long did -he s;az_' nn the watery swell, 

And saw but the foam 01 the white billow there. 

And often a< midnight its veil would undraw, 

As she look . I a' the light of the moon in the stream, 
She nought 'I was his helmet of silver she saw. 

As the curl of the surge glilter'd high in the beam. 
And now the third night w.s begemming the sky; 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy uiargejll reclin'd, 
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, 

When — hark ! — 't was the bell that came deep in 
the wind! 
Shes'arUed, and saw, through the glimmering shade, 

A form o'er the waters in majesty glide; 
She knew 't w a. her love, though his cheek was de- 
cay'd. 

And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide. 

Was this wh't the Seer of the Cave had foretold ?- 
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a 
gleam ; 

Tw»s Reuben, but. ah ! he was deathly and cold, 
And fleeted awiy like the spell of a d'team I 

Twice, thrice did he ri»e. and as of'en she thought 
From the hink to embrace him, but vain her eli- 
de wour ! 

Thin. pluiigingt>eiicath, at a billow she caught, 
A:id sunk to repose ou its bosom Cor ever ! 



DID NOT. 



'Tbmj new feeling — something more 
Than we had dated to own before, 

Which then we hid notj 
We saw it in each other's eye, 
And wisii'd. in every half-breath'd sigh, 

To i peak, but did <iot. 



She felt my lips' impassion'd touch — 
'T was the first 'ime I dared so much, 

And yet she chid not; 
But whisper d o'tr my burning brow, 
" Oh ! do you doubt f love you now 1" 

Sweet soul ! 1 did m t. 

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, 
I press VI it closer, closer still, 

Though gently bid not; 
Till — oh ! the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly eir'd, 

And yet, who did not. 



That wrinkle, when 6rst I espied it, 
At once put my heart out of pain ; 

Till the eye. thai was glowing beside it, 
Distui b'd my ideas again. 

Thou art just in the twilight at present, 

When woman's declension begins; 
When, fading from all that is pleasant, 

She bids a good night to her siu*> 
Yet thou still art so lovely to me, 

1 would s oner, my exquisi e mother! 
Repose in ihe sunset of thee. 

Than ba.-k in the uoou of a 



ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAIN3' 
HER CHARACTER. 

Is not thy mind a genlle mind ? 
Is no' bat h. art a heart rrlii:"d ? 
Hast Ihqa not evev gentle grace, 
We love in woman's mod and face? 
And. oh ! art i/i* n a shrine for Sin 
To hold her hateful uorship in? 

No. no, be happy — diy that tear — 
Though some thy heart f.a'h harhour'd near 
M iy now repay its love v> i'h blame ; 
Tin' ugh iiiiii, who i ugh! to shield thv fame, 

I r u- man. be first to shun thee ; 
Though all the wotld look cold upon thee, 
Yet shall thy jurene-s keep thee *'ill 
Unharm'd by 'ha' surra, n.dn g chill ; 
Like Ihe famed drop, iu erys'al I 
Floating, while all was fr. j>'n around — 
Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be, 
Safe in thy owb sweet puiity. 



ANACREONTIC. 



Press thr grape, and let it pour 
Around the b wl its 

And. » hile the drops my g I 
I 'II think in woe 11 



> This alludes to a curious eem. upon whi<-h Oau- 
dian has left us some very- is It was 

a drop of pure water •uclaaea' wiiho. a piece of crys- 
tal. See Claud an. Epigram '« tie Cry slalio cui qua 
literal." - kind al 

Milan: • -uch a rarl'y a- this that I 

saw at Vend me in Fiance. n hich they 'her 
is a tear that our Saviour shed r.vc I 
gathered up by an aagel, w ho put i' inn a lille crystal 
vial, and made a present of jt to Maty Masdalen." — 
Addison's Remarks on seciral Parts of Italy. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



5T 



Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine ! 
Heav'n grant no (ears, but teats of wine. 
Weep on ; and, as thy sorrows flow, 
I'll taste the luxuiy of woe. 



TO 



When I lov'd you, I can't but allow 
1 had many an exquisi e minute; 

But the scorn that 1 teel tor you now 
Hath even more luxury in it. 

Thus, whether we 're on or we 're off, 
Some witchery seems to await you ; 

To love you was pleasant enough, 
And, oh ! t is delicious to hate you 



THE SHRINE. 



TO JULIA. 

IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL 
CRITICISMS. 

Why, let the stingless critic chide 
With nil 'hat fume of vacant pride 
Which muitle-i o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapour on a stagnant p ol. 
Oh! if the sone, to feeling 'rue, 
Can plea e th' tlect, the sacied few, 
Whose souls, by 'IVleand Nature taught, 
Thrill with the genuine | ul-e of thought — 
If some fond feeling maid like thee, 
The waim-ey'd child of Sympathy, 
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme 
She languishes in Passion'* dream, 
" He was, indeed, a 'ender soul — 
" No critic law, no chill control, 
'■ Should ever freeze, by timid art, 
" The floivings of so f >'nd a hearl ! " 
Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love ! 
That, hov'ring like a snow-wiug'd dove, 
Breath'd o'er my cradle warblings wild, 
And hail'd me Passion's warmest child, — 
Grant me the tear from Iteauty's eye, 
From Feeling's breast the votive s'ign ; 
Oh ! let my song, my mem'iy, find 
A shrine within the lender mind: 
And I will smile when critics chide, 
And I will scorn the fume of pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapour round some stagnant pool J 



TO JULIA. 

Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream, 

A dream, I find, illusory as sweet : 
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem. 

Far dearer were than passion's blaud deceit ! 

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare ; 

Your heart was only mine, 1 once believ'd. 
Ah ! shall I say that all your vows were air? 

And must I say, my hopes were all deceiv'd ? 

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twin'd, 
That all our joys are felt with mutual zealj 

Julia ! — 't is pity, pity makes you kind ; 
You know 1 love, and you would seem to feel. 

But shall I still go seek within those arms 
A joy in which affectioi :akes no part ? 

No, no, farewell ! you give me but your charms, 
When I had fondly thought you gave your heart. 



TO 



My fates had deslin'd me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love; 
And many an aitar on my way 
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay ; 
For, if the saint was young and fair, 
I turn'd and sung my vespers there. 
This, fiom a youthful pilgrim's fire, 
Is what your pretty saii.ts require: 
To pa-s. our tell a "single bead. 
With them would be profane indeed ! 
But, trust me, all this young devotion 
Was but to keep my zeal in motion ; 
And, ev'ry humble altar past, 
I now have reach'd the sfo-ine at last ! 



TO A LADY, 

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ( 
LEAVING THE COUNTRY. 

When, casting many a look behind, 
1 leave Hie Iriends I cherish here — 

Pe-chance some other friends to rind, 
But surely fiuding none so dear — 

Haply the little simple page, 

Which votive thus I \e tiac'd for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment's thought for me. 

But. oh.! in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, 
Let not the eye that seldom flows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 
For, trust me, they who never melt 

With pity, never melt with love; 
And such will frown at all 1 've felt, 

And all my ioving lays reprove. 

But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, 

Which rather loves to praise than blame, 

Should in my page an interest find, 
And linger kindly on my name ; 

Tell him — or, oh ! if, gentler still, 
By female lips my name be blest : 

For, where do all affections thrill 
So sweetly as in woman's breast ? — 

Tell her, that he whose loving themes 
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er, 

Could sometimes wake From idle dreams, 
And bolder flights of fancy soar; 

That Glory nft would claim the lay, 
And Friendship ofl his numbers move; 

But whisper then, lhal, " sooth to say, 
" His sweetest song was giv'u to Love !" 



TO JULIA. 

Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part, 
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever ; 

The heart will seek its kindred heart, 
And cling to it as close as ever. 

But must we, must we part indeed ? 

Is all our dream of rapture over ? 
And does not Juiia's bosom bleed 

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ? 

Does she too mourn ? — Perhaps she may ; 

Perhaps she mourns our bliss so heeling. 
But why is Julia's eye S" gay, 

If Julia's heart like mine is beating? 





58 JUVENILE POEMS. 




I oft have lov'd that sunny glow 


Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw 




Of gladness ia her blue eye gleaming — 


Upon its chirms the shade of woe, 




But cm ihe bosom bleed with woe, 


The lustre of the gem, when veil'd, 




While joy is in the glances beaming? 


Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd. 




No, no ! — Yet, love, 1 will not chide; 







Although your heart were find of roving, 


Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, 




Nor that, nor all the world beside 


That Nature wrote a second label, 




Could keep your faithful boy from loving. 


They're her own words — at least suppose so — 
And boldly pin it on Pomposo. 




Yuu '11 soon be di tant from his eye, 






And, with you, all tha' 's worth possessing. 


LABEL SECOND. 




Oh ! then it will be sweet to die. 






When life has lost its only blessing ! 


When I compos'd the fustian brain 
Of this redoubted Captain Vain, 




= 


I had at hand bu' few ingredients, 
And so was fore'd to use expedients. 




TO . .' 


1 put therein some small discerning, 




A grain of sense, a grain of learning ; 




Sweet lady, look not thus again : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall 


And when I saw the void behind, 
I hll'd it up with — froth aud wind ! 




A maid remember'd now with pain, 






Who was my love, my life, my all ! 


c_ 




Oh ! while this heart bewilder'd took 






Sweet poison fiom her thrilling eye, 

Thus would she smile, and lisp, and look, 

And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh ! 


TO JULIA. 








ON HER BIRTH DAY. 




Yes, I did love her— wildly love — 


When Time was entwining the garland of years, 




She was her sex's best deceiver ! 


Which to crown my beloved was given, 




And oft she swore she'd never rove — 


Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, 




And I was destiu'd to believe her ! 


Yet the flow'rs were all gather'd in heaveo. 




Then, lady, do not wear the smile 


And long may this garland be sweet to the eye, 




Of one whose smile could thus betray: 


May its verduie for ever be new ; 




Alas ! 1 think the lovely wile 


Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh, 




Again could steal my heart away. 


And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 




For, when those spells that charm'd my mind, 






On lips so pure as thine 1 see, 






I fear the heart which she resign'd 






Will err again, and fly to thee ! 


A REFLECTION AT SEA. 

See how, benea'h the moonbeam's smile, 

Yon little billow heaves its breast, 
And foams and sparkles for awhile,— 




NATURE'S LABELS. 


Then murmuring subsides to rest. 




A FRAGMENT. 


Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on time's eventful sea ; 




In \iain we fondly sTive to trace 


And, having swell'd a moment there, 




The soul's reflection in Ihe face ; 


Thus melts into eternity '. 




In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 






Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright 






. 




As Phto or the St.igi lite : 






And many a sage and learned skull 

Has peep'd through windows dark and dull. 


CLORIS AND FANNY. 




Cloris ! if I were Persia's king, 
I 'd make my graceful queen of thee ; 

While Fanny, wild and artless thing. 
Should but thy bumble handmaid be. 




Since then, though art do all it can, 
We ne'er can reach the inward nun. 
Nor (howsoe'er " learn'd Thebans" doubt) 
The inward woman, from without. 




Melhinks 1 were well if Nature could 


There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I 'm much afraid 




(And Nature could, if Nature would) 




Some pithy, short descriptions write, 


I should, in some unlucky minu'e. 
Forsake the mis'ress for the maid. 




On tablets'large. in black and while, 




Which she might hang about our throttles, 






Like labels uron physic-bottles; 

And where all men might read — but stay — 










As dialectic sages say, 






The argument most apt and ample 


THE SHIELD. 




For common use is Ihe example. 






For insance, then, if Nature's care 


Say. did you not hear a voice ©f death ! 




Had not portray'd. in lines so fair, 


And did you not mark the paly form 




The inward soiil of Lucy L-nd-n, 


Which rode on the silvery mist of Ihe heath, 




This is the label she 'd have pinu'd on. 


And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? 




LABEL FIRST. 


Was it the wailing bird of the gloom, 
That shrieks on Ihe house of "woe all night ? 




Within this form there lies enshrin'd 


Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb, 




The purest, brightest gem of mind. 


To howl and lo feed till Ihe glance of light ? 







JUVENILE POEMS. 



T was not the death-bird's cry from the wood, 
Nor shivering fiend thai hung on Ihe blasl ; 

T was the shade of Helderic — man of blood — 
II screams for the guilt of days that are past. 

See, how the red, red lightning strays, 
And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! 

Now on ihe leifless yew Tt plays, 

Where hangs the shield of this son of death. 

That shield is blu-hing with murderous stains ; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray j 
It is blown by storms and wash'd by iaius, 

But neither can take the blood away ! 

Oft by that yew, on the blasted field, 
Demons dance to the red moon's light; 

While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging 
shield 
Sings to the raving spirit of night ! 



TO JULIA, 
WEEPING. 

Oh ! if your tears are giv'n to care, 
If real woe disturbs your peace, 

Come to my bosom, weeping fair! 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 

But if with Fancy's vision'd fears. 

With dreams of woe your bosom thrill j 

You look so lovely in your tears, 
That 1 must bid you drop them still. 



DREAMS 
TO , 



In slumber, I prithee how is it 

That souls are oft taking the air, 
And paying each other a visit, 

While bodies are heaven knows where? 

Last night, t is in vain to deny it, 

Your Soul took a fancy to roam, 
For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, 

Come ask, whether mine was at home. 

And mine let her in with delight, 

And they talk'd and they laugh'd the time through; 
For, when souls come together at night, 

There is uo saying what they mayn't do t 

And your little Soul, heaven bless her! 

Had much to complain and to say, 
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her 

By keeping her prison'd all day. 

" If I happen," said she, " but to steal 
" For a peep now and then to her eye, 

" Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 
" Just venture abroad on a sigh ; 

u In an instant she frightens me in 
" With some phantom of prudence or terror, 

•• For fear I should stray into sin, 
"Or, what is still worse, into error ! 

" So, instead of displaying my graces, 
'• By daylight, in language and mien, 

"I am shut up in corners and places, 
" Where truly I blush to be seen ! " 

Upon hearing this piteous confession, 

My Soul, looking tenderly at her, 
Beciar'd, as for grace and discretion, 

He did not know much of the mailer; 



" But, to-morrow-, sweet Spirit ! " he said, 
" Be at home after midnight, and then 

"I will come when your lady 's in bed, 
"And we'll talk o'er the subject again." 

So she whisper'd a word in his ear, 
I suppose to her dior to direct him, 

And, just after midnight, my dear, 
Your polite little Soul may expect him. 



WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. 

The wisest soul, by anguish torn, 
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew; 

And when the shrining casket's worn, 
The gem within will tarnish too. 

But love 's an essence of the soul, 

Which sinks not with this chain of clay 

Which throbs beyond the chill control 
Of with'ring pain or pale decay. 

And surely, when the (ouch of Death 

Dissolves the spirit's earthly lies, 

Love still attends th' immortal breath, 

And makes it purer for the skies ! 

Oh, Rosa, when, to seek its sphere, 
My soul shall leave this orb of men, 

That love which form'd its treasure here, 
Shall be its best of treasures Ihen I 

And as. in fabled dreams of old, 
Some air-born genius, child of lime, 

Presided o'er each star that roll'd, 
And track'd it through its path sublime; 

So (hou, fair planet, not unled, 

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; 

Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed, 
Shall linger round thy earthly way. 

Let other spirits range the sky, 
And play around each starry gem ; 

I'll bask beneath thai lucid eye, 
Nor envy worlds of suns to them. 

And when that heart shall cease to beat, 
And when that breath at length is free, 

Then, Rosa, soul to s ul we'll meet, 
And mingle to eternity ! 



SONG. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Is fair — but oh, how fair, 
If Pity's hand had stol'u from Love 

One leaf to mingle there! 
If every rose with gold we>e tied, 

Did gems for dewdrops fall, 
One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 

Were sweetly worth them all. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath j-ou wove 

Our emblem well may be ; 
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 

Must keep its tears for me. 



THE SALE OF LOVES 

I dreamt that, in the Paphian groves, 
My nets by moonl ght lavintr, 

I caught a flight of wanton Loves, 
Among the rose-buds playing. 



60 



JUVENILE POEMS 



Some just had left their silv'ry shell, 
While some were full in feather ; 
So pie'ty a lot of Lows 10 sell, 
Were' never yet strung 'ogether 

Come buy my Loves, 

Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and r se-!i|> M misses! 

They 're new and bright, 

The cost is light, 
For the coiu of this isle is kisses. 

First Cloris came, with looks sedate, 

The coin on her lips was ready ; 
" I buy," quoih she, - my Love by weight, 
" full giouu, if you please, and steady." 
" Let mine be light," said Fanny, "pray — 

" Such lassie toys undo one ; 
" A little light Love that will last to-day,— 
" To-morrow 1 'II sport a new one." 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp'd mi-ses! — 
There 's some wiil keep, 
Some light and cheap, 
At from ten to twenty kissus. 

The learned Prue took a pert young thing, 

To divert her virgin Muse with, 
And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing 

To indite her billet doi.x wi h. 
Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair 

Her only eve, if'you d ask it ; 
And Tabiiha begg'd, old toothless fair, 

For the younges' Love in the basket. 
Come buy my Loves, kc. &c 

But one was left, when Susan came, 

One wor'h them all together; 
At sight of her dear look: of shame, 
Me smil'd, and pruned his feather. 
She wish'd the boy — t wis nio-e than whim 

Her looks, her sighs betrav'd it; 
But kisses were not enough for him, 
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it! 
Gon.lby, my l>ne^, 
Good by, my Lovea, 
'T would make you smile to've seen us 
First trade for this 
Swiet child ' t 
And then nurse the boy between us. 



The world had just begun to steal 
Each hope that led me lightly on; 

I fell not, as I us'd to feel. 

And life grew dark and love was gone. 

No eve to mingle sorrow's tear. 
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, 

No circling arms to draw me near — 
'T was gloomy, and 1 wish'd for death. 

Bat when I saw that gentle eye, 

Oh ! something seem'd to tell me then, 

That I was yet too young to die, 
And hope and bliss might bloom again. 

With every gentle smile that cmst 
Your kindling cheek, you lighted home 

Some feeling, which my heart had lost, 
And peace, which far had learu'd to roam, 

'T was then indeed so sweet to live, 
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind, 

That, though 1 mourn, 1 yet forgive 
Tho ruin they have left behind. 



I could have lov'd you — oh, so well ! — 
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows, 

Is but a bright, beguiling spell, 

That only lives while passion glows; 

But, when this early flu-h declines, 

When the heart's sunny morning fleets, 

You know not then how close i twines 
Round the first kindred soul it mee's. 

Yes. yes, I could have lov'd, as one 

Who, while his \ouih's enchanments fall, 

Finds something dear to rest upon. 
Which pays him for the loss of all. 



TO 



Never mind how the pedagogue proses, 

You want not an'iquitj's a amp; 
A lip, that such fragrance discloses, 

Oh ! never should smell of the lamp. 

Old Cloe, whose withering kiss 

Hath long set the Loves at defiance, 

Now, doi e with the science of bliss, 
May take to the blisses of science. 

But for you to be buried in books — 

Ah. Fanny, they're pitiful ^agts, 
Who could not in'ojie of your looks 

Read more than in millions of rages. 

Astronomy finds in those eyes 

Better Tight than she studies above ; 

And Mu-ic would borrow your sighs 
As the melody fittest for "Love. 

Your Arithmetic only can trip 

If to cnuot your ou D charms you endeavour; 
And Eloquence glows on your lip 

When you swear, tliat you '11 love me for ever, 

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 

Of ar's is assembled in you;— 
A course of more exquisite science 

Man never need wish to pursue. 

And, oh ! — if a Fellow like me 

May confer a diploma of hearts 
With mv lip thus I send \ our degree, 

My divine littie Mistress of Arts ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. 

Sweet spirit '. if thy airy sleep 

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs. 

Then will 1 weep, in anguish weep, 
Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes. 

But if thy sain'ed soul can feel, 

And mingles in nor misery ; 
Then, then my breaking 

Thou shall BOt m n.e. 

The beam of morn was on 'b- stream. 

Put sullen clo.d- ' 
Like thee was that young, orient I 

Like death, alas. : 

Thou wert not forni'd for li> 

So link'd ihv soul wns i 
Yet, ah. we held thee all so dear. 

We thought thou wert not form'd to die. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



61 



INCONSTANCY. 

And do I iben wonder that Julia deceives me. 

When su'ely theie's nothing iu nature more coin- 
She rows m be true and while vowing she leaves me— 
And could I expect any more from a woman ? 

Oh, woman ! your heart is a pitiful treasure ; 

And Mahomet's d ctrme was not too severe, 
When he held that you were but materials of plea- 
suie, 

And rea^n and thinking were out of your sphere 

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win il, 

"He thinks ih t an age of anxiety's paid; 
But. oh, while he's bfesr, let him die at (he minute — 
If he live but a day, he '11 be surely betray 'd. 



THE NATAL GENIUS. 

A DREAM. 

TO , 

THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY. 

In witching slumbers of the night, 
1 dreamt I was the airy sprite 

That on thy natal moment smil'd; 
And thought I wafted on my wing 
Those rlow'rs which in Elysium spring, 

To crown my lovely mortal child. 

With olive-branch I bound thy head, 
Heart ; s-ease along thy pa'h I shed, 

Which »as to bloom through all thy years ; 
Nor yet did I foiget to bind 
Love's roses, with his myrtle twin'd, 

Aud dew'd by sympathe ic tears. 

Such was Ihe wild but precious boon 
Which Fancy, at her magic noon, 

Bade me to Naa's image pay; 
And were it thus my fate to be 
Thy little guardian deity, 

How blest around thy steps I 'd play I 

Thy life should glide in peace along, 
Calm as some lonely shepherd's song 

That's heard at distance in Hie grove; 
No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 
No thorns along thy pathway lie, 

But all be beauty, peace, and love. 

Indulgent Time should never bring 
To thee one blight upon his wing, 

So eentlv o'er thv brow he 'd fly ; 
And death" itself should hut be felt 
Like that of daybeams, when they melt, 

Bright to the last, in evening's sky ! 



ELEGIAC STANZAS, 

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA, 
ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER. 

Though sorrow long has worn my heart; 

Though every day I 've counted o'er 
Hath brbueht anew- and quick'nine smart 

To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 

Though in my earliest life bereft 

Of tender links by nature tied ; 
Though hope deceiv'd, and pleasure left; 

Though friends betrav'd and foes belied; 



I still had hopes — for hope will stay 

After the sunset of delight ; 
So Ike the s'ar w hich ushers day. 

We scarce can think it heralds night ! — 

I hop'd that, after all its strife, 

My wei-ry heart at length should rest, 

And, fainting from the waves of life, 
Find harbour in a brother's breast. 

That brother's breas' was warm with truth, 
Was biisht with honour's purest ray; 

He was the deares', gentlest youih — 
Ah, why then was he torn away ? 

He should have sby'd, have linger'd here 
To soothe his Julia's every woe ; 

He sho .Id have chas'd each'bitter tear, 
And not have caus'd those tears to flow. 

We saw within his soul expand 

The fruits of genius, nur>'d by taste, 

While Science, with a fost'ring hand, 
Upon his brow her ch inlet plac'd. 

We saw, by bright degrees his mind 
Grow rich in all that mke- men dear; 

Enlighten'd. social, ai d tetin'd, 
In friendship fi.m, iu love siucere. 

Such was the youth we lov'd so well, 
And such the hopes that fate denied ; 

We lov'd, but ah ! could scarcely tell 
How deep, how deaily, till he died ! 

Close as the fondest links could strain 
Twin'd nili my vei\ heart he grew; 

And by that fate which breaks the chain, 
The" heart is almost broken too. 



TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL 



In dilution to tome Partnerthip in a Lottery Share. 
IMPROMPTU. 
— Ego pare Wirf. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 
Where in blanks and in prizes we deal ; 

But how comes it that yno, such a capital prize, 
Should so long have remain'd in the wheel? 

If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, 

To me such a ticket should roll, 
A sixteenth, Heav'n knows ! were sufficient for me; 

For what could / do with the whole? 



A DREAM. 

I thought this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid's burning shrine: 

I though he stole thy heart away, 
And plac'd it near to mine. 

I saw thy heart begin to melt, 
Like ice before ihe sun ; 

Till both a glow congenial felt, 
And mingled into one ! 



TO 



With all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 

And I will send ynu home your heart, 
If you will send back mine to me. 



62 JUVENILE POEMS. 


We 've had some happy hours together, 
But joy must often change its wing: 


HYMN OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, 


And spiing would Le b it gi omy w tather, 


AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER. 


If w e had noihing else but spring. 






Oh. lost, for ever lost — no more 


T is not thai I expect to find 


Shall Vesi er light our dewv way 
Along the neks of Crissa's shore, 

To hymn the fading fires of day; 
No mo e lo Tempe's distant vale 


A more devoted, fond, and true one, 


With rosier check or sweeter mind — 


Enough for me that she 's a new one. 


Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
Where we have loitei'd long in bliss ; 

Ano you may down that pathway rove. 
While 1 shall take my way through this. 


In holy musings shall we roam. 
Through summer's glow and winter's gale, 

To beir the mys'ic duplets home.l 
T was then my soul's expanding zeal, 

By nature wa>in"d a: d led by Ibee, 




In every breeze was taught to feel 


o 


The brea'hn gs of a Deity. 




Guide of my heart! still hovering round, 


ANACREONTIC. 


Thy lo ks. Ihy wotds are still my own 




I see thee raising fr. m the gr und 


"She never look'd so kind before — 


Some laure', by the winds o'e thrown, 


" Yet why the wanton's smile recall ? 


And heai thee say, " This humble bough 


"I've seen this wiichery o'er and o'er, 


•• Was plan ed for a doom divine; 


" T is hollow, vain, and heartier all !" 


"And, thougi, it drorp in languor now, 


Thus I said and, sighing, drain'd 


" Shall flourish on 'he Delplic shrine ! 
" Thus, in the vale of e-r'h y sen-e, 

" I hough sunk awhile toe spirit lies, 
"A viewless hand shall cull it thence. 


The cup which she so late had tasted ; 


Upon whose rim s ill fresh remained 


The breath, so oft in falsehood wasted. 


" To bloom immortal in the skies ."' 


I took the harp, and would have sung 


All that the yung should feel and know, 


As if 't were not of her I sang ; 


By thre wa- taught so sweetly well, 


But still the noti-s on Lamia In. 


Thy words (ell s' ft as vernal snow, 


On whom but Lamia could they hang? 


And all was brightness where they fell: 


Those eyes of hers, that floating shine, 

Like diamonds in some Eas.ern river ; 
That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, 


Fond soother cf n y infmt tear, 
Fond shirer of my infant joy, 

Is Dot thy shade still lingering'here ? 
Am I not still tby soul's employ? 

Oh yes — and, as in former days, 


A world for eveiy kiss I 'd give her. 


That frame so delica'e, yet warm'd 


When, meeting oo the sacred mount, 


With hushes of love's genial hue ; — 


Our nymphs awak'd Iheir choral lays 


A mould ttansparent, as if fnrm'd 


And danc"d ar und Cas">tis' fount ; 


To let the spirit's light shine through. 


As then. 'I was all thy « ish and care, 
That mine should be the simp est mien, 


Of these I sung, and notes and words 


My lyre and voice the sweetest theie, 


Were sweet, as if the veiy air 


My foot the ligh'esi oVr the green; 


From Lamia's lip hung o'er the chords, 


So still, each look ad s!ep to mould, 


And Lamia's voice still warbled there ! 


Thy gnardi >n care is round me spread. 




Arranging every snowy fold. 


But when, alas, I turn'd the theme, 


And guiding every mazy tread. 


And when of vows and oaths 1 spoke, 


And, when 1 lead the hymning choir, 


Of truth and hope's seducing dream — 


Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hovers between mv lip and lyre, 


The chord beneath my linger btoke. 


False harp ! false woman ! — such, oh. such 
Are lutes too fr • il and hearts too willing: 


And weds them into harmony. 
Flow, Flistus. flow, ihy murmuring witb 

Shall never diop its sdv'ry tear 
Upon so pure, an blest a grave. 

To memory so entirely dear 1 


Any hand, whate'er its touch, 

Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 


And when that thrill is most awake, 




And when you think Heaven's joys await yon, 


Q 


The nymph will change, the chord will break — 




Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you 1 


SYMPATHY. 
TO JCL1A. 




TO JULIA. 


— sice me sit nulla Venn*. Stlfiei: 




Our hear*s, my love, were form'd to be 


I saw the peasant's hand unkind 


The genuine twins of Sympathy, 


From yonder oak the ivy sever; 


They live with one sensation : 


They seem'd in very being twin'd ; 
Yet now the oak is fresh as ever ! 




'- The laurel, fofttie common uses i f the temple, for 




adorning the ilntn ai i sweeping the pavemeut, was 
supplied by a tree near the fountain of Castalia. but 


Not so the widow'd ivy shines : 


Torn from its dear and only stay, 


upon all important occasions, thty sent to Tempe for 


In drooping widowhood it pines, 


their laurel. We find, in Pausanius. iha' this valley 


And scatters all ils bloom away. 


supplied the bra' ches r( n hich the 'emi le was origi- 




nally constructed ; and Plutarch says, in his Dialogue 


Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine. 


on Music. •' The v c laurel 


Till Fate disturbed their tender ties : 


to Delphi is always attended by a player on the flute." 


Thus gay indifference blooms in thine. 


AXXa iitjv Kat r\, Kara*. v rT «M-! 


While mine, descried, droops and dies ! 


KIKtJV fr. : 





JUVENILE POEMS. 63 




In jny or grief, but most in love, 
Like chords in unison they move, 


ELEGIAC STANZAS. 




And thrill with like vibration. 


Sic juvat perire. 




How oft I 've heard thee fondly say, 
Thy viral pulse shall cease to play- 
When mine no more is moving; 
Since, now, to feel a joy alone 
Were worse to thee than feeling none, 


When wearied wretches sink to sleep, 
How heavenly soft iheir slumbers lie! 

How sweet is death to those who weep, 
To those who weep and long to die ! 




So twiuu'd are we in loving. 


Saw you the soft and grassy bed, 

Where flowrets deck the green earth's breast ? 




*" 


'T is there I wish to lay my head, 
'T is there 1 wish to sleep at rest. 




THE TEAR. 


Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb, — 




On beds of snow the moonbeam slept, 


None but the dews at twilight given ! 




And chilly was the midnight gloom, 


Oh, let not sighs distuib the gloom. — 




When by the damp grave Ellen wept — 


None but the whispering winds of heaven 1 




Fond maid '. it was her Lindor's tomb I 
A warm tear gush'd, the wintry atr 










Congeal 'd it as it tlow'd away : 






All night it lay an ice-drop there, 
At morn it glitter'd iii the ray. 


LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 








An angel, wand'ring from her sphere, 


Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum. 

Sccundus, eieg. vii. 




Who saw this bright, this frozen gem, 




To dew-ey'd Pity brought the tear, 
And hung it on her diadem ! 


Still the question I must parry, 
Still a wayward truant prove: 

Where I love, 1 must not marry; 
Where I marry, cannot love.' 

Were she fairest of creation, 








THE SNAKE. 


With the least presuming mind ; 
Learned without affectation; 




My love and I, the other day, 


Not deceitful, vet renu'd ; 




Within a myrtle arbour lay, 


' 




When near us, from a rosy bed, 


Wise enough, but never rigid ; 




A little Snake put forth ils head. 


Gay, but not too lightly free; 




"See, 1 " said the maid with thoughtful eyes — 
" Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 


Chaste as snow, and yet hot frigid , 
fond, yet satisfied with me: 




" Who could expect such hidden harm 


Were she all this ten times over, 




" Beneath the rose's smiling charm ? " 


All that heav'n to earth allows, 
I should be too much her lover 




Never did grave remark occur 




Less a-propos than this from her. 


Ever to become her spouse. 




I rose to kill the snake, but she, 


Love will never bear ensbving; 




Half-smiling, pray'd it might not be. 


Summer g rmei.ts suit him best ; 




" No," said the maiden — and, alas. 


Bliss itself is not worth having, 




Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it — 


If we're by compulsion blest. 




" Long as the snake is in the grass, 






" One may, perhaps. ha\ e cause to dread it : 







" But, when its wicked eyes appear, 
"And when we know for what they wink so, 










•' One must be very simple, dear, 


ANACREONTIC. 




" To let it wound one — dont you think so ? " 


I filled to thee, to thee I drank, 




= 


I nothing did but drink and fill ; 
The bowl by turns n as bright and blank, 
'T was drinking, filling, drinking still. 




TO ROSA. 


At length I bid an artist paint 




Is the song of Rosa mute ? 


Thy image in this ample cup, 




Once such lays inspired her lute 1 


That I might see the dimpled saint, 




Never doth a sweeter song 


To whom I quafl'd my nectar up. 




Steal the breezy lyre along. 
When the wind, in odours dying, 


Behold, how bright that purple lip 




Wooes it with enamour'd sighing. 


Now blushes through the wave at me ; 
Every roseate drop 1 sip 




Is my Rosa's lute unstrung? 


Is just like kissing wine from thee. 




Once a tale of peace it sung 


And still I drink the more for this ; 




To her lover's .hrobbing breast — 


For, ever when the draught I drain, 




Then was he divinely blest ! 


Thy lip invites another ki-s, 
And — in the nectar flows again. 




Ah 1 but Rosa loves no more, 
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er J 




And her lute neglec'ed lies ; 


So, here 's to thee, my gentle dear, 




And her boy forgotten sighs. 


And may that eyelid "never shine 




Silent lute— forgotten lover — 


Bern a'li a Jv ker,' bitte-er tear 




Rosa's love and song are over ! 


Than bathei it in this bowl of mine: 



64 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



THE SURPRISE. 

Chloris, I wear, by all 1 ever swore, 
That froir ihis hour I -hall no' love thee more.- 
" Wha' ! love no more? Oh! why thisalter'd vow?" 
Because I cannot love thee -more — than now ! 



ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE 
HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. 

I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, 
And in thy bieath his pinion dips, 

Who suns him in thy radiant eyes, 
And faints upon thy sighing lips : 

I 'II ask him where 's the veil of sleep 
That us'd to shade thy looks of light ; 

And why those eyes their vitril keep, 
When other suns ara sunk in night? 

And I will say — her angel breast 
Has never ihrobbd with guilly sting; 

Her bosom is the sweete-t nest 

Where Slumber could repose his wing! 

And 1 will say — her cheeks that flush, 

Like vernal roses in the sun. 
Hue ne'er by shame been taught to blush, 

Except for what ber eyes have done ! 

Then tell me, why, thou child of air! 

Doea slumber from her eyelids rove? 
What is her heart's impassion'd care? — 

Perhaps, oh syiph ! perhaps, lUleoe. 



THE WONDER. 

Come, tell me where the maid is found, 
Whose heart cm love without deceit, 

And I will ranae the world around, 
To sigh one moment at her feet. 

Oh! tell me where 's her sainted home, 
What air receives her blessed sigh, 

A pilgrimage of years I 'II roam 
To catch one spaikle of her eye ! 

And if her cheek be smooth and bright, 
While truth within her bo-om lies, 

I 'II eaze upon her morn and msht, 

Till my heart leave me through my eye*. 

Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
I Ml own all miracles are true ; 

To make one maid sincere ami fair, 
Oh, 't is the utmost Heav'u can do ! 



Cte cou le lor bugie pajon divini. Mauro d" Arcana. 

I do confess, in many a sigh. 
My lips have breath*d you many a lie; 
And who, with such delights in view, 
Would lose them, for a lie or two ? 

Nay, — look not thus with brow reproving; 
Lies are, my dear, the -oul of loving, 
If half we tell the girls "ere true, 
If half we swear to think and do, 
Were aught but lying's bright illusion, 
This world would be in strange confusio*. 
If ladies' eyes were, every one, 
A 5 lovers swear, a radiant sun, 
Astronomy must leave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies' eves. 



Oh, no — believe me, lovely girl, 
When nature turns your teeth to pearL 
Your neck to snow, your eves to fire, 
Your amt.er locks to golden wire, 
Then, only then, can Heaven decree 
That you should live for only me, 
Or I for you, as night and morn, 
We 've swearing kist, and kissing sworn. 

And now, mv gentle hints to clear, 
For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever y u may chai.ce to'meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, 
Long as you 're false and he believes you 
Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
So long the blis-ful bond endures, 
And while he lies, his heart is yours : 
But, oh ! you 've wholly lost the youth 
The instant that be tells' you truth. 



ANACREONTIC. 

Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 

'Twill chase that pensive tear; 

T is not so sweet as woman's lip, 

But, oh ! t is more sii cere. 

Like her delusive beam, 

'T will steal awav thv mind 
But, truer than love's dream, 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade: 

These flow'rs were cull'd at noon ;— 
Like woman's love the rose will fade, 
But, ah ! not half so soon. 
For though the flower's decaytf, 

- nice i- not o'er; 
But once when love 's betiav'd, 
lis sweet life blooms no more. 

END OF VOL. I. 



PREFACE 
TO THE SECOND VOLPME. 

The Poems suggested to me hv mv visit to Bermuda, 
in the \eir I SCO. as well as by the (bur whicl 
subsequently, through son i America, 

have been hitherto very injudicouslv arrai.- 
di-tinctite char cl ring beeii 

disturbed their being mined up not 

only with 'rifles of a much ea'lier date, but also with 
some | ortions of a classical siory. in the form of Ler- 
tets. which I la I gress in before mv 

depatture from England. In the i 
awkward juml lie . r! ; and all the 

Poems relating to my Transatlantic voyage will be 
found classed by tbemselvi - ;,,ier, the 

line of route by which I pn • me parts 

of the Sta'es and ll 

be traced confusedly through a few detached notes, I 
have thought that, to future readers of tht- 
sonie clearer account of the co;,'-- 
might not —tree her with • 

uts now 
fast farlii _ 

in the Phaeton fpga'e. I an 
collec 'ion- 
ship. " We were soon n 
" for sea, and a I 
embarked on board. Mr. ! 
passage w ith us on 
Spithead on the 2ath of - 
short week lay becaluied under the 
In this -ituaii'n. t! 
piece of Moore's I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



65 



During the voyage, I dined very frequently with 
the officers of the gun-room ; and it was no' a litlle 
gratifying to me to learn, from Ih.s gentleman's vo- 
lume, that the cordial regard these social and open- 
hearted men inspired in me was noi wholly unre- 
turned, on their par:. After mentioning Our arrival 
a' Norfolk in Virginia, Captain Scott says. " Mr. and 
Mrs. Meny left the Phaeton, under the usual salute, 
accompanied by Mr. Moore ;" then, adding some kind 
compliments on the score of talents, &c , he concludes 
with a sentence which it gave me tenfold more plea 
sure to read, — " The gun-room mess witnessed the day 
of his departure with genuine sorrow." From Nor- 
folk, after a stay of about ten days, under the hospi- 
table roof of the British Consul. Colonel Hamilton, 1 
proceeded in the Driver sloop of war, to Bermuda 

There was then on that station another youthful 
sailor, who Ins so.ee earned for himself adis'inguMied 
name among English writers of travels, Captain Basil 
Hall,— then a midshipman on board the Lemder. In 
his Fragments ot Voyages and Travels, this writer has 
called up some agreeable reminiscences of that period ; 
in perusing which,— so full of life and rea'ih are his 
sketches.— I found all my own naval recollections 
brought freshly o my mind. The very names of the 
different ships, then so familiar to my ears,— the Lean- 
der, the Boston, the Cambrian, — transported me back 
to the season of youth and those Summer Isles once 

The testimony borne by so competent a witness as 
Captain Hall to the truth of my sketches of the beau- 
tiful scenery of Bermuda is of far too much v lue to 
me, in my capacity of traveller, to be here omiited by 
me, however conscious I must feel of but ill deserving 
the praie he lavishes on me, as a poet. Not that I 
pretend to be at all indifferent to such kind tributes; 
— on the contrary, th«e are always :he most alive to 
praise, who feel inwardly least confidence in the 
soundness of their own title to it. In the present in- 
stmce. however, my vanity (for so this uneasy feel- 
ing is always called) seeks its food in a different direc- 
tion. It is not as a poet I invoke the aid of Captain 
Hall's opinion, but as a traveller and observer ; it is not 
to my invention I ask him to bear testimony, but to 
my matter-of-fact. 

"The most pleasing and most exact description 
which I know of Bermuda," says this gentleman, '' is 
to be found in Moore's Odes and Epistles, a work pub- 
lished many years ago. The reason why his account 
excels in beauty as well as in precision that of other 
men probably is, that the scenes described lie so much 
beyond the scope of ordinal y observation in colder 
climates, and the feelings which they excise in the 
beholder are so much higher than those produced by 
the scenery we have been accustomed to look at, that, 
unless the imagination be deeply drawn upon, and the 
diction sustained at a coi respondent pitch, the words 
alone strike ihe ear, while the listener's fancy remains 
where it was. In Moore's account there is not only 
no exaggeration, but, on the contrary, a wonderful 
degree of temperance in the midst of a feast which to 
his rich fancy, must have been peculiaily tempting. 
He has contrived by a magic peculiarly his own, yet 
without departing from the truth, to sketch what was 
before him wilh a fervour which those who have 
never been on the spot might well be excused for set- 
ting down as the sport of the poet's invention. '"i 

How truly politic it is in a poet to connect his verse 
with well-known and interesting localities. — to wed 
hi»fong to scenes alieidy invested with fame, and thus 
lend it a chance of sharing the charm which encircles 
(hem, — 1 have my-elf, in more'han one instance, very 
»greeably experienced. Among the memorials of this 
description, which, as' earn with pleasure and pride, 
■till keep i\e reraenfc^red in some of those beautiful 
regions of the West which I visited, I shall mention 
but one slight instance, as showing how potently the 
Genius of the Place may lend to song a life and im- 



perishableness to which, in itself, it boasts no claim 
or pretension. The following lines, in one of my 
Bermudian Poems, 



still live in memory, I am told, on those fairy shores, 
connecting my name with Ihe picturesque spot they 
describe, and the noble old tree which 1 believe still 
adorns it.s One of the few treasures (of any kind) I 
pessess, is a goblet formed of one of the fruit-shells of 
this remarkable tree, which was brought from Ber- 
muda, a few years since, by Mr. Dudley Cosiello, and 
which that gentleman, having had it tastefully mount- 
ed as a goblet, very kindly pieseuled to me; the fol- 
lowing words being part of the inscription which it 
bears : — " To Thomas Moore, Esq., this cup, formed 
of a calabash which grew on the tree thai bears bis 
name, near Walsingham, Bermuda, is inscribed by 
one who,'' &c. &c. 

From Bermuda I proceeded in the Brston, with my 
friend Captain (now Admiral) J. E. Douglas, to New 
York, from whence, after a short stay, we sailed for 
Norfolk, in Virginia; and about the beginning of 
June, 1804, I set out from that city on a tour through 
part of the Slates. At Washington, I passed some 
days with the English mini-ier, Mr. Merry ; and was, 
by him, presented at the levee of the President, Jef- 
ferson, whom I found silting with General Dearborn 
and one or two other officers, and in the same homely 
costume, comprising slippeis and Connemara stock- 
ings, in which Mr. Meny had been received by him 
—much to ih it formal minister's horror— when wait- 
ing upon him, in full dress, to deliver his credentials. 
My single interview wilh this lemaikable person was 
of very short duration ; but to have seen and spoken 
with the man who diew up the Declaration of Ameri- 
can Independence was an event not to be forgotten. 

At Philadelphia, the socie'y I was chiefly made 
acquiiuted with, and to which (as the verses address- 
ed to ''Delaware's green banks" 3 sufficiently te.stily) 
I was indebted for some of mv most agieeable ieo>l- 
lecti us of the United Slates, consisted entirely of per- 
sons of ihe Federalist or Anii-Democratic party. «"ew 
and transient, loo, as had been my opportunities, of 
judging for myself of ihe political or social state of 
Ihe country, my mind was left open too much to Ihe 
influence of the feelings and prejudices of those I 
chieliy consorted with; and, certainly, in no quarter 
was 1 so sure to find decided hostility, both to the men 
and the principles then dominant throughout the 
I Union, as am> ng officers of the British navy, and in 
the ranks of an angry Federalist app nition. For any 
I bias, therefore, that, under such circumstance-, iny 
opinions and feelings may be thought to have receiv- 
i ed. full allowance, of course, is to be made in apprais- 
ing ihe weight due to my authority on the subject. 
! All I can answer for, ii 'he _ .-.iect sincerity ami 
earnestness of the a-^lual lmpre-sions, whether true or 
I enoneous, under w •* r-J Epistles from the United 
[States were written; and so slrong, at the time, I 
j confess, were those impressions, that it was the only 
| period of my past life during which I have found 
.myself at all scepticil as to the soundnes of 'hat 
■ Liberal creed of pohiics, in ihe profession and advo- 
, cacy of which 1 may be almost literally said to have 
begun life, and shall most probably end it. 
I Reaching, for ihe second time, New Toik, I set out 
from thence on the now f. miliar ai d easy enterprise 
' of visiting the Falls of Niagara. It is but too true, of 
I all g.and objects, whether in nature or art, that 
facility of access to them much diminishes the feeling 
of reverence they ought to inspire. Of this fault, 



» Fragments of Voyages and Travels, vol. ii. chap. 



* A representation of this calabash, taken from 
drawing of it made, on the spot, by Dr. Savage, of 
the Royal Artillery, has been introduced in the vig- 
nette prefixed tc this volume. 

3 See Epistle to Mr. W. R. Spencer, p. 110 of th« 
volume. 



66 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



however, the route to Niagara, at that period — at 
least ihe portion of it which led through the Ge :e<ee 
country — could uot justly be accused. The latter 
part of the journey, which lay chierly through )et 
but half-cleared word, we were obliged to perform on 
foot ; and a slight accident 1 met with, in the course 
of our rugged walk, laid me up for some days at 
Buffalo. To ihe rapid growth, in that wonderful 
region, of, at least, the materials of civilization,— 
however ultimately they may be turned to account,— 
thK flourishing town, which stands on Lake Erie, 
bears mo.-t ample testimony. Though little better, at 
the time when I visi.ed it, than a mere village, con- 
sisting chieity of huts and wigwams, it is now, by all 
accounts, a populous and splendid city, with five or 
six churches, town-hall, theatre, and other such ap- 
purtenances of a capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude slate of 
Buffalo at tl.a' period, I should be ungrateful were 1 
to omit mentioning, that, even then, on the shores of 
those far lakes, the title of " Poet,"— however un- 
worthily in that instance bestowed,— bespoke i kind 
and distinguishing welcome for is wearer; and that 
the Captain w h '"commanded the packet in which I 
crossed Lake Ontario,! in addition to other marks of 
courtesy, begtred, on parting « ith me, to be allowed 
to decline payment for my passage. 

When we arrived, at length at the inn. in the 
neighbourhood of the Falls, it was too late to think of 
visiting them that evening; and I lay awake almost 
the whole night with the >'ound of the cataiact in my 
ears. 1 he day f Mowing 1 consider as a sort of era 
in my life ; and the first glimpse I caught of that 
wonderful cataract gave me a feeling which nothing 
in this world can ever awaken azaio.s It was 
through an opening among the trees, as we approach- 
ed the spot where the full view of the Falls was to 
burst upon us, that I caught this glimpse of the 
mighty mass of waters folding smoothly over the edge 
of the precipice; and so overwhelming was the 
notion i: gave me of the awful spectacle I was ap- 
pioaching, that, dnrin; the short interval tha' follow- 
ed, imagination had far outrun the reality ; an I, rest 
and wonderful as was the scene that then opened upon 
me, my fir»t feeling was that of disappointment. It 
would' have teen impossible, indeed, for any thing 
real lo come up to the vision I had, in these few- 
seconds, formed of it; and th se awful scriptural 
words, " The fountains of the great deep were broken 
up," can alone give any notion of the vague wonders 
for which I was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by imagination, 
the triumph of reality was, in "the end, but the 
greater; for the gradual glory of the scene that open- 
ed upon me soon took possession of my whole mi d ; 
presenting, from day to day, some new beau'y or 
wonder, and, like all that is most sublime in nature or 
art, awakening sad as well as eleia'ing thoughts. 1 
retain in my memory but one other dream — for such 
do events so long past appear — which can in any re- 
spect be associated with the grand vision I have just 
been describing; and, however diffeieut the nature of 
their appeals to the imagination, I -h uld find it dif- 
ficult to siy on which occasion I felt most deeply 
affected, when looking on the Falls of Niagara, or 
when standing by moonlight among the ruins of the 
Coliseum. 

Sune changes, I understand, injurious to the beauty 
of the scene," have taken place in the s! ape of the 
Falls since the lime of my visit to them ; ai d among 
these is the total dlsi| pea'rance. by the gradual crum- 
bling away of the rock, of the small leafv island 
which theii stood near the ed»e of the Great Fall, and 



thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song of the Spirit 
of that region : 3 _ 

There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just above the cat .Fact's edge, 
"Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began. 
Lone I sic at close of day, ice. &e. 

.Another characteristic feature of the vicinity of the 
Falls, which, I undersand.no longer exists, was the 
interesting settlement of the Tuscarora Indians. With 
the gallant Brock * who then commanded at Fort 
George, I passed the grea er part of my ime during 
the few weeks I lemained at Niagara; and a visit I 
paid to these Indians, in company with him and bis 
brother officers, on his going to distribute among them 
the customary presents and pnzes, was not the least 
curious of the many new scei.es I witues-ed. These 
people received us in all their ancient csume. The 
young men exhibited for our amusement in the race, 
'the bat-game, and other sports, while the old and the 
women sat in groups under the surrounding trees; 
and the whole scene was as picturesque aid beautiful 
as it was new to me. |i is said tha West, the Ameri- 
can painter, when he first saw the Apollo, at Rome, 
exclaimed instantly. "A young Indian warrior! " — 
and, however startling the association may appear, 
some of the graceful and agile forms which I saw that 
day among the Tuscaioras were such as would account 
for its arising in the younu painter's mind. 

After crossing " th't- fiesh-w a'.er ocean " of Ontario, 
I passed down the St. Lawrence to Montreal and 
Quebec, staying for a sh n time at each of these 
places; and' this part of my journey, as well as my 
voyage on from Quebec to Halifax, is sufficie tlj 
traceable through the few pieces of poetry th .t were 
sugeested to me by scenes and events on 'he way. 
And here I must again venture to avail myself of the 
valuable testimony of Captain Hall lo the t uth of my 
descriptions of some if tho-e scenes '.huuzh wheh 
his more practised eye followed me ; — Taking Ihe 
liberty to omit in my extracts, as far as may be done 
without injury to the style or context, s me of that 
generous surplusage of praise in which friendly criti- 
cism delights to indulge. 

iking of an excursion he had made up the 
river Ottawa"— "a stream," he adds, "which has a 
classical pace in every one's imagination f" m Moore's 
Canadim Boat Song, : ' Cap ain Hall proceeds as fol- 
lows: — •' While the [x-et above alluded lo has re- 
tained all that is essentially ct aiactenstic and pleas- 
ing in these boat songs, and' tejec'ed all that is not so, 
he has contrived 'o borrow In, iispiraion from 
numerous surrounding circun.sances, [resenting no- 
thing remarkable to the du 1 seises rf ordinary travel- 
lers. Yet these highly p fctieal images, drawn in 
this way, as it wei From every hand, 

he has combined with such graphic — I b 
said geographical — truth, that the effect is great even 
upon those who have never, vvirh their i 
seen the 'Ottawa's tide." nor -down down the Rapids,' 
nor heard the 'bell of S'. Aum'- 
chime ; ' while the :ame line, give lo dis'ant renions, 
previously consecrated in . a vivid- 

ness of interest, when viewed ou 'he spot, of which 
it is ditT.culr to s ly bow much i- due to the magic of 
the poetry, and how much to the beaury of the real 
scene." s 



t The Commodore of the Lakes, as he is styled. 

a The two first sentence^ of the above paragraph, 
as well as a passage that occurs near the f ot of this 
column, stood originally as part of the Notes on one 
of the American Poems. 



9 Introduced in (he Epistle to Lady Charlotte Raw- 
don, p. Hi of this volume. 

* This brave and amiable officer was killed at 
Queenston, in Opper Canada, soon after the com- 
mencement of the war with America, in the year 
1M2. He was in the act of cheering on 
when he fell. The inscription on Ihe monument 
raised to his men. ,. does but 

due honour lo his manly character. 

5 " It is singularly gratify;! g." the au'hor adds, "lo 
discover that, to tliis" hour, the Canadian royagewrt 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



67 



While on the subject of the Canadian Boat Son», an 
anecdote connected with that once popular ballad niay, 
for my musical leaders at leas', possess some interest. 
A few years since, while saying in Dublin, I was 
presented, at his own request, to a gentleman who 
told me that his family had in their possession a cu- 
rious relic of my youthful days, — being the first nota- 
tion I bad nude" in penc Hing, i f the a r and words of 
the Canadian Boat bong, while on my way down the 
St. Lawrence. — and that it was their wish I should add 
my signature to attest the authen icity of the auto- 



never omit their offerings to the shrine of St. Anne, 
before engaging in any enterprise ; and that, during 
its performance, they omit no opportu i'y of keeping 
up so propitious an intercourse The flourishing 
village which smrounds the church on the 'Gieen 
:sle' in questi nowes its existence and support entire- 
ly to these piou3 contributions." 



graph. I assured him with truth that I had wholly 
f TiOtten even the existence of such a memorandum ; 
that it would be as much a curiosity to myself as it 
could be to any one else, and that I should feel thank- 
ful to be allowed to see it. In a day or two after, my 
lequest was complied with, and the following is the 
history of this musical " relic." 

In my passage down the St. Lawrence, I tsd with 
me t»o travelling companions, one of whom, named 
Harkness. the son of a wealthy Dublin me: chant, has 
been some years dead. To this young friend, on part- 
ing with him, at Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a 
volume I had been reading on the way, — Piiestley's 
Lectures on History ; and it was upon a fly-leaf of this 
vo ume I found I had taken down, in pencilling, both 
the notes and a few of the words of the original song 
by which my own boat-glee had been suggested. The 
following is the form of my memorandum of the origi- 
nal air: — 




Then follows, as pencilled down at the same mo- 
ment, the first verse of my Canadian Boat Song, with 
air and words as they are at present. From all this 
il will be perceived, iha', in my own setting of the 
air, I departed in almost every respect but Ihe time 
from the strain our vcyageurs h id sung to us, leaving 
the music of the glee nearly as much ~my own as the 
words. Yet, bow strongly impressed I had become 
with the notion that this was the identical air sun? by 
the batmen,— how closely it linked itself in my imagi- 
nation with the scenes and sounds amidst which it had 
occurred to me. — may be seen bv reference to a note 
appended to the glee as firs' published, which will be 
found in the following pages.! 

To the few desultory and, perhaps, valueless recol- 
lections I have thus called up, respecting the c intents 
of our second volume, I have only to add, that the 
heavy stoim of censure and citicism,— some of it, I 
fear, but too well deserved.— which, both in Ameiica 
and in England, the publication tit my " Odes and 
Epistles" drew down upon me. was followed by results 
which have far more thin compensated for any pain 
such attacks at the time may have inflicted. In the 
most formidable of all my censors, at that period,— 
the great master of the art of criticism, in our day,— I 
have found ever since one of the most cordial and 
highly valued of all my friends; while the go 'd will 
I have experienced ftom more than one dis'inguished 
American sufficiently assures me that any injus'ice I 
may have doi e to that land of freemen, if nol long 
since wholly forgotten, is now remembered only to be 
forgiven. 

As some consolation to me for the onsets of criti- 
cism, I received, shortly after the appearance of my 
volume, a letter from Stockholm, addressed to "the 
author of Epistles, Odes, and other Poems," and in- 
forming me that "the Princes, Nobles, and Gentle- 
men, who composed the General Chapter of the most 
Illustrious. Equis'rian, Secular, aid Chap'e>al Order 
of St. Joachim." had elec'ed me as a Knight of this 
Order. Notwithstanding the grave and official style 
of the letter, I regarded it, I own, at first, as a mere 
ponderous piece of pleasantly ; and even suspected that 
in the name of St. '• Joachim" I could detect the low 
and irreverent pun of St. Jokehim. 

On a little inquiry, however, I learned that there 
actually existed such an order of knighthood j that the 



Page 112 of this volume. 



title, insignia, &c. conferred by it had, in the instances 
of Lord Nelson, the Duke of Bouillon, and Colonel 
Imhoff, who were all knights of St. Joachim, been 
authorized by the British court ; but that since then, 
this sancion of the otder had been withdrawn. Of 
course, to the reduction thus caused in the value of the 
hon ur was owing us descent in the scale of distinc- 
tion to -'such small deer" rf Parnassus as myself. 1 
wrote a let'er, however, full of grateful acknowledg- 
ment, to Monsieur Hansson, the Vice-Chancellor of the 
Order, saying that I was unconscious of having enti- 
tled myself, b\ any public service, to a reward due 
only to the benefactors of mankind ; and therefore 
beg'ged leave most respectfully to decline it. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTJPPUS, 

TO A LAMP 

WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS. 

Dulcis conscia lectuli Piccrna. 

Martial, lib. xiv. epig. 39. 
"Oh! love the Lamp" (my Mistress said), 
"The faithful lamp that, many a night, 
"Beside thy Lais' lonely ted 

"H skept its little u'atch ( f light. 



3 It does not appear to have been very difficult to 
become a philosopher amongst the ancients. A 
moderate soie of learning, with a considerable por- 
tion of Coi fideiice, and just wit enough to produce an 
occasional apophthegm, seem to have been all the 
qualification* necessary for the purpose. The prin- 
ciples of nv»al scie.ee were so very imr erfectly un- 
derstood that (he founder of a new' sect, in forming 
his ethical code, might consult either fancy or tem- 
perament, and adapt it to his own pis-ions and pro- 
pensities • so that Mahomet, with a little more learn- 
ing, might have flourished as a philosopher in those 
d iys, and would have required but the polish of the 
schools to become the rival of Ari-tippus in morality. 
In Ihe science of nature, too, though some valuable 
truths were discovered by them, they seemed hardly 
ti know they we:e truth's, or at leas' were as well 
satisfied with errors ; and Xenophanes, who asserted 



G8 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



"Full often has it seen her weep, 

" And tix !ier eye upon its flame, 
" Till, weary, she has sunk lo sleep, 

" Repealing her beloved's name. 

" Then love the Lamp — t will of en lead 

"Thy s'.ep through learning's sacred way j 
" And when those s udious eyes shall read, 
"At midnight, bv its lonely ray 

"Of things sublime, of nature's birth, 
" Of all that 's bright in heaven or earth, 
1 Oh, think tha she, by whom 't was given, 
1 Adores thee more than earth or heaven ! " 

Yes — dearest Lamp, by every charm 

On which thy midnight beam has bung; * 

The head reclin'd, the graceful arm 
Acro.-s the bruw of ivory flung; 

The heaving bosom, partly hid, 
The sever'd lips' unc nscious sighs, 

The fringe that from the half-shut lid 
Adown the cheek of roses lies : 

By these, by all that bloom untold, 
And long as all shall charm my heart, 

I '11 love my little Lamp of gold — 
My Lamp and I shall never part 

And often, as she smiling said, 

In fancy's hour, ihy gentle rays 
Shall guide my visionary tiead 

Through poesy'^ enchanting maze. 
Thy flame shall light the page refin'd, 

Where still we catch the Chian's breath, 

Whete still the bard, though cold in death, 
Has lef- his soul unque: ch'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 

Oh, man of Ascri's dreary glades/* 
To whom the nightly warbling Nine 3 

A wind of inspire ion gave,* 
Pluck'd from the greenesf tree, that shades 

The crystal of Castalia's wave. 

Then, turning to a purer h>re, 
We'll cull the sages' deep-hid store, 
From Science steil her golden clue, 
And every mystic path pursue, 
Where Nature far fr in vulgar eyes, 
Through labyrinths of wonder flies. 
'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 
How fleeting is this world below, 



Where all that meets the morning light, 
Is chang'd before the fall of night ! s 

I 'II tell thee, as I trim thy fire, 

" Swift, swift the tide of bring runs, 

"And Time, who bids thy flame expire, 
" Will ..Lo quench yon maven of suns." 

Oh, then if earth's united power 
Can never chain one feathery hour; 
If every print we leave to-day 
To-morrow's wave will sweep away; 
Who pau-es to inquire of heaven 
Why were the fleeting tieasmes given, 
The sunny days, the shady nights, 
And all their'brief but dear delights, 
Which heaven has ma le f"i man to use, 
And man should think it crime to lose? 
Who that has cull'd a fresh blown rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindful of the blushing ray, 
In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the .-canted sigh. 
With which it dies and loves to die. 

Pleasure, thou only gx>d on earth'. 6 
One precious moment gi.'n to thee 

Oh ! by my Lais' lip, 'I is worth 
The sage's immortality. 

Then far be all the w isdom hence, 

That would our joys o:.e h"ur delay! 
Alas, the feast of s >ul and sense 

Love calls us lo in youth's bright day, 

If not snon tis'ed. flee's away. 
Ne'er wert th>.u formed, my Lamp, to shed 

Thy spend -ur on a lifeless page; — 
What'e'e my I lushing Lais said 

Of thoughtful lore and s udit-s sage, 
'T was mockery all — her glance of joy 
Told me thy dearest, bes empli y.l 
And. soon as ni;h' shali close the eye 

Of heaven's young wa derer in the west; 
When seers are gazing on the sky, 

To rind their future orbs of rest ; 



that the stars were igneous clouds, lighted up every 
night and extinguished again in the" morning, was 
thought and styled a philosopher, as generally as he 
who anticipated Newton in developing the arrange- 
ment of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch, de 
Placit. Philosoph. lib. ii. cap. 13. It is impossible to 
read this treatise of Plutarch, without alternately 
admiring the genius, and smiling at the absurdities of 
the philosophers. 

> The ancients had their lucernae cubicularia? or 
bedchamber lamps, which, as the Emperor Galienus 
said, "nil eras meminere ; " and, with the same com- 
mendation of secrecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp 
in Aristophanes, F.kkAvs. We may judge how fanci- 
ful they were, in the use and embellishment of their 
lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna, which we 
find in the Romanuui Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, p. 
127. 

* Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his 
father's tiight to the wretched village of Ascra. Kpy. 
gal 'H/itp. v. 251. 

3 Evvv,\'tai vtuxov, rrEpocaXAta uo-crav iua-ai. 
Theog. v. 10. 

* Kai iioiarKi)KTpov ziov, SaQvTis ipidnXca otov. 
Id. v. 30. 



*'P«v ra 6Ao KOTafiov (ikijv, as expressed 
among the dogmas of Heiaclitus the Ephesian. and 
with the same image by Seneca, in whom we find a 
beautiful diffusion of the' thought. •' Nemo est mane, 
qui fruit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur fluminuni 
more ; quidquid vides currit cum tempore. Nihil ex 
his quae videnHU manet. Eg) ipse, duni loquor 
mutari ipsa, mutatus sum." 

6 Aris.ippus considered motion as the principle of 
happiness, in which idet he differed fr^m the Epi- 
cuieai s, who looked to a state of repose as the only- 
true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively 
agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful 
derangement of the 

1 Mauoertuis has been still more explicit than this 
philosopher, in rar.king the pleasures of sense above 
the sublimes! pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the 
infant man, in his prod uc' ion, he calls him. "use 
nouvelle creatur.'. qui pomra compreudre h ■ 
les plus sublimes, tt ce qui tst lien au-dessus. qui 
pourra gouter les memes plaishs." See his Venus 
Physique. This appears to be one if the triorts at 
Fohtenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the 
learned President is so well aud justly tidiculed in 
the Akakia of Voltaire. 

Maupertuii may lie thought to have borrowed from 
the ancient Aristippus that iudisciiminae theory of 
pleasures which he h'S set forth in his Essai de Phi- 
losophe Moraie, and for which he was so very justly 
cinuemned. Aristippus, according to Laert 
fir) c"«n#£p£iv T£ Jj^oinv fic'ovnj. wheh irrational 
sentiment' has b, i i; "Tint 

qu'on ne consdere que l'et t present, tous les plaisirs 
son! du meme genre.' &c. Jcc. 



JUVENILE POEMS 



Then shall I take my trembling way, 
Unseen but to (hose worlds above, 

And, led by i by mysterious ray, 
Steal to the night-bower of my love. 



ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF 
VOITURE'S KISS. 

Mon amp sur mon levre eloit lors toute entiere, 
Pour savourer le mid qui sur la voire etoit; 

Mais en me relirant, elle re ta derriere, 
Taut de ce doux plaisir I'amorce la rcetoit. Vuiture. 

How heav'nly was the poet's doom, 
To bieathe his spirit through a kiss; 

And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss ! 

And, sure his soul return'd to feel 
Thai it again could ravish'd be : 

For in the ki>s that ihou didst steal, 
His life and soul have tied to thee. 



RONDEAU. 

" Good night ! good night !" — And is it so ? 

And must i from my Rosa go ? 

Oh Rosa, say " Good night !" once more, 

And I '11 repeat it o'er and o'er, 

Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall find us saying, still, "Good night," 

And still " Good night," my Rosa, say — 
But whisper still, "A minute stay ;" 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight, 
To listen to our sweet " Good night." 

" Good night !" you '11 murmur with a sigh, 

And tell me it is time to fly : 

And I will vow, will swear to go, 

While still that sweet voice murmurs " No 1" 

Till slumber seal our weary sight — 

And then, my love, my soul, " Good eight !" 



Why does azure deck the skv 
'T is to be like thy locks of blue J 

Why is red the rose's dye ? 
Because it is thy blushes' hue. 

All that's fair, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee 

Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 

Why are solar beams so bright ? 
That they may seem thy golden hair! 

All that 's bright, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee 1 

Why are nature's beauties felt ? 

Oh ! t is thine in her we see ! 
Why has music power to melt ? 

Oh ! because it speaks like thee. 
All that 's sweet, bv Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 



TO ROSA. 

Like one who trusts to summer skies, 
And puts his little bark to sea, 

Is he who, lur'd by smiiing eyes. 
Consigns his simple heart to thee. 

For fickle is the summer wind, 
And sadly may the bark be tost ; 

For thou art sure to change thy mind, 
And then the wretchedheait is lost! 



WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE BOOK, 
CALLED "THE BOOK OF FOLLIES; 
In which every <me t/iat opened it was to 
contribute something. 

TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. 

This tribute 's from a wretched elf, 
Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 
The book of life, which I have trae'd, 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, 
One folly bringing hundreds more. 
Some have indeed been writ so neat, 
In chaiacters so fair, so sweet, 
That those who judge not oo severely, 
Have said thev lov'd such follies dearly. 
Yet still, book! the allusion stands; 
For these were penn'd by female hands: 
The rest — alas ! I own the truth — 
Have all been scribbled so uncouth 
That Prudence, with a wirhving look, 
Disdainful, flings a»ay the book. 
Like thine, its pages here and there 
Have oft been s'ain'd with blots of care; 
And sometimes hours of peace, I own, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shown, 
While as the snowings of lhat heav'n 
By which those hours of peace were given. 
Bit' now no longer — such, oh, such 
The blast of Di-appnintment's touch! 
No longer now those hours appear; 
Each leaf is sullied by a tear: 
Blank, blank is ev'ry page with care, 
Not ev'n a folly brightens there. 
Will they yet brighten?— never, never! 
Then shut the book, God, for ever 1 



TO ROSA. 

Say, why should the girl of my soul be m tears 

At a meeiing of rapture like this, 
When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years 

Have been paid by one moment of bliss ? 

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight, 

Which dwells on her memory yet ? 
Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night, 

From the warmth of the sun that has set ? 

Oh ! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, 

That smile, which is loveliest then ; 
And if such are the drop^ that delight can beguile, 

Thou shalt weep tbem again and again. 



LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 

Light sounds the harp when the combat is over, 
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom ; 

When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 



70 



JUVENILE POEMS 



But, when the foe returns, 
Again the hero burns; 
High flames Fhe sword in his hand once more; 
The clang nf nursling a rns 
Is ihen the sound thai charms, 
And brazen notes of war, that stirri i g tiumpetspour; — 
Then, asain conies the Harp, when the combat is 
over — 
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom — 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 

And Cupid makes wing- of the warrior's plume. 
Light went ihe harp when the War-God, reclining, 

Lay lull'd on the white arm of Bemty to rest, 
When round his rich armour the myrtle hung tw ining, 
And flights of young doves made his helmet their 

But, when the battle came, 
The hero's eye bieathed dime: 
Soon from his neck the w lute arm was flung j 
While, to his wakening ear, 
No o her sounds were dear 
But brazen uotes ef war. by thousand trumpets sung. 
?,ut then came the light hai p, when danger was ended, 
And Beauty mice more lull'd the War-God to rest ; 
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended. 
And flights of young doves made his helmet their 
nest. 



FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER.1 

Fill high the cup with liquid flame, 
And speak my Helindora's name. 
Repeat its magic o"er and o'er, 
And let. the soui.d my lips adme, 
Live in the breeze, till every tone, 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 

Give me the wreath that withers the:e, 

It was but list delicious night, 
It circled her luxuriant hair. 

And caught her e\es' reflected light 
Oh ! haste.and twine it round my brow, 
'T is all of her that's left me now. 
And see — each rosebud drops a tear, 
To find the nymph no longer here — 
No longer, where such he.venly charms 
As hers thould be— withiu these arms. 



SONG. 



Fly from the world, Bessy ! to me, 

Thou wilt never find any sincerer; 
I '11 give up the world, () Bes-y ! for thee, 

I can never meet any that 's dearer. 
Then tell me no more with a tear and a sigh, 

That our loves will be censur'd by many ; 
All, all have their follies, and who will deny 

That ours is the sweetest of any ? 

When your lip has met mine in communion so sweet, 

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ?— 
Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ?— 

No, rather 't was heav'n that did it. 
So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, 

So little of wrong is theie in it, 
That 1 wish all mv errors were lodg'd on your lip, 

And I 'd kiss them away in a minute. 



Ey^ti, (cat rrnXtv utc, naXiv, jraXiv, HXtofuipac 
Eint, o-vv aKprjTw to yXv<cv /itrry' oi/oua. 

Kai iioitov pptxOtvra uvpotcKaiX'S'io" tovra, 
Mvapoarvvov Ktivac, a/ichrtSa o-rtQavov 

Aoicpf;ti cWXEpoo-TOV i6ov QoSov, oi/f £ko icsivav 
AXXoSt k' ov koXtoic j)/i£T£poic EO-opa. 

Brunck. Anakct., torn, i., p. 28. 



Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to his shed, 

From a world which I know thou despises! ; 
And slumber will h iver as light o'er our bed 

As e'er on the couch ot the wisest 
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, 

And thou, preUy innocent, fearest, 
I 'II tell thee, it is not the chiding of heav'n, 

T is only our lullaby, dearest. 

And, oh ! while we lie on our deathbed, my low. 

Looking back on the scene of our errors, 
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, 

And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. 
And each to the other embracing will say, 

"Farewell ! let us hope we 're forgiven." 
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, 

And a kiss be our passport to heaven ! 



THE RESEMBLANCE. 

to cercand' io. 

Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrnl 
La desiata vcrtra forma vera. 

Fetrarc Sonnett. 14. 

Yes, if t were anv common love, 
That led my pliant heart astr y, 

I grant, there 's not a power above, 
Could wipe the faithless crime away. 

But, t was my doom to err with one 

In even- look si like to thee 
That, underneath yon blessed sun, 

So fair ;here are but thou and she. 

Both born of beauty, at a birth, 

She held with Hiine a kindred sway, 

And wore the only shape on earth 

That could have lur'd niy soul to stray. 

Then blame me not, if false I be, 
'T w is love that wak'd the fond excess; 

My heart had been more true to thee. 
Hid mine eye priz'd thy beauty less. 



FANNY, DEAREST. 

Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 

Fanny, deare-t, for Ifaee I \l sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should turn 

To tear's when thou art nigh. 
But, between love, and wine^ and sleep, 

Sr> busy a life 1 
That even the time it would take to weep 

Is more <han my heart can give. 
Then bid me not to de-pair and pine, 

Fau rv. dearest of all the dears! 
The Love that's oider'd to bathe in wine, 

Would be sure to take cold io tears. 

Reflec'ed bright in this heart of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thy image lire; 

But, ah. the mirror w uld cease to shine, 
If dimm*d too often wi't 

Thev lose the half of beau'v '- 

Who view it through sorrow^ tear; 

And *t is but to see thee trulj 
That 1 keep my eye-beam clear. 

Then wait no longer till tei'S shall flow 
Fanny, dearest— the hope is vain; 

If sunshine cannot 

I sUll never attempt it with rain. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



71 



THE KING. 
TO 

No — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring : 
Oh! think, how many a future year, 

Of placid smile and downy a i • g, 
May sleep within its holy sphere. 

Do not disturb their tranquil dream, 
Th .ugh love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd : 

Vet heav n » ill shed a soothing beam, 
To bless the bond itself hath "form 'd. 

But then, that eye, thai burning eye. — 
Oh I it doth a k, with witching power, 

If heaven can ever bless the lie 

Where love iuwreaths no genial flower? 

Awav, away, bewildering look, 

Or all the boasl of virtue 's o'er ; 
Go— bie thee to the sage's book, 

And learn from him to feel no more. 

I cannot warn thee : every touch, 
That brings my pulses close to thine, 

Tells me I want thy aid as much — 
Ev'n more, alas, than thou dost mine. 

Yet, stay,— one hope, one effort yet — 

A moment turn those eyes away, 
And let me, if I can, forget 

The light that leads my soul astray. 

Thou say'st, that we were born to meet, 
That our hearts bear one common seal; — 

Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel. 

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, 
Like davbeams through the morning air 

Hath gradual stole, and 1 have caught 
The feeling ere it kindled there ; 

The sympathy I then bet ray 'd, 
Perhaps was but the child of art, 

The guile of one, who long hath play'd 
With all these wily nets of heart. 

Oh ! thine is not my earliest vow ; 
Though few the years I yet have told, 
Canst thou believe I ve lived ill now, 

With loveless heart or senses cold ? 

No — other nymphs to joy and pain 

I his wild and wandering heart hath mov'd ; 

With some it sported, wild and vain, 
While some it dearly, truly, lov'd. 

The cheek to thine I fondly lay, 
To theirs haih been as f ndly laid; 

The words to thee I warmly say, 
To them have been as warmly said. 

Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, 
Worthless alike, or fix'd or free ; 

Think of the pure, bright soul thou art, 
And — love not me, oh, love not me. 

Enough — now, turn thine eves again ; 

What, still that look and still that sigh! 
Dost thou not feel my counsel then ? 

Oh! no, beloved,— nor do I. 



TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL. 

They try to persuade me. niv dear little sprite. 
That you 're not a true daughter of ether and light, 
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms 
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms ; 



That, in short, you 're a woman ; your lip and your 

eye 
As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 
But 1 will not believe Ihem — no, Science, to you 
I have long bid a last and a caieltss adieu: 
Still flying from Natuie to study her laws, 
And dulling delight by exploring its cause, 
You forget how superior, lor mortals below, 
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know. 
Oh ! who, that has e'er enjoyed rapture complete, 
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet ; 
How rajs are confns'd, or how panicles rly 
Throngh the medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh ; 
Is there one, who but once would not rather have 

known it, 
Than writieu, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it? 

As for you, my sweet-voiced and invisible love, 
You must surely be one of those spirits, that rove 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, 
When the star of the west on his solitude shines, 
And the magical fingers of fancy have hung 
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue. 
Oh ! hint to him then, 'l is retirement alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone; 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the world let hm utter unseen, 
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres, 
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears 

Sweet spirit of mystery '. how I should love, 
In the wearisome ways 1 am fated to rove, 
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh, 
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh 
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of 

care, 
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the 

air, 
And turn with distaste from the clamorous crew 
To steal injhe pauses one whisper from you. 

Then, come and be near me, for ever be mine, 
We shall hold in the air a communion divine, 
As sweet as. of old, was imagin'd to dwell 

In the groito of Numa, or Socra e»' cell. 

And ofr, at those lingering moments of night, 

When th- heart's busy thoughts have put slumber to 

fl ght, 
Y u shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, 
Such as angel to angel might whisper above. 
Sweet sprit ! — and then, could you borrow the tone 
Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song known, 
1 he voice of the one upon earth who has Iwin'd 
Wnh her being for ever mv heart and my mind. 
Though lonely and far from the lighi of her smile, 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while, 
Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, 
1 will think, for lint moment, that Osua is near; 
That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak, 
And ki-ses my eyelid and breathes on mv cheek, 
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly "by, 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven, is nigh. 

Fair spirit ! if such he v ur magical power, 
It " ill lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; 
And, let fortune's realities frown as they will, 
Hope, fancy, and Caia may smile for me still. 



THE RING.i 
A TALE. 

Annulus ille viri. — Ovid. Amor. lib. 



The happy day at length arriv'd 
When Rupert was to wed 

Thefaire-t maid in Sax ny, 
And take her to his bed. 



l I should be sorry to think that my friend had any 





72 JUVENILE POEMS. 






As soon as morn was in the sky, 
The feast and sports began ; 

The men admir'd the happy maid, 
The maids Ihe happy man. 


The feast was o'er, and to the court 

He hied without delay, 
Resolv'd to break the marble hand 

And force the riug away. 






In many a sweet device of mirth 
The day was pass'd Aonz ; 

And some the featly dance amus'd, 
And some the dulcet song. 


But. mark a stranger wonder still — 
The ring was there no more, 

And yet the marble hand ungrasp'd, 
And open as before ! 






The younger maids with Isabel 

Disponed through the bowers, 
And deck'd her robe, and crowned her bead 

With motley bridal flowers. 


He search'd the base, and all the court, 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder'd mind. 






The matrons all in rich attire, 
Within the castle walls, 

Sat listening to the choral strains 
That echo'd through the halls 


Within he found them all in mirth, 
The night in dancing flew ; 

The youth another ring procur'd, 
And none the adventure knew. 






Young Rupert and his friends repair'd 

Unto a spacious court, 
To strike the bounding tennis-ball 

In feat and manly sport. 


And now the priest has join'd their hands, 

The hours of love advance 
Rupert almost forgets to think 

Upon the morn's mischance. 






The bridegroom on his finger wore 
The wedding-ring so bright, 

Which was to grace the lily hand 
Of Isabel that night. 


Wi'.hin 'he bed fair Isabel 

In blushing sweetness lay, 
Like flowers, half-open'd by the dawn. 

And waiting for the day. 






And fearing he might break the gem, 

Or lose it in the play, 
He look'd around the court, to see 

Wheie he the ring might lay. 


And Rupert, by her lovely side, 
In youthful beautv glow's, 

Like Pho:bus, when be bends to cast 
His beams upon a rose. 






Now, in the court a statue stood, 
Which there full long had been ; 

It might a Heathen goddess be, 
Or else, a Heathen queen. 


And here my song would leave them both, 

Nor let the rest be 'old, 
If 't w ere not for the horrid tale 

It yet has to unfold. 






Upon its marble finger then 
He tried the ring to fit; 

And, thinking it was safest there, 
Thereon he fasten'd it. 


Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, 
A death-cold enrcass found ; 

He saw it not, bu' thought he felt 
Its arms embrace him round. 






And now the tennis sports went on, 
Till they were wraried all, 

And messengers announced to them 
Their dinner iu the hall. 


He started up, and then return'd, 
But found the phantom still ; 

In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round, 
With damp and deadly chill ! 






Toung Rupert for his wedding-ring 

Unto the statue went ; 
But, oh, how shock'd was be to find 

The marble finger bent ! 


And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
T was like the smell from charnel vaults, 

Or from the mouid'ring grave 1 






The hand was clos'd upon the ring 
With firm and mighty clasp; 

In tain he tried, and tried, and tried, 
He could not loose the grasp ! 


Ill-fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
"Ob ! save me from 'his horrid fiend, 

'• My Isabel ! my life '." 






Then sore surpris'd was Rupert's mind — 

As well his mind might be ; 
« I Ml come," quoth he, " at night again, 

'• When none are here to see." 


But Isabel had nothing seen, 

She look'd around iu vain; 
And much she mourn 'd the mad conceit 

That rackd her Rupert's brain. 






He went unto the feast, and much 

He thought upon his ring ; 
And marvell'd sorely what could mean 

So very strange a thing ! 


At length from this invisible 
TheJe words to Rupert came: 

(Oh God ! while he did hear the words 
What terrors shook bis frame :) 






serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this 
story : I rather hope — though the manner of it leads 
me to doubt — that his design was to ridicule that dis- 
tempered taste which prefers those monsters of the 
fancy to the " speciosa miracula" of true poetic imagi- 
nation. 

I find by a note in the manuscript, that he met with 
this story in a German author. Fromman ufon Fasci- 
nation, 'book iii., part vi., ch. IS. On consulting the 
work, I perceive that Fromman quotes it from Belua- 
censis, among many other stories equally diabolical 
and interesting. E. 


"Thou gn'st to day t 
" And thou Tt to me f r t 
" As I am wed to tbee i* 

And all the night the Vernon 1st 
Cold-chil . 






And strain'd h n erasp, 

He thought he should bai 
But when the dawn of day was near, 

The horrid phantom fled. 
And left th' affrighted youth to weep 

By Isabel in bed. 





JUVENILE POEMS. 



73 



And all that dav a gloomy cloud 

Was seen on Rupert's brows; 
Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 

3u strove to cheer her spouse. 

And, as the day advanc'd, he thought 

Of coming night with fear: 
Alas, that he should dread to view 

The bed that should be dear ! 

At length the second night arriv'd, 

Again their couch they pres^'d ; 
Poor Rupert hop'd ihat all was o'er, 

Aud look'd for love and rest. 

But, oh '. when midnight came, again 

The fiend was at his side, 
And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 

With howl exulting cried : — 

" Husband, husband, I 've the ring, 

" The ring thou g iv'st to me ; 
"And thou'rt to me for ever wed, 

" As I am wed to thee ! " 

In agony of wild despair, 

He started from the bed ; 
And thus to his bewilder'd wife 

The trembling Rupert said: 

" Oh, Isabel ! dost thou not see 

" A shape of horrors here, 
" That strains me to its deadly kiss, 

" And keeps me from my dear ?" 

" No, no, my love ! my Rupert, I 

" No shape of horror3 see ; 
"And much I mourn the phantasy 

" That keeps my dear from me." 

This night, just like the night before, 

In terrors pass'd away, 
Nor did the demon vanish thence 

Before the dawn of day. 

Said Rupert then, " My Isabel, . 

" Dear partner of my woe, 
" To Father Austin's holy cave 

" This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man, 

Who acted wonders maint — 
Whom all the country round believ'd 

A devil or a saint ! 

To Father Austin's holy cave 

Then Rupert straightway went ; 
And told him all, and ask'd him how 

These horrors to prevent. 

The father heard the youth, and then 

Retir'd awhile to pray ; 
And, having pray'd for half an hour, 

Thus to the youth did say : 

" There is a place where four roads meet. 

" Which I will tell to thee ; 
" Be there this eve, at fall of night, 

" And list what thou shalt see. 

"Thou 'It see a sroup of figures pass 

" In strange disorder'd crowd, 
" Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

" With noises strange and loud. 

"And one that 's high above the rest, 

" Terrific towering o'er, 
" Will make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 

"To him from me these tablets give, 

" They '11 quick be understood ; 
"Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, 

" I 've scrawl'd them with my blood ! " 



The night-fall came, and Rupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the cross-roads met, as he 

Was by the Fa her sent. 

Ana lo ! a group of fsures came 

In strange disorder a crowd, 
Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

With noises strange aud loud. 

And, as the gloomy train advanc'd, 

Rupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a car. 

And Rupert, as he gaz'd upon 

The loosely-vested dame, 
Thought of the marble statue's look, 

For hers was just the same. 

Behind her walk'd a hideous form, 

With eyeballs flashing ilea'h ; 
Whene'er he breath'd, a sulphur'd smoke 

Came burning in his breath. 

He seem'd the first of all the crowd, 

Terrific towering o'er ; 
" Yes, yes," said Rupert, " this is he, 

"And I need ask no more." 

Then slow he went, and to this fiend 

The tablets trembling save. 
Who look'd and read then; with a yell 

That would disturb the grave. 

And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name, 

His eyes with fury shine; 
" I thought," cries he, " his time was out, 

"But he must soon be mine ! " 

Then darting at the youth a look 
Which rent his soul with fear, 

He went unto the female fiend, 
And whisper'd in her ear. 

The female fiend no sooner heard 

Than, with reluctant look, 
The very ring that Rupert lost, 

She from her finger took. 

And, giving it unto the youth, 
With eyes that breath'd of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he rememberd well : 

" In Austin's name take back the ring, 

" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 
" And thou 'rt to me no longer wed, 

" Nor longer I to thee." 

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 

He home re'urn'd again; 
His wife was then the happiest fair, 

The happiest he of men. 



ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL 
AND A RICH GIRDLE. 

Mapyaptrat dr/Xovcn daicpvuiv $oov. 

Ap. Nicephor. in Oneirocritico. 

Put off the vestal veil, nor, oh ! 

Let weeping angels view it ; 
Tour cheeks belie i<s virgin snow, 

And blush repenting through it. 

Put off the fatal zone you wear ; 

The shining pearls around it 
Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, 

The hour when Love unbound it. 



74 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF 

OF A LADY'S COMMONPLACE BOOK. 

Here is one leaf re=erv'd for me, 
F om all thy sweet memorials free; 
And heie my simple song might tell 
The feelings thou mus' guess so well. 
But c mid I thus, within thy mind, 
One little vac in: c mer find, 
Where no imp-e-sinn yet is seen, 
Where no memorial yet hath been, 
Oh ! it should tie my sweetest care 
To write my name for ever there! 



WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. 

They siy that Love had once a book 

(The urchin likes to cpy you), 
Where, all who came, the pencil took, 

And wrote, like us, a line or two. 

T was Innocence, the maid divine, 

Who kept this volume bright and fair, 
And saw that no unhallow'J line 

Or thought profane should enter there; 
And dailv did the pages fill 

With fond device and loving lore, 
And every leaf she lurn'd was s'ill 

More bright than that she turn'd before. 

Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, 
How light the magic pencil ran ! 

Till Fear would come, a) is, as oft, 
And trembling close what Hope began. 

A tear or two had dro|ip'd from Grief, 
And Jealousy would, now and then, 

Ruffle in h^ste some snow-white leaf, 
Which Love had still to smooth again. 

But, ah! there came a blooming boy, 
Who often turn'd the pa^es o'er. 

And wrote therein fuch words of joy, 
That all who read them sigh'd for more. 

And Pleasure »a this spirit's name, 
And though sf soft his voice and look, 

Tet Innocence, whene'er he came, 
Would tremble for her spo less book. 

For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore, 

With earth's sweet nec'ar srarkling bright j 
And much she fear'd les', mantl ng o'er, 

Some drops should on the pages light. 

And so it chane'd, one luckless night, 

The urchin let that goblet fall 
O'er the fair book, so pure, so white, 

And sullied lines and marge and all! 

In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried 
To wash those fatal stains away ; 

Deep, deep had sunk the sullying Mile, 
The leaves grew darker every day. 

And Fancy's sketches lost their hue. 
And Hope's sweet lines wete all effacM, 

And Love himself now scarcely knew 
What Love himself so lately trae'd. 

At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 
(For how, alas ! could Pleasure stay?) 

And Love, while many a tear he shed, 
Reluctant flung the book away. 

The index now alone remains. 

Of all the pages spoild by Pleasure, 

And though it bears some ea-thy s airs. 
Yet Memory counts the leaf atreasure. 



And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, 
And i ft. by this memorial aided, 

Brings back the pages now no more, 
And thinks of lines that long have faded. 

I know not if this tale be true, 

But thus the simple fac's are stated; 

And I refer their truth to you, 
Since Love and you are near related. 



TO CARA. 
AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. 

Conceal'd within the shady wood 
A mother left her sleeping child, 

And flew, to cull her rustic food, 
The fruitage of the forest wild. 

But storms upon her pathway rise. 

The mother roams, astray and weeping; 

Far from the weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 

She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 

And gentler blows Ihe nigh'-wind's breath; 

Tet no — lis gene — the storms are keen, 
The infant may be chill'd to dea'h ! 

Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded, 
His little eyes lie cold and still ;— 

And yet, perhaps, they are not clouded, 
Life and love may light them s ill. 

Thus. Cm, at our last farewell, 

When, fearful ev'n ihy hand to touch, 

I mutely asked those eye- to tell 

If parting pain'd thee half so much; 

I th^jght.— and, oh ! forgive the thought, 
For none was e'er by love inspir'd 

Whom fancv had not al-o taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desir'd. 

Tes, I did think, in Cara's mind. 

Though yet lo that sweet mind unknown, 

I left one infant wish behind, 
One feeling, which I called my own. 

Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest, 

How did I ask of Pity's care, 
To shield and strengthen, in Ihy breast, 

The nursling I bad cradled there. 

And, many an hour, beguil'd by pleasure. 
And many an hour of sorrow numbering, 

I ne'er forget the new-born treasure, 
I left within thy bosom slumbering. 

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it, 
Haply, it yet a throb may give — 

Yet, no— perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it; 
Say, dearest — docs the feeling live ? 



TO CARA, 
ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

When midnight came t . close the vear. 
We sigh'd to think it thus should take 

The hours it gave us— hours as dear 
As sympathy and love could make 

Their blessed moments,— every sun 

Saw os, my love, more closely one. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



75 



But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 

Which came a new year's lig^' to shed, 

That smile we caught from eye to eye 
Told us, those moments were not fled : 

Oh, no,— we felt, some future sun 

Should see us still more closely one. 

Thus may we ever, side by side, 
From happy years to happier slide; 
And still thus may the pa-sing sigh 

We give to houis, that vanish o'er us, 
Be follow'd by the smiiing eye. 

That Hope shall shed on scenes before us ! 



TO 



1S01. 



To oe the theme of every hour 

The heart devotes to Fancy's power, 

When her prompt nia»:c nils the mind 

With friends aud joys we've left behind, 

And joys return and friends are near, 

And all are welcom'd with a tear : — 

In the mind's purest seat to dwell, 

To be remember'd oft and well 

By one whose heart, though vain and wild, 

By passion led, by youth beguil'd, 

Can proudly still'aspire to be 

All that may yet win smiles from thee: — 

If thus to live* in every part 

Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart; 

If thus to be its sole employ 

Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, 

Believe it, Mary,— oh ! believe 

A tongue that never can deceive, 

Though, erring, it too olt betray 

Ev'n more than Love should dare to say, — 

In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour, 

In crowded hall or lonely bower, 

The business of my life shall be, 

For ever to remember thee. 

And though that heart be dead to mine, 

Since Love is life and wakes not thine, 

1 'II lake thy image, as the form 

Of one whom Love had fa i I'd to warm, 

Which, though it yield no answering thrill, 

Is not less dear, is worshipp'd still — 

I Ml take it, wheresoe'er 1 stiay, 

The bright, cold burden of my way. 

To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, 

My heart shall be its lasting tomb, 

Aid Memory, with embalming care, 

Shall keep it fresh and fadeless there. 



THE GENIUS OF HARMONY, 

AN IRREGULAR ODE. 



There lies a shell beneath the waves, 
In manv a hollow winding wreath'd, 
Such as of old 
Echoed the breath that warbling sea-maids breath'd ; 
This magic shell, 
From the while bosom of a syren fell, 
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves 
Sicilia's sands of gold. 
It bears 
Upon its shining side the mystic notes 
Of those entrancing airs,* 



The genii of the deep were wont to swell, 
When heaven's eternal orbs their midnight mini 
rolld! 
Oh ! seek it, wheresoe'er it floats; 
And, if the power 
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear, 
Go, biing the bright she 1 to my bower, 
And I will fold thee in such downy dreams 
As lap the Spirit of the Seventh Sphere, 
When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his ear! 3 
And thou 'bait own, 
That, through the circle of creation's zone, 
Where matter slumbers or where spirit beams J 
From the pellucid tides,s that whirl 
The planets hrough their maze of song, 
To the small rill, that weeps along 
Murmuring o'er beds of pearl ; 
From the rich sigh 
Of the sun's arrow through an evening sky,« 
To the faint breath the tuneful osier yields 

On Afric's burning fields; s 
Thou 'It wondering own th;s universe divine 

Is mine! 
That I respire in all and all in me, 
One mighty mingled soul of boundless harmony. 



1 In the " Histoire Xaturelle des Antilles," there is 
an account of some curious shells, found at Curacoa, 
on the back of which were lines, filled with musical 
characters so distinct and perfect, that the writer 
assures us a very charming trio was sung from one 



of them. " On le nomme musical, parcequ'il porle 
sur le dos des lignes noiratres pleines de notes, qui ont 
une espece de cle pour les niettre en chant, de sorte 
que Ion di.oit qu'il ne manque que la lettre a cette 
tabl iture naturelle. Ce curieux gcntilhomme (M. du 
Montei) rappirle qu'il en a vuqui avoient cinq lignes, 
une cle. et des notes, qui formoent un accord parfait. 
Quelqu'un y avoil ajoute la lettre, que la natuie avoit 
onbliee, el la faisoit chan'er en forme de trio, dont 
lair et i' fort agre.fcle " — Chap. xix. art. 11. The 
author adds, a poe' might imagine that these shells 
were used by the syrens at their concer s. 

3 According to Cicero, and his commentator, Ma- 
crobius, the lunar tone is the jgrivest and faintest on 
the planetary hept chord. " Quam ob causam sum- 
mus ille coel! stellifer cursus, cuju- conversi" est con- 
citatior, acuto et excitato movetur sono; gravissimo 
autem hie luuaris atque infimus " — Somn. Scip. 
Because, says Macrob.us "spiritu ut in extremitate 
langi.esiente jam volvitur, et prop'er angustias quibus 
penultimus orlis arcta'ur impetu leniore convert itur." 
— In Somn. Scip lib. ii. cap. 4. In their musical 
arrangement of the heavenly bodies, the ancient 
writers are nol very intelligible. — See PUltm. lib. 
iii. 

Leone Hebreo, pursuing the idea of Aristotle, that 
the heavens a e animal, "attributes 'heir harmony to 

fierfect and reciprocal love " Non pero manca fra 
oro il pe'fetio et reciprnco amore : la causa prin- 
cipal, che ne mOBtra il lr.ro amore, e la lor amicilia 
armonica et la coicordaiza, che perpetuamente si 
trova in loro.'— Oh log. ii di Amore, p. 58. This 
"reciprnco amore" of Leone is the 0(Ao7ijc of the 
ancient Empedocles, who seems, in his Love ai d Hate 
of the E emenK to have given a glimpse of the prin- 
ciples of attract-on and repulsion. See the fragment 
to which I alh.de in Laetius, AAAotj fiiv cWAortjTi, 
o-wtpxa^Ev', k. t. A., lib. viii. cap. 2. n. 12. 

8 Leucippus the atomist, imagined a kind of vor- 
tices in the heavens, which "he borrowed from 
Anaxagoras, and possibly suggested to Descaites. 

* Heraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, conjec- 
tures that the idea of the harmony of the spheres 
origina ed with this poet, who, in representing the 
solar beams as arrows, suppeses them to emit a pecu- 
liar sound in the air. 

s In he account of Africa which D'Ablancourt has 
translated, there is mention of a tree in tha' country, 
whose branches when shaken by the hand produce 
very sweet sounds. " Le meme auteur (Abenzegar} 
dit. qu'il y a un certain arbre, qui produit des gaules 
comme d'osier, et qu'en les prenant a la main et les | 
branlant, elles font une espece d'harmrnie fcrt agre- 
able," &c. &c. — VAfriqut de Marmol. 



76 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Welcome, welcome, mystic shell ! 
Many a star has ceas'd to bum,* 
Many a tear lias Saturn's urn 
O'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept,» 
Since thy aerial spell 
Hath in the waters slept 
Now blest I Ml fly 
With the bright treasure to my choral sky, 
Where she, who wak'd its early swell, 
The Syren of the heavenly choir, 
Walks o'er the great s'ring of my Orphic Lyre;* 
Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of someb.issful soul : * 
While thou — 
Oh, son of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee! 
Benealh Hispania's sun, 
Thou 'It see a streamlet run, 
Which 1 've imbued with Ireathing melody; * 
And there, when night-winds down the current die, 
Thou 'It hear how like a harp its waters sigh : 
A liquid chord in every wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that blows. 6 

There, by that wondrous stream, 

Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike dream, 
As never bless'd the slumbers even of him,i 
Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre,8 

Sate on the chill Pangaean mount.a 



» Alluding to the extinction, or at least the disap- 
pearance, of some of those fixed stars, which we are 
taught to consider as suns, attended each by its system. 
Descartes thought that our ear;h mijht formerly have 
been a sun, which became objured by a thick incrus- 
tation over its surface. This probably suggested the 
idea of a central fire. 

2 Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the sea to be 
a tear, Trjv SaXarrav fitv tKaXti uvai Caxpvov 
(De Vita ;) and some one else, if I mistake not, has 
added the planet Saturn as the source of it. Empe- 
dnclcs, with similar affectation, called the sea " the 
sweat of the earth : " Upuira tjjc yr/c. See Hitters- 
husius upon Porphyry, Num. 41. 

3 The system of the harmonized orbs was styled by 
the ancients the Greit Lyre of Orpheus, for' which 
Lucian thus accounts :— fj (t Avpij tirTtipiTos zov<ra 
tijv tcov Kivov/itvuiv aargtov apfioviav o-vvtSaX- 
Xtro. *c. t. X. in Astrolog. 

* AiaXt rpvxas icrapiS/totic rote atrrpotc, tvaut 
•9' lKao-Ti]v n-poc Uao-rov, k<u t/i/3t/3acrac 'HZ 
EIE OXH MA— ''Distributing the souls severally 
anions the stars, and mounting each soul upon a star 
as on "its chariot"— Plato, Timseus. 

* This musical river is mentioned in the romance 
of Achilles Tatius. £ro iroranov . . ijv St aKov&ai 
■Ss*7)C tov ic"oToc XaXovvros- The Latin version, 
in supplying :he hiatus which is in the original, has 
placed the river in Hispania. "In Hispania quoque 
rluvius est, quern primo aspectu," &c. &c 

6 These two lines are translated from the words of 
Achilles Tatius. Eav yap o.Viyoc avtfios a; rac 
divas £/if£0'tj, ro ucv iSiup tie X°9?V xpovtrai. to 
6t lrvtvpa tov v!uto$ nXrjKTpov yivcrat. to (Siv- 
/ia St dtj KiSapa XaXu. — Lib. ii. 

t Orpheus. 

6 They called his lyre ap^aiorpoTrov ?TTa^opc*ov 
OpeWc. See a curious work by a professor of Greek 
at Venice, entitled " Hebdomades, sive septem de 
septenario libri." — Lib. iv., cap. 3, p. ITT. 

9 Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme venera- 
tion of Orpheus for Apollo, says 'hat he n i 
tomed to go to the Pngasan mountain at day-break, 
and there wait the rising of the sun, that he might be 
the first to hail its beams. Ejrrytipo/tjvoc ti tijc 
fttKToc, Kara tijv tuiBivrfv tirt to opos to icaXov- 



And, looking to the orient dim, 
Watch'd the first (towing of thai sacred fount, 

From which his soul bad drunk its tire. 
Oh ! think what visions, in that lonely hour, 
Stole o'er his musing breast: 
Wha; pious ecstasy'o 
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose sad upon this new born world imprest 1 * 
The varii.us forms of bright divinity ! 

Or, dost thou know what dieams I wove, 

'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower, i» 

Where the rapt Samiau slept his holy slumber? 

When, free 

From every earthly chain, 

From wreaths of 'pleasure and from bonds of pain, 

His spirit flew through fields above, 
Drank at ibe source of nature's fontal number,l3 
And taw, in mystic choir, around him move 
The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy ! 
Such dreams, so heavenly brieht, 
I swear 
By the great diadem that twines my hair, 
And by the seven gems that sparkle there,!* 

Mingline their beams 
In a soft iris of harmonious light. 
Oh, mortal ! sucb shall be thy radiant dreams. 



I found her not — the chamber seemtt 
Like some divinelv haunted place 

Where fairy forms had lately beam'd, 
And left behind their odorous trace! 



Htvov TLayyaiov, -npootatvt toc avaroXa$, Iva 
liit) tov 'HXtov trpwTov. — KaTao-Ttpwr^. 24. 

> p There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us. 
which contain sublime ideas of the unity and magni- 
ficence of the Deity. For instance, those which Jus- 
tin Martyr has produced : 

Ovtoj atv xaXKuov ty ottpovov to-Tijpuerai 
Xptxmai tvi •Spovcu, *c. t. X. Ad Grxc Cohortat. 

It is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned 
amongst the fabricalions. which were frequent in the 
early times of Christianity. Still, it appears doubtful 
to whom they are to be attributed, being too pious for 
the Pagans, and too poetical for the Fathers. 

>' In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attribute? a 
figured seal to Apollo, with which he imagines that 
deity to have stamped a variety of forms upon the 
universe. 

i» Alluding to the cave near Samoa, where Pv'b.v 
goras devoted the greater part of his days and n'iehtt 
to medi ation and the mysteries of his philrsophy. 
Iamllich. de Fit. This, as Holstenius remarks, was 
in imitation of the Ma;i. 

«3 The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pvthago- 
reans, on which they solemnly swore, and which they 
called itayav atvaov r*>v<r£tuc, "the fountain of pe- 
rennial nature." Lucian has ridiculed this religions ! 
arithmetic very cleverly in his Sale of Philosophers. 

'« This diadem is intended to represent the analogy ! 
between the notes of music and the prismatic colours. 
We find in Plutarch a vague intimation of this kin- 
died harmony in clours ar d sounds. — Ot^cc, rt *c<u ' 
wcoT), /itTa <fxuvt)$ Tt Kai <P<dto$ tijv dp/iowav j 
£tri^aii'otcn. — JX 

I may be supposed to have 
borrowed, says, in a let'er U|"on music to Fortius, 
'• Ul diadem* renins vsria luce sremmarum.siccythara 
diversitate soni. b'ai'ditur auditui." This is indeed 
the only tolerable thought in the letter. — Lib. ii. 
Vari ir. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



77 



It felt as if her lips had shed 
A sigh around hei, ere she fled, 
Which hung, as on a melting lute, 
When all the silver chords are mute, 
There lingers still a trembling breath 
After the note's luxurious death, 
A shade of song, a spirit air 
Of melodies which had been there. 

I saw the veil, which, all the day, 
Had floated o'er her cheek of rose , 

I saw the couch, where late she lay 
In languor of divine repose ; 

And I could trace the hallow'd print 
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm, 

As if 'twere done in rapture's mint, 
And Love himself had stamp'd the form. 

Oh my sweet mistress, where wert thou? 

In pity fly not thus from me; 
Thou art my life, my essence now, 
And my soul dies of wanting thee. 



TO MRS. HENRY TIGHE, 
ON READING HER "PSYCHE.' 

Tell me the witching tale again, 
For never has my heart or ear 

Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain, 
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 

Say, Love, in all thy prime of fame, 

When the high heaven itself was thine; 

When piety confess 'd the flame, 
And even thy errors were divine; 

Did ever Muse's hand, so fair, 

A glorv round thy temples spread? 

Did ever lip's ambrosial air 
Such fragrance o'er thy altars shed ? 

One maid there was, who round her lyre 
The mystic my: tie wildly wreath'd;— 

But all her sighs were sighs of fire, 
The myrtle wither'd as she breath'd. 

Oh '. you, that love's celestial dream, 
In all its puiity, would know, 

Let not the senses' ardent beam 
Too strongly through the vision glow. 

Love safest lies, conceal'd in night, 

The night where heiven has bid him lie j 

Oh ! shed not there unhallow'd light, 
Or, Psyche knows, the boy will fly.» 



Sweet Psyche, raany a charmed hour, 
Through many a wild and magic waste, 

To the fair fount and blissful bower!* 
Have I, in dreams, thy light foot trae'd ! 

Where'er thy joys are number'd now, 
Beneath whatever shades of rest, 

The Genii s of the starry brow 3 
Hath bound thee to thy Cupid's breast. 

Whether above the horizon dim, 
Along whise verge our spirits stray,— 

Half sunk beneath the shadow) rim. 
Half brighten 'd by the upper ray,* — 

Thou dwellest in a world, all light, 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other souls, the guardian bright 
That Love was, through this gloom, to thi 

Still be the song to Psyche dear, 

The song, whose gentle voice was given 
To be, on earth, to mortal ear, 

An echo of her own, in heaven. 



FROM THE HIGH PRIEST OF APOLLO, 
TO A VIRGIN OF DELPHI. 5 



Cum digno digna 



Sulpicia. 



u Who is the maid, with golden hair, 
"With eye of tire, and foot of air, 
" Whose "harp around my altar swells, 
41 The swee:est of a thousand shells?" 
'T was thus the deity, who treads 
The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 
Day from his eyelids — thus he spoke, 
As through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphelia is the Delphic fair,6 
With eyes of fire and golden hair, 
Aphelia's are the airy feet, 
And hers the harp divinely sweet; 



1 See the story in Apuleius. With respect to this 
beautiful allegory of Love and Psyche, there is an in- 
genious idea suggested by the senator Buonarotti, in 
his "Osservazioni sopra alcuni fiammenti dl -vas'i 
suitici." He thinks the fable is taken from some very 
occult mysteries, which had long been celebrated in 
honour of Love ; and accounts, upon this supposition, 
for the silence of the more ancient authors upon the 
subject, as it was not till towards the decline of pagan 
superstition, that writers could venture to reveal or 
discuss such ceremonies. Accordingly, observes this 
author, we find Lucian and Plutarch treating, without 
reserve, of the Dea Syria, as well as of lsis" and O-i- 
ris ; and Apuleius, to whom we are indebted for the 
beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, has also detailed 
some of the my-teries of lsis. See the Giornale di 
Litlerati d'ltalin, torn, xxvii, artieol. 1. See also the 
observations upon the ancient gems in the Museum 
Florentinum, vol. i., p. 156. 



I cannot avoid remarking here an error into which 
the French Encyclopcdistes have been led by M. 
Spon, in 'heir article Psyche. The> say, '-Petrone 
fait un recit de la pompe nuptiale de ces deux amans 
(Amour et Psyche.) Deja, dit-il,'' &c. &c. The 
Psyche of Petronius, however, is a servant-maid, and 
the niarriage which he describes is that of the young 
Pannychis. See Spon's Recherches curieuses, &c, 
Dissertat. 5. 

* Allusions to Mrs. Tighe's Poem. 
3 Constancy. 

* By this image the Platonists expressed the middle 
state of the soul between sensible and intellectual 
existence. 

s This poem, as well as a few oihe's in the follow- 
ing volume, formed part of a work which I had early 
projected, and even announced to the public; btt 
which, luckily, perhaps, for myself, had been inter- 
rupted by my visit to America in the year 1S03. 

Among those impost tnes in which the priests of the 
pagan temples are known to h^ve indulged, one cf the 
most favourite was that of ai Dounciflg to some fair 
votaiy of the shrine, that the God himself bad become 
enamoured of her beauty, and would descend in all 
his glory, to pay her a visit within the recesses of the 
fane". An adventure of this description formed an 
episode in the classic romance which I had sketched 
out; and the short fragment, given above, belongs to 
an epistle by which the story was to have been intro- 
duced. 

« In the 9lh Pythic of Pindar, wnere Apollo, in the 
same manner, requites of Chiron some information 
respecting the fair Cyrene, the Centaur, in obeying, 



78 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



For foot so light has never tiod 
The laurel'd c?.verns i of ihe god, 
Not harp so s -ft hdh ever given 
A sigh lo earth or hymn to hea\en. 

" Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
" In looser pomp, her lock- of gold, 
" And bid those eye* more fondly shine 
" To welcome down a Spouse Divine ; 
" Since He, who lights the pah of years — 
"Even from the fount of morning's tears 
" To where his setting splendours burn 
" Upon the western sea-maid's urn — 
"Doth not. in a 1 his course, behold 
" Such eyes of ri e, such hair of gold. 
"Tell her, he comes, in blis fui pride, 
" His lip yet sparkling with the tide 
" That mant es in Olympian bowls, — 
*• The necar of eternal souls ! 
"For ber, for her he quits ihe skies, 
" Ani to her ki-s from nectar flies. 
"Oh, he would quit his star-thron'd height, 
"And leave Hie world 'o pine for light, 
" Might he but pas- the hours of shade, 
"Beside his peerless Delphic maid. 
"She, more than earthly woman blest, 
" He, more than god on woman's breast !" 

There is a cave beneath the steep,* 
Where living rills of ciy>ial si eep 
O'er herbage of the lovelies! hue 
That ever spring begemm'd «ith dew: 
1 here oft the gieenswa d's glossy tint 
Is bngliten'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad s feet, — 
Scarce u uching earth, their step so fleet,— 
That there, by moonlight's ray. had trod, 
In light dance, o'er the verdau' sod. 
" There, there." the god, imj a- ion'd, said, 
"Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
" And the dim orb of lu.iar souls 3 
"Along its shadowy pathway rolls — 
" There shall we meet, — and not ev'n He, 
"The G.'d who reigns immortally, 
" Where Babel's turrets paint thrir pride 
" Upon th' Euphrates' shining 'ide,«— 
•' Not ev'n i- lieu to bis midnight loves 
" In mystic majesty he moves, 
" Lighted by many an odorous fire, 
"And hymn'd by all Chaldaea's choir,— 
'• E'er ye', o'er moral brow, lei shine 
"Such ttlluence of L"ve Divine, 
" As shall to-uight, blest maid, o'er thine." 



very gravely apologizes for telling the God what his 
omfiiscieuce must know so perfectly already: 
Et St >■£ XPV Kal 7Ta 9 <ro(f>ov a VTUpnii-at, 
Epeu* 
1 AAA' tic daQvtotir] yvaAo /3n<ro/iai raft. 

Euripid. Ion. v. 76. 

* The Corvcian Cave, which Pausanias mention*. 
The inhabitants of Parnassus held it sacred to the 
Corvcian nymphs, who were children of the river 
Plisius. 

3 See a preceding note, a?ife, p. 127. It should 
seem that lunar spirits «ere of a purer order than 
spirits in gener.-I. as Pytbagi ras was said by his 1" |- 
lowers to' have descended from the regions of Ihe 
moon. The heresiarch Manes, in the same manner, 
imagined that the sun and moon are the reside: ce of 
Christ, and that the ascension was nothing more than 
bis flight to those orbs. 

* The temple of Jupiter Belus, at Babylon ; in one 
of whose towers there was a large chapel set apart for 
these celestial assignations. '■ No man is allowed to 
sleep here," says Hen dotus ; "but the apar mint is 
appropriated to a female, whom, if we '.elieve the 
Chaldxan priests, the deiy selec s from the n i men 
of the country, as his favouri e. v Lib. i. cap. 181, 



Happy the maid, whom hexven allows 
To break for heaven her vi gin vows! 
Ha, py the maid ! — her robe of shame 
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame, 
Whose glory, with a lingering trace, 
Shines through and deifies her race 1 » 



FRAGMENT. 

Pity me, love : I'll pity thee, 

If thou indeed hast felt like me. 

AH, all my bosom's peace is o'er ; 

At night, which icoi my hour of isim, 

When from the page of classic lore. 

From the pure fount of ancient lay 

My soul hss drawn the placid balm, 

Which charm'd its every g'ief aw± y , 

Ah ! there I find that balm no more. 

Those spells, which mike us nft forest 

The fleeting troubles of the day, 

In deeper sorrows only whet 

The stings thev cannot tear away. 

When to my pillow rack'd I fly. 

With wearied sense and wakeful eye. 

While my brain maddens, where, oh, where 

Is that serene consoling [ ray'r. 

Which oixe has harbinger'd my rest, 

When the still soot hi r g voice of Heaven 

Hath seem'd to whisper in my breast, 

" Sleep on. thy erro s are forgiven l'' 

No, though I still in semblance pray, 

My thoughts are wandering far away, 

And ev'n ihe name of Deity 

Is murmur'd out in sighs for thee. 



A NIGHT THOUGHT. 

How oft a cloud, with envious veil, 

Obscures yon bashful light. 
Which seems so modestly to steal 

Along the waste of night ! 
T is thus the world's obtrusive wrongs 

Obscure wrh malice keen 
Some timid heart, which only longs 

To live and die uuseen. 



THE KISS. 
Grow to mr lip, thna sacred kiss. 
On which I <wore 

That there si ou' I come a time of bliss, 
When she would mock my hopes no mo 
And fancy shall thy elow renew, 
In sighs a' morn, "and dreams at night, 
And none shall steal thy holy dew 
Till thOU'n alsnlv'd by rapture's rite. 
Sweet hours tlia' <re to make me blest, 
Fly. swift as breezes to tb< 
And let my lovr, my more than soul, 
Come blu-'hin; to ihis ardrn' breast. 
Then, while in every glance I drink 
The rich - mind, 

Oh ! let her all enamour^ »i' k 
In swee' ■ gn'd, 

Blushing I 
And murmuring. "I am thine at last!" 



* Fontertlle, in hi- playful rifacimento of the 
learned m 

was detec' 

racles ili scrt. 2. 
in one of his most ai 

. assert . 
this privilege of spiritual l*-inr< in a naurer rather | 
formid ..1 . I of ihe iOand. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



79 



SONG. 

Think on that look whose melting ray 
For one sweet moment mlx'd with mine, 

And for that moment seem'd to say. 
" I dare not, or I would be thine !" 

Think on thy ev'ry smile and glance, 
On all thou hast to ciiarm and movej 

And then forgive my bosom's trance, 
Nor tell me it is sin 10 love. 

Oh, not to love thee were the sin : 
For sure, if Fiie's decrees be done, 

Thou, thou art deslinM still to win, 
As I am destin'd to be wou ! 



THE CATALOGUE. 

" Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kisf, 

One day she reclin'd on my breast ; 
" Come, tell me the number, repeal me the list, 

" Of the nymphs you have lov'd and carest." — 
Oh Rosa! '! was only my fancy thai roved, 

My heart at the moment was free ; 
But I '11 tell thee, my girl, how many I 've loved, 

And the number shall finish with thee. 

My tutor was Kitty ; in infancy wild 

She taught me the way to be blest ; 
She taught me to love her, I lov'd like a child, 

But Kit'y could fancy the rest. 
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 

I have never forgot, 1 allow : 
I have had it by rote very ofien before, 

But never by heart until now. 

Pretly Martha was next, and my soul was all flame, 

But my head was so full of romai ce 
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame, 

And I was her knight of the 1 .nee. 
But Martha was not of this fanciful school, 

And she laugh'd a' her poor liit'e knight ; 
While I thought her a g dde-s. she thought me a fool. 

And 1 'II swear she was most in the right. 

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, 

Again I was tempted to rove ; 
But Gloria, 1 found, was so learned in books 

That she gave me more logic than love. 
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly 

To those swee'er logicians in bliss, 
Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye, 

And convince us at once with a kiss. 

Oh ! Susan was then all ihe world unto me, 

Bu' Susan was piously given ; 
And the worst of it was, we c uld never agree 

On Ihe road hat was shortest to Heaven. 
"Oh. Susan !" I've said, in the moments of mirth, 

" What 's devotion to ihee or to me ? 
** I devoutly believe there 's a heaven on earth, 

"And believe that that heaven 's in thee!" 



IMITATION OF CATULLUS. 
TO HIMSELF. 

Miser Catullus, desinaa ineptire, &c 

Cease the sighing fool to play; 
Cease to trifle life away; 
Nor vainly think Ihose joys thine own, 
Which all, alas, have falsely flown. 
What hours, Catullus, once were thine, 
How fairly seem'd thy day to shine, 



When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile was then so sweet — 
The girl thou lov'dst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heart can feel again. 

Ye met — your souls seem'd all in one, 
Like tapers that commingling shone; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both, 
And hers, in truth, was nothing loth. 

Such were the hours that once were thine 
But, ah ! those houts no longer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
In what she lov'd so much before; 
And all Catullus now can do, 
Is to be proud and frigid too ; 
Nor follow where the wanton flies, 
Nor sue 'he bliss that she denies. 
False maid ! he bids farewell to thee, 
To love, and all love's misery ; 
The heyday of his heart is o"er, 
Nor will he court one favour more. 

Fly, perjur'd girl ! — but whither fly ? 
Who now will piaise thy cheek and eye? 
Who now will drink the syren tone, 
Which tells him thou art all his own? 
Oh, none : — and he who lov'd before 
Can never, never love thee more. 



'Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more! 
St. John, chap. 
Oh, woman, if through sinful wile 

Thy soul hath stray'd from honour's track, 
'T is mercy only can be»ui!e. 

By gentle ways, the wande: er back. 
The stain that on thy virtue lies, 

Wash'd by those tears, not long will stay; 
As clouds that sully morning skies 

May all be wept in show'rs away. 
Go, go, be innocent,— and live ; 

The tongues of men may wound thee sore; 
But Heav'u in pi y can forgive, 

And bids thee " go, and sin no more ! " 



NONSENSE. 

Good reader ! if you e'er have seen, 

When Fhiebus'h <s ens to his pillow, 
The mermaids, with iheir Iresses green, 

Dancing i pon the western billow: 
If you have seen, at twilight dim, 
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 

Floats wild along the winding shore, 
If you have seen, through mist of eve, 
The fairy train iheir ringlets weave, 
Glancing along the spangled green : — 

If you have seen all this, and more, 
God bless me, what a deal you 've seen ! 



EPIGRAM, 
FROM THE FRENCH. 

" I never give a kiss (says Prue.) 
" To naughty man. for I abhor it." 

She will not give a kiss, 't is true ; 
She '11 take one though, and thank you for it. 



ON A SQUINTING POETESS. 



To no one Muse does she her glance confine, 
But has an eye, at once, to all ihe Nine ! 



so 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



TO 



Moria pur quandu vuol. non e bisoena mutar ni faccia ui 
oce per esser uu Augelo.l 

Die when you will, you Deed not wear 
At Heaven's Court a' form more lair 

Than Beauty here on earth has given; 
Keep but the lovely looks we see — 
The voice we hear — and you will be 
An angel ready-made for Heaven 1 



TO ROSA. 
A far conserva, e cnmulo d'amanti. Past. Fid. 
And are you then a thing of art, 

Seducing all, and Loving none ; 
And have 1 s rove 'o gain a heart 

Which every coxecrnb thinks his own? 
Tell me at once if this be true, 

And 1 will calm my jealous breast ; 
Will learn lo join the dangling crew, 

And share your 6impers with the rest 
But if your heart be not so free,— 

Oh ! if another share that heart, 
Tell not the hateful tale to me, 

But mingle mercy with your art. 
I 'd rather think you " false as hell," 

Than find you to be all divine, — 
Thin know that heart could love so well, 

let know that heart would not be mine! 



TO PHILLIS. 

Phillis, you little rosy rake, 
That heart of yours I long to rifle : 

Come, give it me, and do not make 
So much ado about a trijlt ! 



TO A LADY, 
ON HER SINGING. 

Thy song has taught my heart to feel 

Tho>e soothing thoughts of heav'nly love, 
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal 

When listening to the spheres above! 
When, tir'd of life and misery, 

I n i-.li to sigh my latest breath, 
Oh, Emma! I will fly to ihee, 

And thou shall sing me into death. 
And if along thy lip and cheek 

That smile of heav'nly softness play, 
Which,— ah ! forgive a "mind that 's weak,— 

So oft his stol'u By mind away; 
Thou 'It seem an angel of the sky, 

That comes to chirm me into bliss: 
I 'II gaze and die— Who would not die, 

If death were half so sweet as this? 



SONG. 

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. 

WRITTEN IN IRELAND, 1799. 

Of all my happiest hours of j <t. 
And even I have hid my measure, 

When hearts were full, and ev'rv eve 
Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, 



« The words addressed by Lord Herbert of Cher- 
taury to the beautiful Nun at Murauo.— See hit Life. 



An hour like this I ne'er was given, 

So full of friendship's purest blisses; 
Young Love himself looks down from heaven, 
To smile on such a day as this is. 

Then come, my friends, this hour improve, 

Let % feel as if we ne'er could sever ; 
And may the birth of her we love 
Be thus with joy remember'd ever! 

Oh ! bar ish ev'ry thought to-night, 

Which could disturb our soul's communion; 
Abandou'd thus lo dear deligb', 

VVe Ml evn for once forget '.he Cnion ! 
On that let statesmen try their pow'rs, 

And trenible o'er the' rights they'd die for; 
The union of the soul be ours, 

And ev'ry union else we sigh for. 

Then come, my friends, tc. 

In ev'ry eye around I mark 

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing; 
From ev'ry soul I catch the spark 

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
Oh ! could such moments ever fly ; 

Oh ! that we ne'er were diom'd to lose 'em ; 
And all as bright as Cb .rlntte's eye, 

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. 

Then come, my friends, &c 

For me, whate'er my span of years, 

Whatever sun may light my roving; 
Whether I w ste my life in tears. 

Or live, as now, f r mirth and loving; 
This day shall come with aspect kind, 

Wherever fae nny cist your rover; 
He Ml think of those he left behind. 

And driuk a health to bliss that ^ over ! 

Then come, my friends, tc 



SONG.? 



Mary, I believ'd tbee true, 

And I was blest in thus believirg; 

But now I mourn that e'er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well. 

Few have everlov'd like me. — 

Yes I have I v'd thee to > sincerely! 

And few hive e'er deceiv'd like thee, — 
Alas ! deceiv'd me too severely. 

Fare thee well !— yet think awhile 
On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; 

Who now would rather tru-t that smile, 
And die with thee than live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I '11 think of thee. 

Th"u If av'st me many a bitter token ; 
For see, distracting woman, see, 

Mv peace is gone, my heart is broken! — 
Fare thee well ! 



MORALITY. 

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. 

ADDRESSED TO 

J. AT-NS-N, Esq. M.R.I.A. 

Thoueh long at school and college dozinr, 
O'er books o( verse ar d bo ks of prosing, 
And copying from tt;eir moral pages 
Fn.e recipes for miking sages ; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 81 


Though long with those divines at school, 


Oh ! when I 've seen the morning beam 


Who (iii nk in nuke us good by rule ; 


Floating within the dimpled stream ; 


Who. in melhodic fnrms advancing, 
Teicfiujff morality like dancing, 


While Nature, wak'ning from the night, 


Has just put on her mbes of light, 


Tell us, for Heav'n or money's sake, 


Have 1, with cold opiician's gaze, 


What steps we are through life to tike: 


Explor'd the doctrine of those rays? 


Though ihus, my fiiend, so lnng employ 'd, 


No, pedants, I have left to you 


With so much midnight oil destroy'd, 


Nicely to sep'rate hue from hue. 


I must confess, my seaiches past, 


Go, give that moment up to art, 


I've O'.ly learn'd to dnubt at last. 


When Heav'n and nature claim the heart; 


I find the doctors and ihe snges 


And, dull to alt their best attraction, 


Have differ'd in all climes and ages, 


Go — measure angles of refraction. 


And two in fifty scarce agree 


While I, in feeling's sweel romance, 
Look on each daybeam as a glance 


On what is pure morality. 


'T is like the rainbow's shifting zone, 


From the g'eat eye of Him above. 
Wak'ning his world with looks of lovet 


And every vision makes its own. 


The doctors of ihe Porch advise, 
As modes of btins great and wise, 






That we should cease to own or know 




The luxuries that from feeling flow : — 


THE TELL-TALE LYRE. 


"Reison alone must claim direction, 




" And Apathy 's the soul's peifection. 
'• Like a dull I ike the heart must lie ; 


I 've heard, there was in ancient days 
A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 


" No* pass on's gale nor pleasure's sieh, 
"Though Heav'n the breeze, the bieath, supplied, 


T was heav'n to hear its fairy lays, 
If half be true that legends tell. 


" Must curl the wave or swell the tide !" 






T was play'd on by the gentlest sighs, 
And to their breath it brealh'd again 


Such was the rigid Zeno's plan 


To firm his philosophic man ; 


In such entrancing melodies 


Such wee the modes he taught mankind 


As ear had never drunk till then! 


To weed the ga den of the mind: 

They tore from thence some weeds, 'tis true, 




Not harmony's serenest touch 


But all the ilow'rs » ere ravaged too ! 


So stilly could the notes prolong; 




They were not heavenly sone so much 


Now listen to the wily strains, 


As they were dreams of heav'nly song I 


Which, on Gyrene's sandy plains, 




When Pleasure, nymph with loosen'd zone, 


If sad the heart, whose murmuring air 


Usurp'd the philosophic ih'one, — 


Along the chords in languor stole, 


Hear what the courtly sase's' tongue 


The numbers it awaken'dthere 


To his su rounding pupils sung — 
"Pleasure's the only noble end 


Were eloquence from pity's soul. 




"To which all human pow'is should tend, 


Or if the sigh, serene and light, 


" And Virtue gives her heav'nly lore, 


Was bi! 1 the breath of fancied woes, 


" But to make Pleasure please us more. 


The string, that felt its airy flight, 


" Wisdom and she were both de ign'd 


Soon whisper'd it to kind repose. 


"To make the senses more refin'd, 




"That man might revel, free from cloying, 


And when young lovers talk'd alone, 


" Then most a sage when most enjoying !" 


If, mid their bliss that Lyre was near 




It made their accents all its nun, 


Is this morality ! — Oh, no ! 


And sent forth notes that heav'n might hear. 


Ev'n 1 a wiser path could show. 




The flnv'r within this vase confin'd, 


There was a nymph, who long had lov'd 


The pure, the unfading flow'r of mind, 


But dai'd not tell the world how well: 


Must not hrow all i s sheets away 


The shades, where she at evening rov'd, 


Upon a moital mould of < lay : 


Alone could know, alone could tell. 


No, i o. — its richest breath should rise 




In virtue's incense to the skies. 


'Tas there, at twilight time, she stole, 




When the hist star announe'd the night, — 


But thus it is, all sects we see 


With him who claim'd her inmost soul, 


Have w -tchword* of nwrali'y: 


To wander by that soothing light. 


Some cry out Venus, i thers Jove ; 




Here »l is Religion, theie '1 is Love. 


It chane'd that, in the fairy bower 


B'.t while ihey Ihu- so widely wander, 


Wheie blest they wooed each other's smile, 


While mystics dream, and doctors ponder; 


This Lyre, of strange and magic power, 


And some, in dia eclirs firm, 
Seek v rlue in a middle term ; 


Hung whisp'ring o'er their heads the while. 


While thus they strive, in Heaven's defiance, 


And as, with eyes commingling fire, 


To chain moraii y with science; 


They lister; 'd to each other's vow, 


The plain good man, whose ac ions teach 


The youth fuM oft would make the Lyre 


M "e virtue han a sect can preach, 


A pillow tor the maiden's biow : 


Pursues his course, un-asely blest, 




His tutor whisp'ring in his breast ; 
Nor could he ac' a purer part, 


And, while the melting words she brealh'd 


Were by its echoes wafted round, 
Her locks had with the chords so wreath'd, 


Th ugh he had Tully all by heart. 


And when he dops the tear on woe, 
He little knows or caies to know 


One knew not which gave forth Ibe sound. 


That Epictetns blam'd that tear, 


Alas, their hearts but little thought, 


By Heav'n approv'd, to virtue dear! 


While thus they talk'd the hours away, 
That every sound the Lyie was taught 
Would linger long, and long betray. 




> Aristippus. 





JUVENILE POEMS. 



So mingled with its tuneful sou! 

Were rill their tender murmurs grown, 
That other signs unanswer'd stole, 

Nor words it brea h'd but theirs alone. 

Unhappy nymph ! thy name was sung 
To every breeze thai wander'd by; 

The secreis of thy gentle tongue 

Were brcath'd in song to earth and sky. 

The fatai Lyre, by Envy's hand 

Kung high amid the whisp'ring grovel, 

To every gale by which '! was fahu'd, 
Pr. ciaiil.ed the mystery of your loves. 

Nor long thus rudely was thy name 
To earth's derisive echoes given ; 

Some pitying spirit downward same, 
And took ihe Lyre and thee to heaven. 

There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, 
Hoth happy in L.ve's home shall be ; 

Thou, unering nought but seraph >ongs, 
And that sweet Lyre still echoing thee ! 



PEACE AND GLORY. 
WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR. 

Where is now the smile, that lighten'd 

Every hero's couch of rest ? 
Where is n iw tie h-pe, that brighten'd 

Honour's eye ai d Pity's b:east ? 
Have we tost the wrea h we braided 

For our weary warrior men ? 
Is the faithless olive faded ? 

Must the bay be pluck'd again ? 

Passing hour of sunny weather 

Lovely, in your light awhile, 
Peace and Glory, wed tog 

Wander'd through ourbles-ed isle. 
Aid the eyes of Peace would glisten, 

Dewy as a morning tun, 
When the timid maii would listen 

To the deeds her chief had done. 

Is their hour of dalliance over ? 

Must the maiden's 'rembiing feet 
Waft her from her warlike lover 

To the desert's still reTeat ? 
Fare you well ! with sigh- we banish 

N\mph so fair and giies's to bright ; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish, 

Leaves behind a soothing light ; — 

Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 

O'er >our warrior's sanguin'd way, 
Throueh the field where horrors darkle, 

Shedding hope's consoling ray. 
Long the smile h s heart will cherish, 

To its absent idol true ; 
While around him myriads perish, 

Glory si ill will sigh for you! 



SONG. 



Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment" breath'd to me; 
Yet, no — it must not, w ill not part, 
T is now the life-breath of my heart, 
And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back the kiss, tint faith'es sigh 
Wich all the warmth c f t u'h imprest ; 

Yet, no— the fatal kiss may lie. 

Upon thy lip its sweets would die, 
Or bloom to nuke a riv.il blest. 



Take back the vows that, ni^ht and day, 
My heart receiv'd, I thought, from thin 
Yet, no — allow them still to stay, 
They might some other heart betray, 
As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. 



LCVE AND REASON. 

"Quand 1'homme commence a raisonner, fl eetse de 
Kulir." J. J. JJeiu.eM.1 

T was in the summer time so sweet, 

When hearts and flowers are bo h in season, 

That — who, of all the world, should meet, 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 

Love told his dream of yesternight, 

While Reason talked ab:>ut the weather, 

The morn, in icoth, was fair and bright, 
And on they took their way together. 

The boy in many a gambol flew, 
While Reason, like a Juno, stalkM, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A lengtheu'd shadow, as she walk'd. 

No wonder Love, as on they pass'd, 
Should find that sunny morning chill, 

For still the shadow Reason cast 
Fell o'er the boy, and cool'd him still. 

In vain he tried his wings to warm, 

Or find a pa'hway not v> dim, 
For still the maid's gigantic form 

Would stalk between the sun and him. 

"This mus' not be," said little Love 

" The sun was made for more than yon.* 

So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gaily roves Ihe laughing boy 
O'er many a mead, by many a stream ; 

In even- brerze inhalii.'.- 
And drinking bliss in every beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers. 
He cull'd the many sweet! they shaded, 

And ate 'be fruits and suiell'd the flowers, 
Till taste was gone and odour faded. 

But now the sun, in pomp of r 

l-ook'd blazing o'er the sultry plains ; 

Alas ! the boy grew lin_ 
And fever ihrill'd through all his veins. 

The dew forsook his baby brow. 

No more with heal hy bloom he smil'd 

Oh ! where was tranquil Reasrr 
To cast her shadow o'er the child ? 

Beneaih a green and aged palm, 

His foot .it length for shel er turning, 

He siw the nymph rec! nicg calm, 
With brow as cool as his was burning. 

*' Oh ! take me to that bosom c 

In murmurs at her feet I 
And Reason op'd her garn>ent'> | 

And flung it round his fever'd head. 

He felt her bosom's icy touch. 

n it hill'd his puis- 
For, ah ! ihe c 
-A:..! I 

> Quoted somewhere in St Pierre's Etudes to la 
Nature. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



83 



Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear; 

While in these arms you lie, 
This world hath not a wish, a fear, 
That ought to cost that eye a tear, 

Thai heart, one single sigh. 

The world ! — ah, Fanny, Love must shun 
The pa hs where many rove ; 

One besom to recline upon 

One heari to be his only-one, 
Are quite enough for Love. 

What can we wish, that is not here 

Between your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy sphere 
Two loving arms entwine? 

For me, there 's not a lock of jet 

Adoivn your temples cm I'd, 
Within whose glos-y, tangling net, 
My soul doth not, at once, forget 

All, all this worthless world. 
T is in those eyes, so full of love, 

My only worlds I see ; 
Let but tlieir orbs in sunshine move, 
And earth below and skies above 

May frown or smile for me. 



ASPASIA. 

T was in the fair Aspasia's bower, 
That Love and Learning, many an hour, 
In dalliance met; and Learning smil'd 
With pleasure on the playful child, 
Who ofien stole, to fi. d a nest 
Within ihe folds of Learning's vest. 

There, as the listening statesman hung 
In transport on Aspasia's tongue, 
The deslinies of Athens took 
Their clour from Aspasia's look. 
Oh happy time, when laws of sate 
When all that rul'd the country's fate, 
lis glory, quiet, or alarms, 
Was plann'd between two snow-white arms ! 

Blest limes! they could not always last — 
And yet, ev'n now, thei are not past. 
Though we have lost the giant mould, 
In which their men were cast of old, 
Woman, dear woman, still the same, 
While beauty breathes through soul or frame, 
While nun possesses heart or eyes, 
Woman's bright empire never dies 1 

No, Fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, 
That beauty's charm hath pass'd away ; 
Give but the universe a soul 
Attun'd to woman's soft control, 
And Fanny halh the charm, the skill, 
To wield a universe at will. 



THE GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM 

OF THE BLESSED ISLANDS. 1 

TO HER LOVER. 

IltflffiyopTjs, icr<roi re x°9 0V cr-qg^av tptoToy. 

A^oAAoiv ?rtpi TLXwrtvov. Oracul. Mttric. a 

Joan. Opsop. colltcta. 

Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray, 

That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away ? 



« It wis imagined by some of the ancients that 



Scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream of night 

Came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright, 

That, while I yet can vividly recall 

Its witching wonders, thou shalt hear them all. 

Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam, 

Two winded boys, such as thy muse might dream, 

Descending from above, al that still hour, 

And gliding, with smooth step, into my bower. 

Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day, 

In Amatha's warm founts imprison 'd stay,3 

But rise at midnight, from th* enchanted' rill, 

To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill. 

At once I knew l heir mission ; — 't was to bear 
My spirit upward, through Ihe paths of air, 
To that elysian realm, from whence stray beams 
So oft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch dissolv'd the tie-, that clung 
All earthly round me, and aloft 1 sprung ; 
While, heav'nw-ard guides, the little zeiiii flew 
Thro' paths of light, refresh'd by heaven's own dew, 
And fann'd by airs still flagrant Willi the breath 
Of cloudless climes and worlds toat know not death. 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our nether sky, 
And shown but dimly to man's erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of biue ether rolls,3 
Gemm'd with bright islands, where the chosen souls, 
Who 've pass'd in lore and love 'heir earthly hours, 
Repose for ever in unfading bowers. 
Thai very moon, whose solitary light 
So often guides thee to my bower at night, 
Is ho chill planet, but an isle of love, 
Floating in splendour through tho-e seas above, 
And peopled with bright forms, aerial grown, 
Nor knowing aught of earth but love alone. 
Thither, I thought, we wingd our airy way : — 
Mild o'er its valleys slreaio'd a silvery day, 
While, all around, on lily beds of rest, 
Reclin'd Ihe spirits of the immorlal Blest.* 



there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun 
and moon are two floaing, luminous islands, in which 
the spirits of the blest reside. Accordingly we find 
that the word Q,Kiavos was sometimes synonymous 
with aijp, and death was not unfrequeutly called 
Hkco.voi.0 7ropoc, or " Ihe passage of Ihe ocean." 

2 Eunapius, in his life of lamblichus, tells us of 
two beautiful little spirits or loves, which lamblichus 
raised by enchantment from the warm springs at 
Gadara; "dicens astanlibus (says Ihe aulhor of the 
Dii Fatidici, p. 160.) illos esse loci Genios :" which 
words, however, are not in Eunapius. 

I find from Cellarius, that Amalha, in the neigh- 
bourliood of Gadara, was also celebrated for its warm 
springs, and I have preferred it as a more poetical 
name than Gadara. Cellarius quotes Hieronymus. 
" Est et alia vi.la in vicinia Gadaije nomine Amatha, 
ubi calidae aquas erumpunt." — Geograph. jintiq. lib. | 
iii. cap. 13. 

3 This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or" waters 
above the firmament," was one of the many physical 
errors in which the early fathers bewildered them- ' 
selves. Le P. Raltus, in his "Defense des Saints 
Peres accuses de PUtonisine," taking it for granted ; 
that Ihe ancients were nice correct in their notions . 
(which by no means appears from what I h ive already ' 
quoted ) adduces the obstinacy of the fathers, in this 
whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to 
even truth from the hands of the philosophers. T.\>> 
is a strange way of defending the fa'hers, and attri- 
butes much more th n they deserve to the philoso- 
phers. For an abs'ract of this work of Baltns, (the 
oppnser of Fon'eoelle, Van Dale, &c. in the famous 
Oracle controversy,) see '• Biblio heque des Auteurs 
Ecclesiast, du ISo'siccle, part I. toin. ii." 

* There were various opinions among the ancients 
with re pect to their lunar esablishmenl ; some made 
it an elysium, and others a purgatory; while some 
supposed it to be a kind of entrepot between heaven 
and earth, where souls which had left Iheir bodies, 



84 



JUVENILE POEMS 



Oh ! there I met those few congenial maids, 
Whom iove hath wann'd, in philosophic shades; 
There still Leoutium, 1 on tier -aie's b i east, 
I Found lore and love, was tulor'd and carcst ; 
And tliere the cli-p of Pvlhias' 2 gentle arm» 
Repaid the zeal which deihed her charms. 
The Atlic Master, a in Aspa-ia's eves, 
Forgot t he yoke of less endearing ties ; 
While fair Theano,* innocently fair, 
Wreath'd playful y her Samhn's flowing hair,' 
Whoss soul now fix'd. its transmigrations past, 
Found in those arms a resting-pl.ee, at last ; 
And smiling own'd. whatever his dreamy thought 
In mystic numbers Ion? had vainly sought, 
The One ihat 's torm'dof 1 wo whom lo.e hath bound, 
Is the best number gods or men e'er found. 

But think, my Theon, with what joy I thrilPd, 
When near a fount, which through the valley rill'd, 
fancy's eye beheld a form recline, 
unar race, but so resembling thine 



ft 



and those that were on their way to join them, were 
deposited in the valleys of Hecate, and remained till 
further orders. Toi; ntpt (riKrjvyv atpi Asyttv 
avrac kutoiksiv, (cat an' avrijc icarni ;£<up£iv uj 
tov irtptywov ytvtaiv. — istoh. lib. i. Eclog. Physic, 
i The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called 
her his " dear title Lemtium " (Acovraptov,) as ap- 
pears by a fragment of one of Ins letters is Laertius. 
This Le nliuin was a woman of taent ; "she had the 
impudence isavs Cicero) o write agiinst Theophras- 
tus ; " and Cicero, at the same time, gives her a name 
which is neither polite nor tia statable. '■ Mere- 
tiicula e iam Leontium contra 1 heophastum senbere 
au-< est." — De Xatur Dear. She left a daughter 
called Danae, who was just as rigid an Epici e^n as 
her mother; something like Wieland's Danae in 
Agathon. 

It would sound much better, I think, if the name 
were LeoDtia, as it occurs the first time in Laertius; 
but M. Menage will not hear of this reading. 

3 Pythias was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and 
to whom afer her death he paid di\ine h nours, 
solemnizing her memory by 'he ame ac> fices which 
the Athenians od'ered to the Goddess Ceres. For this 
impiotn g.liao ry the philosopher was, of cou'se, 
censured; but it would be well if certain of Our 
modern S^agintes showed a little of this supentilion 
abou' the memoiy of their misliesses. 

3 Socrates, who used to console him elf in the 
society of Aspa-ia for hose 'Mess endearing ties" 
which he fou. d at home with Xantippe. For an 
account of this extraonfinaiy creature, Aspa<ia. and 
her school of erudite luxury at Athens, see L'Hi toire 
de l'Academie, &c. torn. xxxi. p. 69 Segur rather 
fiils on the ins(i ring subject of Aspasia. — •• Les 
Femmes," ten. i p. I—. 

The Author of the " Voyage du Mot de de Des- 
cartes ■ has alsi placed these | hil *o| hers in the 
moon, and has allotted seigneuries to them, as well s 
to the astron niers (| ait ii. p. M3;) but he ought not 
to have forgotten their wives and mistresses; "■• curse 
DOn ipsa in niorle relinquunt." 

* There are some -ensible letters extant under the 
name of this fair Pythagorean. They ate addressed 
to her female fr.ends u, on the educvion of children, 
the ireatmeni of servants, 4c One, in particular, to 
Nicnstrata, whrse hu band had given her n 
jealousy, contains such truly considerate and rational 
advice,' that it ought to be "translated for the edifica- 
tion of all married ladies. See Gales Opuscul. Mv h. 
Phys. p. 741. 

s Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and 
Doctor Thiers (in his Hist< ire des Perruipjest seems 
to take for granted it was all his own ; as he has not 
mentioned him among those ancients who wee 
obliged to have recourse to the "coma apposititia.'' 
L'Hist. des Perruques, chap. i. 



Tha', oh ! 't was but fidelity in me, 

To By, to cia-p, and woiship it for thee. 

No aid of words the unbodied soul requires. 

To waft a wish or embassy de-ires ; 

But by a power, to spiiils only eiven, 

A deep, mu'e impulse, only felt in heaven, 

Swifter than meteor shaft thr. ugh summer skies, 

From soul to soul the glanc'd idea fl.es. 

Oh, my brloved, how divinely sweet 
Is the puie joy. when kindred spirits meet ! 
Like him, the river-g<>d,6 whose waters flow, 
With love their only light, through caves t< t«» 
Wafting in triumph all the flowery btaids, 
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids 
Have deck'd his current, as an offering meet 
To lay at Are'hus.'s shining feet. 
Think, when he mee's at last bis fountain-bride, 
Whit perfec love must ihnll the blended tide! 
Each Inst in each, lill, mingling into one, 
Tl eir lot the same for shadow or for sun, 
A t\pe of true love, to the deep tbey run. 
>T was thus — 

Bu\ Theon. 't is an endless theme, 
And thou grow'st weary of my half-told dream. 
Oh, would, my love, we were together now, 
And 1 would woo awee' [-alienee o ihy brow, 
And make thee smile at all the magic tales 
Of stai light bowers and plane aiy vales. 
Which my fond soul, inspir d by thee and love, 
In slumber's lo m h.'h fancifully wove. 
But no; no more — soon as ti -morrow's ray 
O'er soft Ilissus shall have died away, 
I 'II come, and, w hile love's planet in the west 
Shines o'er our meeting, leil thee all the rest 



IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. 

I could resign that eye of blue, 

Howe'er its plend ur used to thrill me 
And ev'n that cheek of roseate tine,— 

To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. 

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, 
However much 1 \e rav'd ab ut it; 

And sweetly as thai lip can kiss, 
I f/urjJk 1 could exist without it 



In short, so well I 've learn 'd to fast. 
That, sooth my lore, I know not 

I might not bring myself a' las'. 
To — do without you altoge tier, 



THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN. 

I brii g thee, love, a e lien cha n, 

« 'e.ith ; 
The gold shall never wear a s am, 

The flow'rets h.ng sha'l swee ly breathe. 
Come, tell me which he t.e shall be, 
To bind thy gecile heart to me. 
The Chain i< form'd of gulden threads, 

Bright as Minerva's yellow h ir. 
When Ihe last beam of evening sheds 

Its calm and s Ur lustte there. 

6 The river Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa or ] 
Olympia, and into which it was customary to throw 
- ^urii g the celebration of 
the Olymj nance of Clito- i 

phon aid Leucijpe, the river is supposed to carry 
theeoffr^ Vethusa. 

KoicTi rni> AptSovcrav ot tiu tov A.Viuov 1-ip.dwr ( 
toUi. drav ovv ij tuv oAt/iiiuiv foprij, s. t. a. j 
Lib. i. 



JUVENILE POEMS 



85 



The Wreath 's of brightest myrtle wove, 
With sun-lit dmps of bi iss among it, 

And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love, 
To heal his lip when bees have stung it. 

Come, tell me which the lie shall be, 

To bind thy gentle heirt to me. 

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye, 

Which answes when the tongue is loath, 
Tl.ou likst the fcrjn of eithe- lie, 

And spiead'st ihy playful hands for both. 
Ah ! — if there were not some hing wrong, 

The world would see them blended oft; 
The Chain would nuke Ihe Wreath s"> strong! 

The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! 
Then migh' ihe gold, the flnv'rets be 
Sweet fetters for my love and me. 

But, Fanny, so unblest they twine, 

Thai (heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus ihey cease to shine, 

Or shine but for a transient season, 
Whether the Chain may press too much, 

Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, 
Let but Ihe gold the rlow'rets touch, 

And all their b] om, their glow is faded! 
Oh ! belter to be always free, 

Than thus to bind my love to me. 

The timid girl now hung her head, 

And, as she tum'd an i pward glance, 
I saw a doubi its twilight spiead 

Across her brow's divii e expanse. 
Just then, Ihe garland's brightest rose 

Gave one of its love-breathing sighs — 
Oh ! who can ask how Fanny chose, 

That ever look'd in Fauny : s eyes ? 
" The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be 
" The tie to bind my soul to thee." 



TO 



And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade, 
That many a time obscures my brow, 

Midst all the joy«, beloved maid, 

Which thou canst give, and only thou? 

Oh ! 't is not that I then forget 
The bright lo ks that before me shine; 

For never throbb'd a bosom yet 
Could feel their witchery,"like mine. 

When bashful on my bosom hid, 
And blushing to have felt so blest, 

Thou dost but lift thy languid lid, 
Again to close it on my breast; — 

Yes,— these are minutes all thine own, 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel ; 

Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known 
The sigh to rise, the tear lo steal. 

For I have thought of former hours, 
When he who first Ihy soul possess'd, 

Like me awnk'd its wi'ching powers. 
Like me was lov'd, like me was blest. 

Upon his name thy murmuring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly d» elt ; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung, 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall, 
To damp and wfther present bliss 

Thou 'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all, 
And heaven could grant no more than this! 

Forgive me, dearest, oh ! forgive ; 

I would be first, be sole to thee, 
Thau shouldsl have but begun to live, 

The jour that gave thy heart lo me. 



8 



Thy book of life till then effae'd, 

Love should have kept that leaf alone 

On which he first so brightly trae'd 
That thou wert, soul and all, my own. 



TO 'S PICTURE. 

Go Ihen, if she, whose shade thou art, 
No more will let thee soothe my pain; 

Ye*, tell her, it has cost Ihis heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 

Tell her the smile was not so dear, 

Wi,h which she made ihy semblance mine, 

As bitter is Ihe burning tear, 

With which 1 now the gift resign. 

Yet go — and could she still re-lore, 
As some exchange for taking thee, 

The tranquil look which first 1 wore, 

When her eyes found me calm and free; 

Could she give back the careless flow, 
The spirit that my heart Ihen knew — 

Yet, no, >| is vain — go, picture, go — 
Smile at me once, and then — adieu ! 



FRAGMENT OF A MYTHOLOGICAL HYMN 
TO LOVE.i 

Blest infant of eternity ! 
Before the day-star le.irn'd lo move, 
In pom- of fire, along his erand career, 

Glancing the beamy shafts of li?ht 
From his rich quiver to the farthest sphere, 
Thou wert alone, oh Love' 
Nestling henea'h Ihe wines of ancient Night, 
Whose horrors seem'd to smile in shadowing thee. 

No form of beauty soolh'd Ihine eye, 
As through the dim expanse it wander'd wide' 

No kindred spirit caught thy sigh, 
As o'er Ihe watery waste it lingering died. 

Unfelt the puise, unknown tne power, 
That latent in his heart was sleeping, — 

Oh Sympathy ! that lonely hour 
Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 

But look, what glory thronjh the darkness beams ! 
Celestial airs along the water glide: — 
What Spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide 
So beautiful? oh, not of earth, 
But, in tha' glowing hour, the birth 
Of the young Godhead's own cieative dreams. 

~'Tis she! 
Psyche, the firs'born spirit of the air. 
To thee, oh Love, she turns, 
On thee her eyebeam hums: 
Blest hour, before all worlds ordain'd to bet 

They meet — 
The blooming god — the spirit fair 
Meet in communion sweet. 



i Love and Psyche are here considered as the ac- 
tive and passive principles of creation, and (he uni- 
verse is supposed lo have received its first harmonizing 
impulse from the nuptial sympathy between these two 
powers. A marriage is generally the first step in cos- 
mogony. Timaeus helil Form to be the father, and 
Matter Ihe mother of the \\ orld ; Klion and Rerouth. 
I think, are Sanchoniatho's first spiritual lovers, and 
Mane i-capac and his wife introduced creation amongst 
the Peruvians. In short, Harlequin seems to have 
studied cosmogonies, w hen he said " tutto il mondo c 
fatto come la nostra famiglia." 



86 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Now, Sympathy, the hour is thine; 

All nature feels the thrill divine, 

The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, 

i And their first kiss is great Creation's dawn ! 



TO HIS SERENE HIGHNESS 

THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER, 

ON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADE- 
LAIDE FORBES. 

Donington Park, 1802. 
To ca'ch the thought, hy painting's spell, 

Howe'er remote, howe'er retin'd, 
And o'er the kindling canv-ss tell 

The silent story of the miud; 

O'er nature's form to glance the eye, 
And lix, hy mimic light and shade, 

Her morning tinges, eie they fly, 

Her evening blushes, ere they fade;— 

Yes. these are Painting's proudest powers; 

The gift, by which her an d.vine 
Above all oihers proudly towers — 

And these, oh Prince ! are richly thine. 

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace, 

In almost living truth extrest, 
This bright memorial of a face 

On which her eye delights to rest; 

While o'er the lovely look serene, 

The smile of peace, the bloom of youth, 

The cheek, that blushes to be seen, 
The eye th it tells the bosom's truth ; 



lile o'er each line, so brightly true, 
)ur eyes with lingering pleasure rov 



While i 

Our eyes with linge ing pleasure rove, 
Blessing the touch whose various hue 

Thus brings to mind the form \\e love 

We feel the magic of thy art, 
And own it with a zest, a 7eal, 

A pleasuie, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feeL 



THE FALL OF HEBE. 

A DITHYRAMBIC ODE. 1 

'T was on a day 
When the immortals at the'ir banquet lay ; 
The bowl 
Sparkled with starry dew, 



» Though I hn-e styled this poem a Dithyrambic 
Ode. I cannot presume t • say that it presses, in any 
degree, the chiracteristics of that species of poetry. 
The nature of the ancient Dithyrambc is very im- 
perfectly known. According to M Bure'te. a licen- 
tious irregularity of metre, an extravagant research of 
thought and expression, and a rude embarrassed con- 
struction, a v e among i's m s' distinguishing features; 
and in all these respects. 1 have but "too closely. I fear. 
followed my models. Bure'te add*, " Ces caracteres 
des dithyrambes se font sentir a ceux qui li^ent at- 
tentivenientles odes de Pindare."— Memoircsde VA- 
cad.. vol. x., p. 306. The same opinion may be col- 
lected from Schmid's dissertation upon (be subject 
I think, however, if the Dithyrambics of Pindar were 
in our possession, we should "find tha\ however wild 
and fanciful, they were by no means the tasteless jar- 
gon they are represented, and that even their irregu- 
larity was what Boleau calls "mi lean desordre '" 
Chiabrera, who has been styled the Pindar of Italy. 
and from whom all its poetry upon the Greek model 



The weeping of those myriad urns of light, 
Within whose orbs, the almighty Power, 
At nature's dawning hour, 
Stor'd the rich fluid of ethereal soul.a 

Around, 
Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing their flight 

From eastern isles 
(Where they have batli'd them in the orient ray, 
And with rich fragrance all their bosoms fill'd), 
Iu circles flew, and, melting as thev flew, 
A liquid daybreak o'er the board distill d. 

All. all was luxury! 

AlVmust he luxury where Lyaeus smiles. 

His locks divine 

Weie crnwn'd 

With a bright meteor-braid. 

Which, like an ever-springing wreath of vine, 

Sho; into brilliant leafy shapes. 

And o'er his brow in lambent tendrils play'd. 

While mid the foliage.hung, 

Like lucid gta| es 

A thousand clustering buds of light, 

Cull'd from the gardens of the galaxy. 

Vpon his bosom Cytherea's head 

Lay lovely, as when first the Syrens sung 

Her beauty's dawn, 
And all the curtains of the deep, undrawn, 
Reveal'd her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip, 
With looks of ecsta-y. 

. OB his arm, 
In blushes she repos'd, 
And, while he gazed on each bright charm, 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance sto 

And now she rais'd her rosy mouth to sip 
The nectar'd wave 
Lyset s 
And from her eyelids, half-way clos'd, 

gen - f > - 1 h a meltii g 8 

Which fell, l.ke sun-dew, in the bowl: 
Whde her bright hair, in mazy flow 

Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek's luxurious glow, 

Hung o'er the goblet's - 
And »as reflected iu its crystal tide, 



was called Chiabreresco (as Crescimbeni informs ut, 
lib. i., cap. 12 ) has given, amongst his Vendemmie, 
a Dithyraml ic, • :" full of tho-e 

couipnVd epithets, «'iich. we are told, were a chief 
characteristic of thestvle (<7t't'$£Toi'S C£ At|«S tnoi- 
ovv.—Suid. Ai0rpafi/W«T.); such as 

Brielindornto Pegaso 

BoMnlj I 

But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst all the 
license r.f Di'hy rambcs, would ever have descended 
to ballad-language like the following: 

Bella Rilli. eheHa 

: clar pregia a tu* bt-llrxxe e tari, 

Che se Bacco fa v ejii atle mie labbra 

Fo le fiehe a' vitstri tarl. 

ester Torrel Carrier, 

Deh fossi io Botrielier. 

Rime iel CA»6rerc part. i>., p. 352. 

* This is a Platonic fancy. The philosopher sup- 
poses, in his Tima?us, th.it, when the Deity had formed 
the soul of the w Orld, he proceeded to the" composition 
of other souls, in which proce-s. savs Pla'o, he made 
use of the same cup. th ugh the ing 
gled were not qi the former; and 

having r. ■ his own 

essence, he distril .- the s'ars. which 

served as reservoirs of the fluid. — Tatrr' un cat 
iraXiv £7rt rov irpoTtpov icparijon tv <a tijv to» 
navros ipv\r)v ictpaiavj tjiicy t, k t. X. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



87 



Like a bright crocus flower, 
Whose suuny leaves, at evening hour 
With roses of Cyrene blending,! 
Hang o'er the mirror of some silvery stream. 

The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands 
Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing'd her feet 
Up 
The empvreal mount, 
To drain the snul-drops at their stellar fount ;* 
And still 
As the resplendent rill 
Gushed forth into the cup with mantling heat, 
Her w-itchful care 
Was still lo cool its liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of that feathery air 
The children of the Pole respire, 
In those enchanted lands,3 
Where life is all a spring, and north winds never 
blow. 



But oh ! 
Bright Hebe, what a tear, 
And what a blush were thine, 
When, as the breath of every Gr.ice 
Wafted thy fee? along the studded sphere, 
With a bright cup for Jove himself to drink, 
Some star, that shone benea'h thy tread, 

Raising its amorous head 
To ki-s those matchless feet, 
Check ! d thy career too fleet ; 
And all heaven's host of eyes 
Entranc'd. but fearful all, 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fat! 

Upon the bright floor of the azure skies ; « 
Where, mid its stars, thy be.iuty lay, 
As blossom, shaken from the spray 
Of a spring thorn 
Lies mid the liquid sparkles of the morn. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade, 
The worshippers of Beauty's queen behold 
An image of their rosy idol, laid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 



i We learn from Theophrastus, that the roses of 
Cyrene were particularly fragrant. — Evoo-fiara ra 
Si to tv Kvpr/vn (5o<5a. 

2 Heraclitus(Physicus) held the soul to be a spark 
of the stellar essence — •'Scintilla stellaris essentue." 
— Macrobius, in Somn. Scip., lib. i., cap. 14. 

s The country of the Hyperboreans. These people 
were supposed to be placed so far north that the north 
wind could not affect them ; they lived longer than 
any other mortals; pa*sed their whole time in music 
and dancing, &c. &c. But the most extravagant fiction 
related of ihem is that to which the two lines pre- 
ceding allude. It was imagined that, ins'ead of our 
vulgar atmosphere, the Hyperboreans breathed no- 
thing but feathers! According to Herodotus and 
Pliny, this idea was suggested by the quanti'y of 
snow which was observed to fall in tho>e regions; 
thus the former: Ta &>v nrtpa £i/ca£ovrac tjjv 
viova rot); ZnvSas re /cat tovs irectoiKovc dotcEai 
Xtyuv.— Herodot. lib. iv. cap. 31. Ovid tells the 
fable otherwise: see Metamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr. O'Halloran, and some other Irish Antiquarians, 
have been at great expense of learning to prove that 
the strange country, where they took snow for fea- 
thers, was Ireland, and that the famous Abaris was an 
Irish Druid. Mr. Rowland, however, will have it 
that Abaris was a Welshman, and that his name is 
only a corruption of Ap Rees ! 

* It is Servius, I believe, who mentions this un- 
lucky trip which Hebe nr>^i. in her occupation of 
cup-bearer; and Hoffman tells it after him : "Cum 
Hebe pocula Jovi administrans, perque lubricum 
minus caute incedens, cecidisset," &c. 



The wanton wind, 
Which had pursued the flying fair, 
And sported mid the tresses unconfined 
Of her blight hair, 
Now, as she fell,— oh, wanton breeze 1 
Ruffled i he robe, whose graceful flow 
Hung o'er those limbs of unsunu'd snow, 
Purely as the Eleusinian veil 
Hangs o'er the Mysteries ! s 

The brow of Juno flush'd — 

Love bless'd the breeze I 
The Muses blush 'd ; 
And every cheek was hid behind a lyre, 
While every eye looked laughing through the strings. 

But the bright cup ? the nectar'd draught 
Which Jove himself was to have quaff 'd? 
Alas, alas, upturn'd it lay 
By the fall'n Hebe's side ; 
While, in slow lingering drops, th' ethereal tide, 
As conscious of its own rich essence, ebb'd away. 

Who was the Spirit that remember'd Man, 
In that blest hour, 
And, with a wing of love, 
Brush'd off the goblet's scatterM tears, 
As, trembling near the edge of heaven they ran, 
And sent them floating to our orb below ? S 
Essence of in. mortality ! 

The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres ; 
While all around new tints of bliss, 
New odours and new light, 
Enrich'd its radiant flow. 
Now, with a liauid kiss, 
It stole along the thrilling wire 
Of Heave ,'s luminous Lyre,'' 
Stealing the s>ul of music in its flight : 
And now, amid the breezes bland, 
That whisper from the planets as they roll. 
The bright liba'ion. softly fann'd 
By all their sighs, meandering stole. 
They who, from Atlas' height, 

Beheld this rosy flame 
Descending through the waste of night, 
Thouiht 't was some planet, whose empyreal frame 

Had kindled, as it rapidly revolv'd 
Around its fervid axle, and dissolv'd 
Into a flood so bright ! 

The youhful Day, 
Wihin his twilight bower, 
Lav sweetly sleeping 
On the flush 'd bo-bm of a lotos-flower; * 



s The arcare symbols of this ceremony were de- 
posited in the cista, where they lay religiously con- 
cealed from the eyes of the profane. They were 
generally carried iii the procession by an ass ; and 
hence the proverb, which one may so often applv in 
the world, " asinus portat mysteria." See the Divine 
Legation, book ii. sect. 4. 

s In the Geoponica, lib. ii. cap. 17, there is a fable 
somewhat like this descent of the nectar to earth. 
Ev ovpavii tuiv Siiav tv(oxovp.ivwv, Kai rov 
vtKTapoc rroAAov napaKufitvov, avauKiprrjirat 
yopad rov Eptora icai c-vcrcrua-aj. rib rtrcpui rov 
/cparijpoc tt)V fluo-iv, kcll 7rtpiTp£cSat piv avrov 
ro St vcKrap £ic rrfv yrjv ik^vBiv, k. t. K. Vid. 
Autor. de Re Rust. edit. Can'ab. 1704. 

1 Theconstelbtion Lyra. The astrologers attribute 
great viriues to this siirn in ascendenti, which are 
enumerated by Pontano, in his Urania: 

Ecce novem cum pectine chnrdas 

KmotlulaDs, mulcetque novo vaga sidera cantu. 
Quo eaplae uaMeiitum animne eoncordia ducunt 
Fedora, &c. 

8 The Egyp'ians represented the dawn cf aay by a 
young boy seated upon a lotos. Eire Aiyvkrovs 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



When round him, in profusion weeping, 
Dropp'd the celestial shower, 

Sleeping 
The rosy clo'ids, that curl'd 
About his infant head, 
Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid shed. 

But, when the waking boy 
Wav'd his exhaling tresses through the sky, 
morn of joy ! — 
The iide divine, 
All glorious wi h the vermil dye 
It drank beneith his orient eye, 
Dislilld, in dews, upon he world, 
And every drop was wine, was heavenly wine! 
Ble^'he the sod. and bles the flower 
On which descended first lhat shower, 
All fresh fiom Jove's nectareous springs ; — 
Oh, far less sweet the flower the sod, 
O'er which the spirit of the Rainbow flings 
The magic mantle of ber solar God ! * 



RINGS AND SEALS. 

•Qovcfp o-0payid , £C fa duXn/tara. 

JlcUillzs Tatius, lib. 

" Go! " said the angry, weeping maid, 

"The cliaim is broken ! —once be' ray Id, 

" Never can Ihis wrong'd heart rely 

"On word or look, on oa h or Bigh. 

"'lake b.ck the gifts, to fondly given, 

" Willi prmnis'd faith and (»»! to heaven ; 

"Thai linle nil? winch, ni^hl and morn, 

" Wi h wedded Irulh my hand hath worn; 

"That seal which oft, in moments blest, 

"Thou hast upon my lip imprest, 

" And sworn i's sao'ed spring should be 

" A fountain seal'J 1 for only thee: 

" Take, take them back, the' gift and vow, 

" All sullied, lost and hateful now ! " 

I took the ring— the seal I took, 
While, oh, her every 'ear and look 
Were such as an.-els I ■ k ai d si ed, 
When man is bv the woild m sled. 
Gently I whisper'd, '-Fanny, de.r! 
"Not half thy lover's gifts are here: 



{copaKujj apxyv avaroAns 7ra«n"tov vzoyvov ypa- 
(fiovras tin \(ut& KaSi^ofiivov — Plutarch, irrpt 
tov fir) .vpav tfijiiTp. See a'sn his 1 re 'lis*- de Is ii. 
et Osir. Observing that the lotos sh"wed is head 
above water at sunri-e, and sank again at his 
they conceive! the idea of consecrating this tiower to 
Osiris, or the sun. 

This symbol of a youth sitting upon a lotos is very 
frequent on the Abraxases, or B>silidian stoi 
Mnntfaucon, torn, ii planche 15$, aud the •'Supple- 
ment." ic. torn. ii. lib. vii. chap. 5. 

J The ancients esteemed those flowers and trees the 
sweetest up >n winch the rainbow had appeared to 
rest ; and ihe wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices, 
was that which the smile of Iris had consecrated. 
Plutarch. Sympos. lib. iv. cap. 2. where (as Vossius 
remarks) Katovtn, ins'eid of /caAot'(ri, is undoubtedly 
the genuine reading. See Vossi s. fnr some curious 
particularities of the rainbow, De Origin, et Progress, 
ldololat. lib. iii. cip. 13. 

* " There are gardens, supposed to be those of King 
Solomon, in the neighbourhood of Rethlchem. The 
friars show a fountain, which, they say, is the 'sealed 
fountain ' to winch the holy 5 | ouse in the Canticles is 
cmpared ; nd they pretend a tradition, th>t Solomon 
shut up these springs and put his signet upon the door, 
to keep them for his own drinking."— Ma 
Trails. See also the notes to Mr. Good's Transla- 
tion of the Song of Solomon. 



" Say, where are all the kisses given, 

" From morn in n>ion, from noon to even,— 

"Tho.-e signets of true love, worth more 

"Tt an Solomon's own seal of yore, — 

" Where are those gifts, so sweet, so many? 

" Come, dearest,— give back all, if any." 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true, 
I saw a smile relenii g rise 
'Mid the moist azure of her eyes, 
Like d > light o'er a sea of blue, 
While yet "in mid air hanzs the dew. 
She let her cheek repo>e on mine, 
She let my anis arumd her twine; 
One kiss was half allowed, and then — 
The ring and seal were hers again. 



TO MISS SUSAN B— CKF— D» 
ON HER SINGING. 

I more than once have heard, at night, 
A sonic, like those thy lip hath given, 

And it was suns bv si apes of light, 

Who lookd and beath'd, like thee, of heaven. 

But this was all a dream of sleep, 

Aid I have said, when morning shone, 

" Why should he night wi ch. Fai cy. keep 
" These wonders for herself alune ?" 

I knew not then tha' fale had lent 

Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 
I knew not then tint Heaven had sent 

A voice, a form like thine on earth. 
And ye 1 , | n a || |i ]al fjnwerv maze 

Th'oi.gh w hich my i atli of life has led, 
When I have heard the swee'esi lays 

From lips of rosiest lustre shed ; 

When I have fell the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vying 

With music's own melodious bird, 
When on the rose's bosom lying ; 

Though form and song at once combin'd 
Their loveliest bloom and sofest thrill, 

My heart ea> hath piu'd 

For something lovelier, softer still: — 

Oh, I have found it all at last. 

In thee, tin u sweetest livii g lyre. 
Through which 'he sou I of song e'er pass'd, 

Or feeling breathd its sacred fire. 

All that I e'er, in wildest flight 

Of fancy's dreams, could hear or see 

Of musical sigh or beaotyV light 
Is real.z'd, at once, in U 



IMPROMPTU, 
ON LEAVING POME FRIENDS. 

O dulres ccmilnm rslete roetus! t'tlillu. 

No, never shall my soul forget 
The friends I found so cordial-hearted; 

Dear shall be the day we met. 
And dear shall be the night we parted. 

If fond regrets, however 

ne decav 
Vet still, when thus in mirth vo u meet. 
Fill high to him thai 's far away ! 



s The present Duchess of Hamilton. 



■ ^ — ^=^=: ^X 

JUVENILE POEMS. 89 


Long be the light of memory found 


But no, t is o'er, and — thus we part, 


Alive within your social glass ; 


Never to meet again,— no, never. 


Let that be still the magic lound, 


Faise woman, what a mind and heart 


O'er which Oblivicn dares not pass. 


Thy treachery has undone for ever 


A WARNING. 


WOMAN. 


TO. ~K 


Away, away —you 're all the s?.me, 


A smiling, fluttering, jilting throng ; 


Oh. fair as heaven and chaste as light ! 
Did nature mould theefill so bright, 
That thou shouldst e'e/ be brought to weep 


And, wise too la'e, 1 burn with shame, 
To think I 've been your slave so long. 


Slow to be won, and quick to rove, 
From folly kind, from cunning loath, 


O'er languid virti.e'sfla'al sleep, 


O'er shame extin^uish'd h"nour fled, 


Too cold for blis-, too weak for love, 


Peace lost, heart wiiher'd, feeling dead? 


Yet feigning all that 's best in both ; 


No, no ! a star was born with thee, 


Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, — 


Which sheds e'ernil purity. 


More joy it gives 10 woman's breast 


Thou hast, within those sainted eyes, 


To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true, manly lover blest. 


So fair a transcript of the skies, 


In lines of light such heavenly lore, 


That man should read them and adore. 


Away, away — your smile 's a curse — 
Oh ! blot me from the race of men, 


Yet hue I known a gentle maid 


Whose mind and form were both array'd 


Kind pitying Heaven, by death or worse, 


In nature's purest light, like thine; — 


If e'er I love such things again. 


Who wore thai clear, celestial sign, 




Which seems to mark the biow that 's fair 

For destiiy's peculiar rare: 






Whose b"som too, like Dian's own, 
Was guarded by a sacred zone, 


TO 




Where the br grit gem of virtue shone ; 


Noo-£t to ijuXrara. Euripida. 


Whose ryes had, in their light, a charm 




Against all wrong, and guile, and harm. 


Come, take thy harp — 't is vain to muse 


Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour, 


Upon the gathering ills we see ; 


These spells have lost their guardian power; 


Oh ! take thy harp and let me lose 


The gem has been beguil'd away ; 


All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 


Her eyes have Inst their chastening ray; 




The modest pride, the guiltless shame, 


Sing to me, love ! — though death were near, 


The smiles that from reflection came, 


Thv song cnild mike my soul forget — 


All, all have fled, and left her mind 


Nay, nav, in pity, diy that tear, 


A faded monument behind ; 


All may be well, be happy yet. 


The ruins of a once pure shrine, 

No longer fit for guest divine. 

Oh '. 't was a sight I wept to see — 

Heaven keep the lost one's fate from thee I 


Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear rnrp lie, 

Ai!d I will cease to dream of h-irm, 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh. 

Give me that strain of mournful touch, 






We us'd to love long, long ago, 


TO 


Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas ! they bleed to know. 




T is time, I feel, to leave thee now, 




While \et my soul is something free; 


Sweet notes ! they fell of former peace, 


While yet those dangerous eyes allow 


Of all that look'd so smiling then, 


One minute's thought to stray f om thee. 


Now vai ish'd. lost — oh, pray thee, cease, 


I cannot bear those sounds again. 


)h ! thou becom'st each moment dearer ; ; 




Ever)- chance that brings me nigh thee, 


Art thou, too, wretched ? yes, th^u art; 


Brings my ruin nearer, nearer, — 


I see thy tears flow fast wjih mine — 


I am lost, unless I fly thee. 


Come, come to this devoted heart, 


T is breaking, but it still is thine ! 


Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hale me, 
Doom me not thus so soon to fall ; 







Duties, fame, and hopes await me, — 




But that eye would blast Ihem all ! 


A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY. 


For, thou hast heart as false and cold 




As ever yet allur'd or sway'd, 
And couldst, without a sigh, behold 


T was on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met 


The venerable man ; • a healthy bloom 


The ruin which thyself had made. 


• In Plutarch's Essay on the Decline of the Oracles, 


Tet,— could I think that, truly fond, 


Cleombrotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an 


That eye but once would smile on me, 
F.v'n as thou art, how far bey nd 

Fame, duty, weal h, that smile would be! 


extraordinary man whrnn be had met with, after long 


research, upon the banks of the Red Sea. Once in 


every year this supernatural peisonage appeared to 


mortals, and conversed with them; ihe rest of his 


Oh ! but to win it, night and day, 


time he pas-ed among Ihe Genii and the Nymphs. 


Inglorious at thy feet reclin'd, 


Utpi Tnv iovOqclv -9/iXoo-o-av tigov, av8 Qtuir oi$ 1 


I 'd sigh my dreams of fame away, 
The world for thee forgot, resign'd. 


ava nav stoj Anai ivrvyxovovra, raXXa <?e avv < 


rats vvn<*>ais, vo/iuot Kai fai/j-uo-i, (is t<f>acKt. He j 



8* 



90 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Mingled its softness with the vigorous thought 
That tower'd upon his bow ; and, when he spoke, 
'Twas language sweeten'd into song — such holy 

sounds 
As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous hear, 
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven. 
When death is nigh ; i and still, as he unclos'd 
His sacred lips, an odour, all as bland 
As ocean-breezos gather from Ihe flowers 
That blossom in elysium.2 breath'd around. 
With silent awe we listen'd, while he told 
Of the dark veil which many an age had hung 
O'er Nature's form, till, long explored by man, 
The mystic shroud grew thin and luminous, 
And glimpses of that heavenly firm shone through :— 
Of magic wonders, that were known and taught 
By him (or Cham or Zornas:er named) 
Who mus'd amid the mighty cataclysm, 
O'er his rude table's of primeval lore ; 3 
And gathering round him, in the sacred ark, 
The mighty secre;s of that former globe, 
Let not the living star of science ■» sink 
Beneath the waters, which ingulph'd a world ! — 
Of visions, by Calliope reveal d 
To him, 5 who trac'd upon his typic lyre 



The diapason of man's mingled frame, 
And the grand Doric heptachord of heaven. 
With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane, 
Which the grave sons of Mochus, many a night, 
Told to the young and bright-hair'd visitant 
Of Carmel : s sacred mount.6 — Then, in a flow 



spoke in a tone not far removed from singing, and 
whene»er he rpened his lips, a fr.grance tilled the 
place: (pStyyontvov it tov to~ov tvuicia <a.Titxt, 
tov (tto/iotos ijiKnov aTToirvtoi/TOj. From Mm 
Cleombrolus learned the doctrine of a plurality of 
worlds. 

i The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little before his 
death, imagined that he heaid a strain uf music in the 
air. See the poem of Heinsius, '-In harmoniam 
quam paulo ante obitum audire sibi visus est Dousa." 
Page 501. 

a tv9a fidKapiuv 

vaaov uHuavictg 
avptu ntoinvtovcnv av- 
flt/ia it X9 VC0V 0*«Y«- 

Pindar. Olymj>. li, 

8 Cham, the son of Noah, is supp >s«i to have taken 
with him into the ark th-- principal doctrines of 
magical, or rather of n\'u al. science, which he had 
inscribed upon some vt ry durable snbs'auces, in order 
that they might re>ist Ihe ravages of Ihe deluge, and 
transmit the secrets of antediluvian knowledge to his 



depends upon the authority of Berosus (or rather the 
impostor Annius), and a few more such resectable 
testimonies. See Naude's Apologie p«ur les Grands 
Hommes, &c. chap, viii., where he takes more trou- 
ble than is necessary in refuting Ibis gratuitous suppo- 
sition. 

* Chamum a posteris hujus artis admira'oribus 
Zoroastrum, stu vivuin aslrum, prop'erea fuisse dic- 
tum et pro Deo habitum. — Bochart. Geugraph. Sacr. 
lib. iv. cap. 1. 

* Orpheus. — Paulinus, in his Hebdomades, cap. 2. 
lib. iii. has eudeavoured to show, after the Platouists, 
that man is a diapason, or octave, made up of a dia- 
tesseron, which is his soul, and a diapenle, which is 
his body. Those frequent allusions to music, by 
wb'ch ihe ancient philosophers illusrated their sub- 
lime theories, must have tended very much to elevate 
the character of the art, and to enrich it wi'h associa- 
tions of Ihe grandest and most interesting nature. See 
a preceding note, for their ideas upon the harmony of 
the spheres. Heraclitus ciniprtd the mixture of 
good and evil in this world, to the blended varieties 
of harmony in a musical instrument (Plutarch, de 
Animae Procreat. ;)and Euryphamus, the Pythagorean. 
in a fragment preserved by Stoliseus, de.-crihes human 
life, in its perfection, as a sweet and well-tuned lyre. 
Some of the ancients were so faidful as to suppose 
that the operations of the memory were regulated by 



a kind of musical cadence, and that ideas occurred to 
it "per arsin et thesin," while others converted th« 
whole man into a mere harmonized machine, whose 
motion depended upen a certain tension of the body, 
analogous to that of the strings in an instrument. 
Cicero indeed ridicules Aristoxenus for this fancy, 
and says, " Let him teach singing, ar.d leave phikso. 
phy to Aristotle ; " but Aristotle hin^elf, though de- 
cidedly opposed to the harmonic speculations of the 
Pythagoreans and Platonists, could sometimes con- 
descend to enliven his doctrines by reference to the 
beauties of musical science, - as, in the treatise Iltpt 
kocjiov altribu ed to him, KaBantg it tv X°t m t 
KOpvQatov KaraplavTOS, K. t. A. 

The Abbe Batteux, in his enquiry into the doctrine 
of the Stoics, attributes to those philosophers the 
fame mode of illustration. " L'ame etoit cause active 
is'j\s.iv atTtos ; le corps cause passive i^cje tov 
Ttacrxtiv : — Tune agis,-ant dans l'aulre ; et y pre- 
nant, par son action meme, un caractere. des furmes, 
des modifica ions, qu'elie n'avoit pas par elle-meme j 
a peu pres comme I'.iir. qui, chasse dans un instru- 
ment de musique, fait connoitre, par les ditferens >ons 
qu'il produit, les dilferentes modifications qu'il y re- 
coil." See a fine simile founded upm this notion in 
Cardinal Poliguac's poem, lib. 5. v. 734. 

6 Pythagoras is represented in Iamblichns as de- 
scending with great solemnity from Mount Carmel, 
for which reason the Carmelites have claimed him as 
one of their fraternity. This Mochus or Moschus, 
with the descendants of whom Pythagoras conversed 
in Phoenicia, and from whom he derived the doctrines 
of atomic philosophy, is supposed by some to be the 
same with Moses. Huett has adopted this idea, De- 
monstration Evangelique, Prop. iT. chap. 2. §7; and 
Le Cleic, amongst others, has refuted it See Bibliolh. 
Choisie, torn. i. p. 75. It is cer'ain, however, that 
the doctrine of atoms was known and promulgated 
long before Epicurus. '• With the fountains of Demo- 
critus," says Cicero, "the g.rdensof Epicurus were 
watered ; " and the learned author of the Intellectual 
Sys'em has shown, that all the early philosophers, till 
the time of Plato, were a'onns s. We fii:d Epicurus, 
however, hoisting that his tenets were new and un- 
borrowed, and perhaps few among the ancients had 
any stronger claim to originalitv. In truth, if we 
examine their schools of philosophy, notwithstanding 
the peculiarities which se.i 

each other, we may generally observe that the differ- 
ence is but verbal and trifling; and that, among those 
various and learned heresies, there is scarcely one to 
be selected, whose opinions are i's own. original and 
exclusive. The doe'rine of the world's eternity may- 
be traced through all the sec'.s. The continual me- 
tempsychosis of Pubagiras. the grand periodic year 
of the S'oics, (at the conclusion of w hich the universe 
is supposed to return to its origital order, and com- 
mence a new revolution,) the successive dissolution 
and combination of atoms maintained by the Epi- 
cureans — all these tenets are but different intima- 
tions of the same general belief in the eternity of the 
world. As explained by St. Austin, the periodic year 
of the Stoics disagrees only so far with the idea of the 
Py'hagoreans, that intead of an ei dless transmission 
of the soul through a variety of bodies, it restores the 
same body and soul to repeat their former round of 
exis'ence, so that the •' identical Plato, who lectured 
in the Academy of Athens, shall again and again, at 
certain intervals, during ft y. aypear 
in the same Academy and resume the same frac- 
tions — '' sic eadem tempora temporal i unique 

rerum volumina repeti, ut v. g. sicut in is'o szeulo 
Plato philosophus in urbe Atheniensi, in ea schota 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



91 



Of calmer conver-e, he beeuil"d us on 

Through many a maze of Garden and of Porch, 



quae Aca-Iemia dicta est, discipulos docuit, ita per 
innumerabilia retro saecula, mullum plexis quidem 
intervallis, sed certis, et idem Plato, et eadem civitas, 
eademque schola, iidemque discipuli repeliti et per 
innumerabilia deiide sxcula repetendi sint. — De 
Civitat Dei, lib. xii. cap. 13. Vanini, in his dia- 
logues, Ins given us a similar explication of the 
periodic revolutions of the world. " Ea de causa, 
qui nunc sunt in usu titus, cenlies millies fuerunt, 
totiesque renascentur quolies ceciderunt." 52. 

The paradoxical notions of the Stoics upon the 
beauty, the riches, the dominion of their imaginary 
sane, are among the most distinguishing characteristics 
of their school, and, according to their advocate Lip- 
sius, were peculiar to that sect. " Priora ilia (decreta) 
quae passim in philo-ophantium scholis feie obtinent, 
ista qua? peculiaiia hnic sectae et habent contradictio- 
nem : i. e. paradoxa " — Manuduct. ad Stoic. Philns. 
lib iii., dissertat. 2. But it is evident (as the Abbe 
Gamier has remarked, Memoires de 1'Arad., torn, 
xxxv.) that even these absurdities of the Stoics are 
borrowed, and tint Plato i- the source of all their ex- 
travagant paradoxes. We find their dogma, "dives 
qui sapiens," (which Clement of Alexandria has trans- 
ferred from the Philosopher to the Christian, Pjeda- 
goj., lib. iii., cap. 6.) expressed in the prayer of So- 
craes at the end of the Phaedrus. S2 <bt\c nav rt nai 
a\\oi baot TTjSt Stoi, cjoujts pot icaXa) ytvtaHat 
ravSoOtv raiuidtv at baa fX M > TOl S wros ttvat 
ftoi(pi\ta m n\ovawv dt vofii^nifii, tov ao<jiov. And 
many other instances might be adduced from the 
'Avreoao-Tai, the IIoAi7tKoc. &c. to prove that these 
weeds of paradox were all gathered among the bovvers 
of the Academy. Hence it is lhat Ciceo, in the pre- 
face to his Paradoxes, calls them S'Ciaiica; and Lip- 
sius, exulting in the patronage of Socrates, says " Me 
totus est noster." This is indeed a coalition, which 
evinces as much as can be wished the confused simili- 
tude of ancient philosophical opinions: the father of 
scepticism is here enrolled amongst the founders of the 
Portico; he, whose best knowledge was that of his 
own ignorance, is called in to authorize the pretcn 
sions of the most obstinate dogmatists in all antiquity. 
Rutilius, in his [tinerarium, has ridiculed the sab- 
bath of the Jews, as " las at i mollis imago Dei ;" but 
Epicurus gave an eternal hnlyday to his gods, and, 
rather than disturb the slumbers of Olympus, denied 
at once the interference of a Providence. He does 
not, however, seem to have been singular in this opin- 
ion. Theophilus of Antioch, if he deserve any cied it, 
imputes a similar belief to Pythagoras : — $r)rn (Tlv- 
Soyopos) T£ Tiav naVTiav S-eovs av9puiiruiv fiijctv 
(bpovriguv. And Plutarch, though so hostile to the 
followers of Epicurus, has unaccountably adopted the 
very same theological error. Thus, afer quoting the 
opinions of Anaxagoras and Plato upon divini y, he 
adds, Koii'iuj ovv a/iapravovaiv apfyoTtpot, 6ti 
tov Siov tnoiyaav truGTifyoii.tvov twv avBgia- 
ttlvuiv. — De Placit. Philosoph., lib. i., cap. 7. Plato 
himself has attributed a degree of indifference to the 
gods, which is not far removed from the apathy of 
Epicurus's heaven ; as thus, in his Philebus, where 
Pro'archus a-ks, Ovkovv a/coc y£ ovrt %atp£iv •*£- 
otic, o-ute to tvavTiov ; and Sociates answers Ilavit 
ptv ovv EtKoc, aaxiipov yovv avrtuv tKartpov 
ytyvoptvov tariv; — while Aristotle supposes a still 
more absurd neutrality, and concludes, by no very 
flal'ering analogy, that the deity is as incap.ble of 
virtue as of vice. Kai yap thanto ovitv &r)ptov tan 
/ca/aa, ovS' aptrrj, ovtws ovSt Stov. — Ethic Nico- 
mach. lib. vii. cap. 1. In truth, Aristotle, upon the 
subject of Providence, was little more correct than 
Epicurus. He suppo-ed the moon to be the limit of 
divine interference, excluding of course this sublunary 
world from its influence. The first definition of the 
world, in his treatise TLtpt Koapov (if this treatise be 
really the work of Aristotle) agrees, almost verbum 



Through many a system, where the scattered .ight 
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 



verbo, with that in the letter of Epicurus to Pytho- 
cles ; and both omit the mention of a deity. In his 
Ethics, too, he intima'esa doubt whether the gods feel 
any in erest in the concerns of mankind. — Et yap 
T*S tni/itXtia rmv avOguiriviuv vno S-tmv yivtrat. 
It is true, he adds, "S2<rn-£p 6oku, but eveu this is very 
sceptical. 

In these erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, we trace 
the cause of that general neglect which his philosophy 
experienced among the early Christians. Plato is sel- 
dom much more orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm 
of his style allowed them to accommodate all his fan- 
cies to their own purpose. Such glowing steel was 
easily moulded, and Hatonism became a sword in the 
hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in their 
school, was a power as contemptibly inefficient as the 
rest. AH was fate in the sys'em of the Portico. The 
chains of destiny were thrown over Jupiter himself, 
and their deity was like the Borgia of the epigram- 
matist, "et Caesar et uihil." Not even the language 
of Seneca can reconcile this degradation of divinity. 
" Me ipse omnium conditor ac rector scripsit quidam 
fata, sed sequitur ; semper paret, semel jussit." — Lib. 
de Procidentia, cap. 5. 

With re pect to the difference between the Stoics, 
Peripatetics, and Academician*, the following woids 
of Cicero prove that he saw but little to distinguish 
them from each other : — " Peripatelicos et Academi- 
cos, nominibus ditfetentts, re congruentes ; a quibus 
Stoici i psi verbis n.agis quam sententiis dissenserunt." 
— Academic, lib. ii. 5 ; and perhaps what Reid has 
remarked upon one of their points of controversy 
might be applied as effectually to 'he reconcilement 
of all the rest. " The dispute between the Stoics and 
Peripatetics was probably all for want of definition. 
The one said they were »ood under the control of rea- 
son, the oher that they should be eradicated." — 
Essayi, vol. iii. In short, it appears a no less difficult 
matter to establish the boundaue of opinion between 
any two of the philosophical sects, than it would be 
to "fix the landmarks of those estates in the moon, 
which Rieciolus so geneiously allotted to his brother 
astronomers. Accordingly we observe some of the 
greatest men of antiquity passing without scruple from 
school to school, according to the fancy or conve- 
nience of the moment. Cicero, the father of Roman 
philo-ophy, is sometimes an Academician, sometimes 
a Stoic ; and, more than once, he acknowledges a con- 
formity with Epicurus; " non sine causa igitur Epi- 
curus ausus est dicere semper in pluribus bonis esse 
sapienem, quia semper sit in voluptatibus." — Tus- 
culan.Quxst. lib. v. Though often pure in his theo- 
logy, Cicero sometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction ; 
thus, in his Oration for Cluentius, speaking of punish- 
ments in the life to come, he says, " Quae si falsa sunt, 
id quod omnes intelligunt, quid ei tandem aliud mors 
eripuit, praeter sensum doloris?'': — though here we 
should, perhaps, do him but justice by agreeing with 
his commentator Sylvius, who remarks upon this 
passage, " Haec autem dixit, ut cau s a? suae subservi- 

j ret. 1 ' The poet, Horace, roves like a butterfly through 
the schools, and now wings along the walls of the 
Porch, now basks among the flowers of the Garden ; 
while Virgil, with a tone of mind strongly philosophi 
cat, has \et left us wholly uncertain as to the sect 

I which he espoused. The balance of opinion declares 
him to have been an Epicurean, but the ancient au- 
thor of his life asserts that he was an Academician ; 
and we trace through his poetry the tenets of almost 

i all the leading sects. The same kind of eclectic in- 
difference is observable in most of the Roman writers. 
Thus Propertius, in the fine elegy to Cynthia, on Ms 
departure for Athens, 

Illic vel studiis animuro ememlare Platonis, 
Incipiarn, aut horlis, docte Epicure, tuis. 

Lib. iii. Eleg. 21. 



92 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



From the pure sun, which, though refracted all 

Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still. * 

And bright through every change ! — he spoke of Him, 

The lo e,2 eernal One. who dweltfl aUne, 

And of the soul's untraceable descent 

From tha' high fount of spirit, through the grades 

Of intellectual being, till it mix 

With a'oius vague, corrup'ible arid dark; 

Nor ye' ev'n then, though sunk in e.r bly dross, 

Corrupted all. nor its ethereal touch 

Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still. 

As some bright river, which has roll d along 

'I hrough meads ot flowery !igh' and mines of gold, 

When pou 'he dusky deep, 

Disdains to take at unce i's briny taint, 

But keeps unchanged awhile 'he lustrous tinge, 

Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left.3 

i Lic'antius asserts that all the truths of Christiani- 
ty mav be found dispetsed through the ancient philo- 
sophical <ects, a'.d that any m e who would c Uect 
these scattered fragmens of orthodoxy might f.rm a 
c<>de in no tespec' differing from that of the Christian. 
"Si extitisset aliquis. qui veritatem sparsam per sm- 
gulns per secta-que diti'usani coliigeret in uuum, ac 
redigetet in corpus, is p'ofecio nou dissentiret a no- 
bis."— Inst. lib. vi. c. 7. 

* To fiovov Kai iprjfiov. 



And here the old man ceased — a winged train 
Of mmphs aid genii bore him from our eyes. 
The fair illusion"t:ed! ai.d. as 1 wak'd, 
T was clea r that my rapt soul had roamed, the while, 
To tha- brieht realm of dteams, tha! spirit-world, 
Which mortals know by its lotig trek of light 
O'er midnight's sky, and call the Galaxy.* 



TO MRS. 



Though Broeckhusius here reads, ''dux Epicure."' 
which seems to fix the poet under the banners of Epi- 
curus. Even the Stoic Seneca, w h se doctrines have 
been considered so orthodi x, that St. Jerome has 
ranked him amongst the ecclesiastical writers, while 
Boccaccio doubts fin con Mention of his supposed 
correspondence with St P.ul) whether Dante should 
have pi .eel him in Limb> with the rest of the Pa- 
gans — even Hie rig.d Seneca has beloved such com- 
mend 'lions on Epicurus, tha if only those passages of 
hisw rkswere preserved to us. wee nid n • 
I think, in pronouncing him a confirmed Ep co'ean. 
Wi h similar incoi sistency. we find Porphyry, in hi* 
work upon abstinence, 'efe ring hi Eji eu' s »s an ex- 
ample of the most str ct Pythagorean emperance ; and 
Lancelotti (he author of •• Fa'falloni degli an ici Is- 
torici'') has been seduced by this ?rave reputation of 
Epicurus in'o he ab urd error 'f associating him wi:h 
Chrvsii pn*. as a chief of the Stoic school. There s 
no d tub', indeed, that however the Epcurean sect 
might have relaxed from its original puri v, the 
l its f under were as correct a? how of any 
am ng the ancient philosophers; ad bis doctrines 
upon pleasure. a< explained m he letter :o Menoeceus, 
are rational, amiable, a- d con istenl with o U r nature 
A la'c writer, De Sahiois. in his Grands Houm.es 
vei ges. expresses strong ind he En- 

cycloped s es for the r just a:.d anim ted praises of 
Epicurus, and discussing the iiuesti n, -si ce philo- 
s phe etoit vertueux " denie- it upon no other autho- 
rity than the calumnies collected by P'u'arch, who 
himself confsses that, on this particular -uljfcf, l.e 
consulted on'y . pinion and report, Witt ou' pausing to 
investigate their truth. — AAAa ti/v (Jolav, ov t»?v 
nXn'Jtiav aKoirov^itv To ihe factions ?eal of his 
illiberal livals, 'he Stoics, Epicure* chiefly owed these 
gross mi-repre-enta'ions of the li'e and c; 
himse'f and his associates, which, notwithstanding 'he 
learned exertions of Ga««endi, have still left an odium 
on ihe i ame of his philosophy; and we i u;h r to exa- 
mine the ancient accounts of this philosopher with 
about the same deg'ee of cau ious bel ef which, in 
reading ecclesiastical history, we > ield to tie i vec 
tives of the fathers against the beetics.— Musing s 
li tie to llu'rch upon a dogma of Epicur. - 
would to V e vrhement St. Cyril up >u a ten; 
tonus. (ISOI.) 

The preceding remak«. I wi«h the reader to ob- 
serve, were written at a time, when 1 thought the 
studies to which they refer much more impor.n' as 
well as more amusing than, I freely confess, they ap- 
pear to me at present 



To see thee every day that came, 
And find thee still each day he same; 
In pleasure's smile, or s rrow's tear 
To me stiil ever kind and dear ; — 
To meet ihee early, leave 'bee late, 
Has been so iong my bliss, my fate, 
That life, Without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sun-hme. every day, 
And all my pain, n.y soirow cha-'d, 
Is now a lone and loveles- waste. 

Where are the chords she oyd to touch ? 
The aiis, the songs she lov'd s ' much ? 
Those songs are hiul.M, 'hose choids are still, 
And so, perhaps, will every thrill 
Of feeling soon be lull d to're- 
Wh.cti la'e I vtak'd in Anna- breast. 
Yet, no — ihe simple notes 1 play'd 
From memoiy's tablet soon u ay fade; 
The songs, » hich Anna lov'd to hear, 
sfa from her he-rl and ear; 
But friendsh p's voice shall ever find 
An echo in tha' gen) 
Nor memory loae nor lime impair 
The tympaihies that tremble there. 



TO LADY HEATHCOTE, 



ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TCNBRIDGE- 
WELLS. 

"Tunnebridee e»t a la meme diftsnee de Lrdres, qo* 
Fontainebleau IV»i de Paris. Ce qo'il y a de bean el de 
fslaiil dan* fou el dso« fanlre tu-xt t'j nasemble ■■ 
terns des raux. La compisme," &.c. Ac. 

See Memoir, i it Grammonl, Second Part. chip. Hi. 

Trmlridgt- fVtllt. 
When Grammont grae'd these happy springs, 

A' d I 

The merriest w gbl nf a' I the kings 
That ever rul'd 'hese g y. gallant isles; 

Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd, 

At eve, they did as we i 
And Grammont jus' like Spencer talk'd. 

And lovely S ewart sn.ii'd like you. 

The only d fferenl trait is this. 

I hat w man then, if man beset her, 
Was rather given to sa> ii g 

Because, — a* ;. ; i tter. 

Each night they bed a c 

Where, evrry fear lo slumber charm 'd, 
Lovers »e e ail they ough to te. 

A dbubuJ ni'd. 

» This bold Pla'onic imaee I 1 

sychosis, inser ed 

* According to Py hagoras, the people of Dreams 
are s mis . — Ao>«c 

it ovttpuv, Kara lit 'ia-y oral', al 
y<o*6at' dijtnv «j tow yaAagtav. — Pgrpkyr. db) 
.Intro .VymyA. 



JUVENILE POEMS 



93 



Then call'd they up their schoolday pranks, 
Nor thought It much her sense beneath 

To play at riddles, qui) s, and cranks, 
And lords show'd wit, and l.idies teeth. 

As _ '■ Why are husbands like the mint ? " 
Because, forsooth, a hu ? band's duty 

Is but lo el the name ;.nd print 
That give a currency to beauly. 

" Why is a rose in nettles hid 

" Like a young widow, fresh and fair ? " 
Because 't is sighing to be rid 

Of wetds, that " have no business there ! " 

And ihus they miss'd and thus they hit, 

And now ihey struck and now they parried J 

And some lay in of full-grown wit. 
While others of a pun miscarried. 

T was one of those facetious nights 
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring 

For breaking grave conui drum-riles, 
Or puuning ill, or— some such thing: — 

From whence it cm be fairly trae'd, 

Through many a branch and many a bough, 

From twig to twig, until it grae'd 
The snowy hand that wears it now. 

All this I '11 prove, and then, to you, 
Oh, I unbndge ! and your springs ironical, 

I swear by Heathcote's eye of bli.e 
To dedicate th' important chronicle. 

Long may your ancient inmates give 
Their maniles to your modern lodgers, 

And Charle-'s loves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles's bards revive in Rogers. 

Let no pedantic fools be there; 

For ever be those f ps abolish'd, 
With heads as wooden as thy ware, 

And, heaven knows ! not half so polish'd. 



The few who know the rare delight 
Of reiding Grammont every day, 
And acting Grammont every night. 



THE DEVIL AMONG THE SCHOLARS, 
A FRAGMENT. 

Tt Ka.Kov o ytXojc ; 
Chrysost. Hoinil. in Epist. ad Hebrxos. 
* * * • 

But, whither have the=e gentle ones, 
These rosy nvmphs and black-eyed nuns, 
With all of Cupids wild romancing, 
Led my trua: t brains a dancing? 
Instead of studying tomes scholastic, 
Ecclesi s:ic, or monas'ic, 
Oil' 1 fly, careering far 
In chase of Pollys, prettier far 
Than any of their namesakes are,— 
The Polymaths and Polyhistors, 
Polyglot's and all their sisters. 
So have I known a hopeful vouth 
Sit down in quest of lore and truth, 
With tomes sufficient to c nfound him, 
Like Tohu Bohu, heap'd aound him,— 
Mamurra i stuck to I heophrastus, 
And Galen tumbling o'er Bombaslus.* 



i Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who never 
doubled about any thing, except who was his father. 
— " Nulla de re unquam praeterquam de patre dubi- 
tavit." — InVit. He was very learned — "La-de- 
dans, (thai is, in his head when it was opened,) le 



When 1 a ! while all that 's learn'd and wise 
Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, 
And hrough the window of his study 
Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 
With eyes, as brightly turii'd upun him at 
The angels 3 were on Hieronymus. 
Quick tiy the folios, widely scatter'd, 
Old Homer's laurel'd brow is batier'd, 
And Sappho, headlong sent, flies just in 
The reverend eye of St. Augustin. 
Raptur'd he quits each dozing sage, 
Oh, woman, for thy lovelier page: 
Sweet book ! — unlike ihe books of art,— 
Whose eirors aie thy faiiest part ; 
In whom ihe dear errata column 
Is the best page in all Ihe volume \ * 

But to begin my subject rhyme — 
'T was jus 1 about this devil i-h time, 
When scarce theie happeu'd any frolics 
That were not done by Diabolics, 
A cold and loveies, son of Lucifer, 
Who woman scoin'd, nor saw the use of her, 
A bianch of Dagon'* family, 
(Which Dagon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that easily belter is 
Refen'd to Seal ger 5 et ceteris,) 
Finding thai, in (his cage of fools, 
The wisest so s adorn the schools, 
Took it at once his head Satanic in, 
To grow a great scholastic manikin, — 



Puniqne heurle le Persap, l'Heb eu choque l'Arabi- 
que, pour ne point pailer de la mauvaise intelligence 
du Latin avtc le Gi ec," &c— See VHistoire de. Mornt- 
maur, torn. ii. p 91. 

2 Bombastus was one of the names of that great 
scholar and quack Paracelsus. — ■' Philippus Bombas- 
tus latet sub splendido tegmine Aureoli 1 heophrasti 
Paracelsi,'' says Sladelius de circumforanea Lilera- 
toruio vanitate. — He used to fight Ihe devil every 
niglit with a broadswoid, to the no small terror of his 
pupil 0| orinus, who has lecorded the circumstance. 
iVide Op r in. Vit apud Chris ! ian. Gryph.Vit Select, 
quoruiidam Eruditis innruin, &c.) Paracelsus had 
but a poor opinion of Galen: — "My very beard 
(says he in hi Paraxial uin) has more learning in it 
than either Galen or Avicenn a." 

3 The angel, who scolded St. Jerom for reading 
Cicero. asGiatian lel ! s the story in his " Concordantia 
discordaniium Canonum,"' and says, that foi this lea 
son bishops we e not allowed lo read ihe Class'fi-. 
" Episcopus Gentilium libros non legat.'' — Di.t-.nci. 
37. Bui Gratian is no ori' us for lying— besides, 
angels, as the illustrious pupil of Pantenus asr ires us, 
hive got no tongues. Ovx' <"C imiv ra lora, oi/riuc 
ekziv etc f) yXwrra- otifj' av ogyava tic Cwt] (puivrjs 
oyytAoic. — Clem. Alexand. Stromat. 

* The idea of the Rabbins, respecting the origin of 
w man, is not a little singulir. 'Ihey think hat man 
was originally fo med with a tail. Ike a monkey, but 
that the Dei y cut off i his a| pelidage, and made woman 
of it. Upon ihis extraordinary suppoaition the fol- 
lowing reflection is founded : — 

If 



the 



ie between women ano men, 
The ninny »ho weds is a pitiful ell, 
For he lakes to his tnil like an idiot again, 
And thus makes a deplorable ape of himself. 

Yet, if we may judge as the fashions prevail, 
Every husband remembers th' original plan. 

And, knowing his wife is no more than his tail, 

Why he— leaves her behind him as much as he can. 

SSciliger. de Emendat. Tempor. — Dagon was 
thought by others lo be a certain sea-monster, who 
cme every day out of the Red Sea to leach the 
Syrians husbandry. — See J.aques Gaff'arel (Curiosites 
lnouies, chap, i.), who savs lie thinks this story of 
the sea-monster "carries little show of probability 
with it." 



94 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



A doctor, quite as learn'd and fine as 

Scotus John or Tom Aquinas,* 

Lully, Hales Irrefragabilis, 

Or any doctor of the rabble is. 

In languages ,2 the Polyglots, 

Cotnpar'd to hini, wereBabel sots; 

He chaiiei'd more than ever Jew did, 

Sanhedrim and Priest included, 

Priest and holy Sanhedrim 

Were one-and seven'y fools to him. 

Bui chief the learned demon felt a 

Zeal so strong for gamma, delta, 

That, all for "Greek and learning's glory,* 

He nightly tippled " Graeco more," 

And never paid a bill or balance 

Except upon the Grecian Kalends : — 

From whence your scholars, when they want tick, 

Say. to be flic's to be cm tick, 

In logics, he was quite Ho Panu ; 4 

Knew as much as ever man knew. 



i I wish it were known with any degree of cer 
tainty whether the Commentary on Boethius attri- 
buted to Thomas Aquinas be really the work of this 
Angelic Doctor. Theie are seme bold assertions 
hazarded in it: for instance, he says that Plato kept 
school in a town called Academia, and 'hat Alcibiades 
was a very beautiful woman whom some of Aristo'le's 
pupils fell in love with : — " Alcibiades mulier fuit 
pulcherrma, quam videntes quidam discipuli Aris- 
totelis," &c. — See Freytag jldparat. Littcrar. art. 
86. torn. i. 

5 The following compliment was paid to Lauren- 
tius Valla, upon his accurate knowledge of the Latin 
language : — 



Sinoe Val arriv'd in Pluto's shade. 
His nouns and pronouns all so pat in, 

Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say his soul 's his own, in Latin ! 

See for these lines the " Auctorum Censio"of Du 
Verdier (page 29.) 

* It is much to be regretted that Martin Luther, 
with all his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar 
enough to laugh at Camerarius for writing to him in 
Greek. " .Master Joachim (says he) has sent me 
some dates and some raisins and has also written me 
two Idlers in Greek. As soon as I am recovered, I 
shall answer them in Turkish, that he too may have 
the pleasure of reading what he does not understand." 
" Graeca sunt, legi n n possum," is the ignorant speech 
attributed to Accursius; but very unjustly: — for, far 
from a-serting that Greek could not be read, that 
worthy juris-consult upon the Law 6 D. de Bouor. 
Kpressly says, "Graecas literae postunt intel- 
ligi et legi." (Vide Nov. Libror. Rarior. Collection. 
Fascic. IV.) — Scipio Carteromachus seems to have 
been of opinion that there is no salvation out of the 
pale of Greek Literature: "Via prima salutis Grata 
pamletur ab urbe:" and the zeal of Laurentius 
Riiod omannus cannot be sufficiently admired, when 
he exhorts his countrymen. '' P^r gloriani Chrisii, per 
salutem patriae, per reipublica decus et emolumen 
turn," to study the Greek language. Nor must we 
forget Phavorinus, the excellent Bishop of Nocera, 
who, careless of a I the usual commendations of a 
Christian, required no further eulogium on his tomb 
than " Here lieth a Greek Lexicographer." 

*'0 -rravv. — The introduction of this language 
into English poetry has a good etlVct, and ought" to be 
more universally adopted. A word or two of Greek 
in a stanza would serve as ballast to the most "light 
o' love " verses. Ausouius, among the ancients, may- 
serve as a model : — 

Ov lap /i(ri $tu.t'c ta-Tiv in hac rrgione fitvovn 

Aj-iov ib nostris tridivca e-se k.i. 



He fought the combat syllogistic 

With so much skill and art eristic, 

That though you were the learned Stagirite, 

At once upon the hip he had you right. 

In music, though he had no ears 

Except for that amongst the spheres, 

(Which most of all, as he averr'd it, 

He dearly loved, 'cause no one heard it,) 

Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 

Each tuneful diagram in Bede, 

And find, by Euclid's corollaria, 

The ratios of a jig or aria. 

But, as f r all your warbling Delias, 

Otpheuses and Saint Cecilias, 

He ow n'd he thought them much surpass'd 

Bv thai redoubted HyaiocIasM 

Who still contriv'd by dint of throttle, 

Where'er he went to crack a bottle. 

Likew i-e to show his mighty knowledge, he, 
On things unknown in physiology, 
Wrote many a chapter to divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albeitus,) 
Wherein he show'd the reason why, 
When children first are heard to cry 
If boy the baby chance to be, 
He cries A! — if girl, E! — 
Which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints 
Respecting their first sinful pa:ents; 
"Oh, Eve! "excliimeth little madam, 
While little master cries " Oh, Adam '. " 8 

But, 't was in Optics and Dioptrics, 
Our daemon play'd his fist aud top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quicker 
Through wine than any other liquor; 
And though he saw no great objection 
To steady light and clear reflection, 
He though' the abenating ra\s, 
Which | lay about a bumper's blaze, 
Were by he Doctors look'd, in common, on, 
As a more rare and rich pheni menon. 
He wisely said that the sensorium 
Is for the eyes a great emporium, 
To which these noted picture-stealers 
Send all they can and meet with dealers. 
In inai y an optical proceeding 
The brain, he said, show'd great good breeding; 
For instance, when we ogle w men 
(A trick which Baibara tiitord him in,) 
Although the dears are apt to get in a 
Strange position on the retina, 
Yet ins atjtlv the modest brain 
Doth set them on their legs again ! * 

Our doctor thus, with "stuff'd sufficiency" 
Of all omnigenous omnisciencv, 
Began (as who would not begin 
That had, like him. so much within?) 
To let it out in books of all sorts, 
Folios, quartos, large and small sorts; 
Poems, so very deep ar d sensible 
That they were quite incomprehensible,' 



Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his sonnets 
and odes with many an exquisite morsel from the 
Lexicon. His "che're Entelechie," in addie.-sing his 
mistress, can only be equalled by Cowley's "Anii- 
peris'asis." 

* Or Glass-Breaker— Morhofius has given an ac- 
count of this extraordinary man, in a work, publish- 
•• De vi ieo scyph • fracso,'' &c. 

6 Translated almost literally from a passage in 
Albertus de Secret is, kc. 

i Alluding to that habitual ->cf of the judgment, by 
which, notwithstanding the inversion of ri 
upon the retina, a correct impression of the object is 
conveyed to the sensorium. 

ve " the Devil 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



95 



Prose, which had been at learning's Fair, 
ADd bought up all (he trumpery ihere, 



found out the uses of incomprehensibility, when he 
was appointed secretary to a society of philosophers 
at Nuremberg, chiefly for his ingenuity in writing a 
cabalistical letter, not one word of which either they 
or himself could interpret. See the Eloge Historique 
de M. de Leibnitz, l'Europe Savaule. — People in all 
ages have loved to be puzzled. We find Cicero 
thanking Allicus for having sent him a work of Sera- 

fiion 'ex quo (says he) quidem ego (quod inter nos 
iceatdicere) millesimam partem vix intelligo." Lib. 
ii. epist. 4. And we know that Avicenna, the learned 
Arabian, read Aristotle's Metaphysics forty times over 
for the mere pleasure of being able to inform the 
world that he could not comprehend one syllable 
throughout them. (Nicolas Massa in Vit. Avicen.) 



The tatter'd rags of every vest, 

In which the Greeks and Romans drest, 

And o'er her figure swoll'n and antic 

Scaiter'd them all with airs so frantic, 

That those, who saw what fits she had, 

Declar'd unhappy Prose was mad ! 

Epics he wroie and scores of rebusses, 

All as neat as old Turnebus's j 

Eggs and al ars, cyclopaedias, 

Grammars, prayer-books — oh ! 'twere tedious, 

Did 1 but tell thee half, to follow me: 

Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy, 

No — nor the hoary Trismegistus, 

(Whose writings all, thank heaven ! have miss'd us,) 

E'er fill'd with lumber such a wareroom 

As this great " porcus literaruni 1" 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



TO FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA, 

GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MAS- 
TER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CON- 
STABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC. 

My Lord, — It is impossible to think of addressing 
a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to 
mind the well-known reply of the Sparlan to a rheto- 
rician, who proposed to pronounce an eulogium on 
Hercules. " On Hercules !" said the honest Spartan, 
"who ever thought of blaming Hercules?" In a 
similar manner the concurrence of public opinion has 
left to the panegyrist of your Lordship a very super- 
fluous task. I shall, therefore, be silent on the subject, 
and merely entreat your indulgence to the very hum- 
ble tribute of gratitude which! have here the honour 
to present. 

I am, my Lord, 

With every feeling of attachment 
arid respect, 
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 
27 Bury Street, St. James's, 
April 10, 1806. 



PREFACE.* 

The principal poems in the following collection 
were written during an absence of fourteen months 
from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not 
the motive of my voyage to America, yet it happened 
that the gratification of curiosity was the only advan- 
tage which I derived from it. Finding myself in the 
country of a new people, whose infancy had promised 
so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an 
object of such interesting speculation, I determined to 
employ the short period of lime, which my plan of 
return to Europe afforded me, in travelling through a 
few of the S'ales, and acquiring some knowledge of 
the inhabitants. 

The impression which my mind received from the 
character and manners of these republicans, suggested 
the Epistles which are written from the city of Wash- 
ington aud Lake Erie.s How far I was right, in thus 



l This Preface, as well as the Dedication which 
precedes it, were prefixed originally to the miscella- 
neous volume emitled " Odes and Epistles," of which, 
hitherto, the poems relating to my American tour 
have formed a part. 

a Epistles VI., VII. and VIII. 



assuming the tone of a sa'irist against a people whom 
I viewed but as a stranger and a visiter, is a doubt 
which my feelings did not aliow me time to investi- 
gate. All 1 presume to answer for is the fidelity of 
the picture which I have given ; and though prudence 
might have dictated gentler language, truth, I think, 
would have justified severer. 

V went to America with prepos'essions by no means 
unfavourable, and indeed rather indulged in many of 
those illusive ideas, with respect to the purity of the 
government and the primitive happiness of the people, 
which 1 had early imbibed in my native country, 
where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances 
every distant temptation, and the western world has 
long been looked to as a retreat from real or imagi- 
nary oppression; as, in short, the elysian Atlantis, 
where persecuted patriots might find their visions 
realised, and be welcomed by kindred spiris to liberty 
and repose. In all these flatteting expeclatii ns I 
found myself completely disappointed, and felt in- 
clined to say to America, as Horace says to his mis- 
tress. " intentata uitts." Brtssot, in the preface to his 
travels, observes, that "freedom iu that country is 
carried to so high a degree as to border upon a stale 
of nature ;" and there certainly is a close approxima- 
tion to savage life, not oily in the liberty which they 
enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit and of pri- 
vate animosity which results from it. This illiberal 
real embitters all sc cial intercourse; aid, though I 
scarcely could hesitate in selecting the party, whose 
views appeared to me the more pme and i at tonal, yet 
I was soiry to observe that, in asserting their opinions, 
they both a some an equal shnie r.f intolerance ; the 
Democrats consistently with their principles, exhibit- 
ing a vulgarity of rancour, which the Federalists too 
often are so forgetful of their cause as to imitate. 

The rude familiarity of ihe lower orders, and in- 
deed the unpolished state of society in generd, would 
neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed to flow 
from that simplicity of character, that honest igno- 
rance of the gl ss of refinement which may be looked 
for in a new and inexperienced people. But, w hen 
we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, 
and all the pride of civilisation, while they aie still 
so far removed from its higher and better character- 
istics, it is impossible not to feel that this youthful de- 
cay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of 
corruption, must re rrss e\er\ sanguine hope of the 
future energy and greatness of America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, 
I have said just enough to orftnd, and by no mems 
sufficient to convince ;" for the limits of a preface pre- 
vent me from entering into a justification of my opin- 
ions, and 1 am commit ed on the subject as effectually 
as if I had wiitlen volumes in their dtfence. My 
re. der, however, is apprised of Ihe veiy cuisory ob- 



96 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



^rvation upon which these r pinions are fo inded,and 
can easily d. c;de for himself upon the degree of atten- 
tion nr confidence which they merit. 

With lespectio the poerns 'in general, which occupy 
the following pages, l" know not in what manner to 
apologise to he public for intruding upon their notice 
such a iiws rf uncoiii.ee ed trifles, such a world of 
epicurean atoms as I have here brought In conflict 
together i To say that I have been templed by the 
liberal offers of my bookseller, b an excuse which 
can hope for but liitle indulgence from the critic; yet 
I 1 own that, wilhoul this seasonable inducement, these 
poems very possibly would never have been submit- 
ted to the world. The glate of publication is too 
strong for such imperfect productions : they should be 
shown but to he eye of fiiendship, in that dim light 
of privacy which "is as favourable to poetical a< to 
female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while i! 
enhances every charm which it disphy-. Besides, 
this is not a period for the idle occupations of poetry, 
and times like the present require talents more active 
ar.d nine useful. Few have now the leisure to read 
such trifles, and I most sincerely regret that I have 
had the leisuie to write them. 



POEMS 
RELATING TO AMERICA 



TO LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE 

AZORES, BV MOONLIGHT. 

Sweet Moon! if, like Crotona's sage,» 

By any spell my hand could dare 
To make thy disk its ample page, 

And write mv thoughts, my wishes there; 
How many a friend, whose careless eye 
Now wanders o'er that strry <kv. 
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet 
The recollection, kind and sweet, 
The reveries of fond irgret. 
The promise, ntver to fo set. 
And all my heart and soul would send 
To many a dear-lov'd, distant friend 1 

How little, when we parted last, 
I thought those pleasant times were past, 
For eve pa-t, when brilliant joy 
Was all my vacant heart's employ : 
When. Irish from mirth to niirh again, 

We thought the rapid houis too few; 
Our only use for knowledge then 

To gather bliss from all we ki evv. 
Delicious days of whim and -oul '. 

When, mingling io'e and bu»h together, 
We lean'd the book . n Pie <sun s ba\\ 1, 

And lurn'd the leaf with f, llv - s feather. 
Little I thought that ill were fled, 
That, ere tha' summer's bio m »as shed, 
My eye should see the sail uufurl'd 
That wafts me to the western world. 

And yet, 't was time ;— in youth's sweet days, 
To cool' that season's glowing ray?. 
The heart awhile, with wanton wing, 
May dip and dive in Pleasured spring; 
But, if it wait for winter's breeze. 
The spring will chill, the heart will freeze. 
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope,— 

Oh I she awak'd such happy dreams, 
And gave my soul such tempting scope 

For a I its dearest, fondest schemes, 



i See the foregoing Note, p. 95, I. 

» Pythagoras; who was supposed to have a pnwei 

ot writing upon the Moon by the 

mirror. — See Bayle, art. Pythae:. 



That not Verona's child of song, 

When fl>ing from the Phrygian snore, 

With lighter heart could bouDd along, 
Or pant to be a wanderer more !•> 

Even now delusive hope will steal 
Amid the dark regrets I feel, 
Soothing, as yon<!er placid beam 

Pursues the murmuiers of the deep, 
And lights them with consoling gleam, 

And smiles them into tranquil sleep. 
Oh ! such a blesstd night as thi«, 

I often think, if friends were near. 
How we should feel, and gaze with bliss 

Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! 

The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And, o'er its calm the vessel glides 
Gently, as if it fear'd to uake 

The s umber of the silent tides. 
The oi.ly envious cloud that lowers 

Hath hung its >hade on Pico's height,* 
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers, 

And scowling at this heav'n of light, 
Exults to see the infant storm 
Cling darkly round his giant form ! 

Now, could I range those verdant isles, 

Invisible, at this soft hour, 
And see the lo> ks, the beaming smiles, 

That brighten many an orange bower; 
And c uld I lift each pious veil, 

And see the blushing cheek it shades,— 
Oh ! I should have full many a tale, 

To tell of young Azonan maids * 
Yes, S'rangford, at this hour, perhaps, 

Some lover (not too idly blest. 
Like those, who in thei ladies' laps 

Mai cradle every wi h to rest,) 
Warbles, o touch his dear one's soul, 

Those madrigals, if breath divine. 
Which Cam' ens' harp from Rapture s'ole 

And gave, all glowing warm, to thine.* 
Oh! culd the love learn fr nn rhee, 

And breathe them with th> graceful tone, 
Such s»eet, beguiling minst elsy 

Would make the coldest nymph his own. 

But, hark ! — the boatswain's pipings tell 
T is time to bid mv dream farewell : 
Eight bells: — Ihe'middie wa:ch is set; 
Good night, my Strai gfoid !— ne'er forget 
That, far beyond the »e« ern sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 



Ovjioc c*t rro-r' t/toc - 



• fit irooo-iiaji « racV 



Tivuxtkc ravBpui-tia jin o-c£tii> ayav. 
\yl. Fragment. 
A beam of tranquillity smil'd in the west, 

The storms of the morning pursued i s nc more ; 

And the wave, while il \»elcnm'd the momint of est, 

Still heav'd. as remembering ills that were o'ei. 



i of a magic 



3 A'luding to these animated lines in the 44th Car- 
men of Catullus: — 

Jam rrn-ns prneterridans are! vaeari. 
Jam laeti aludin pedes vigrvrunt \ 

* A very high mountain on one of the Azores, from 
which the isl md derives its name. 1' is said by some 
to be as nig} as the Peak of Ter eriffe. 

» I believe it is Guthrie who says that the inhabi- 
tants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. 
Thi« is an assertion in which even Guthrie nay bo 
credited. 

* These jslands belong to the Portuguese. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



97 



Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour, 

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead ; 

Aud the spirit becalm'd but: lemember'd their power, 
As the billow the force of the gale that was fled. 

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone 
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 

When the saddest emotion my bosom had known, 
Was pity for those who were wiser than I. 

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire 
The pearl of the soul may be melted away; 

How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire 

We inherit from heav'n, may be quench'd in the 
clay ; 

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame, 
That Pleasme no more might its purity dim ; 

So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same. 
1 might give back the boon I had b riow'd from 
Him. 

How blest was the thought! it appeared as if Heaven 
Had already an opening to Paradise shown ; 

As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven, 
My heart then began to be puiely its own. 

I look'd to the west, and the beiu'iful sky 

Which morning had clouded, was clouded no 
more : 

"Oh ! thus" I excla ; med, "may a heavenly eye 
"Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before." 



TO THE FLTING-FISH.i 



When I have seen thy snow-white wing 
From the blue wave at evening spring. 
And show those scales of silvery white, 
So gaily to the eye of light. 
As if thy frame were form'd to rise, 
And live amid the glorious skies; 
Oh ! it has made me pr udlv feel, 
How like thy wing's impatient zeal 
Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 
Within this world'.-, grors element. 
But takes the wing that God has given, 
And rises into light and heiveu ! 

But, when I see that wing, so bright, 
Grow languid with a moment's flight, 
Attempt the paths of air in vain, 
And sink into the waves again ; 
Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er; 
Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, 
But erring man must blush to think, 
Like thee, again the soul may sink. 

Oh, Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
Let not my spirit's flight be weak : 
Let me not, like this feeble thing, 
With b ine still dropping from its wing, 
Just sparkle in the solar glow 
And plunge again to depths below; 
But, when I leave the grosser throng 
With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, 



1 It is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, and 
I believe of nearly all the Fathets, that birds, like 
fish, were originally produced from the waters; in 
defence of which idea they have collected every 
fanciful circumstance which can tend to prove a 
I kindred similitude between them ; avyyevuav rotj 
I ntTojitvoi.'; rrpoc ra vr}K.ra. With this thought in 
our minds, when we first see the Flying-Fish, we 
| could almost fancy, that we are present at the mo- 
: ment of creation, and witness the birth of the first 
: bird from the waves.. 



9 



Let me, in that aspiring day, 
Cast every lingering stain away, 
And, panting for thy purer air, 
Fly up at once and fix me there. 



TO MISS MOORE. 



FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 
1803. 

In days, my Kate, when life was new, 
When, luli'd with innocence and you, 
I he.nd. in home's beloved shade, 
The din the woild a distance made; 
When, e ery night, my weary bead 
Sunk on its own uutho'med be'd, 
And. mild as evening's matron hour, 
Looks on the faintly shutting flower, 
A mother saw our eyelid> close, 
And ble-s'd them into pure repose; 
Then, haply if a week, a dav, 
I linger'd from that home away, 
How long he little absence seem'd ! 
How bright the look of welcome beam'd, 
As mute you heard, with eager smile, 
My taies of all that pass'd the while! 

ret now, my Ka'e, a gloomy sea 
Rolls wide between that home and me, 
The moon may thrice be b rn and die, 
Ere ev'u that seal can reach mine eye, 
Which used so oft. so quick <o come, 
Still breathing all the breath of home,— 
As if, still f'esh, the cotdial air 
From lips belov'd were lingering there. 
But now, al .s,— tar different fate ! 
It comes o'er ocean, slow and late, 
When the dear h md that fill'd its fold 
With woids of sweelne s may lie cold. 

But hence that gloomy thought ', at last, 
Beloved Kite, the wave- are past : 
I tread on earth securely now, 
And ihe gieen cedar's living bough 
Brea hes mo e refre hinent o nn eye? 
Than could a Claude's divinest d>es> 
At length 1 touch the happy spheie 
To libetty and virtue dear, 
Where man looks up, and. proud to claim 
His rank within ihe social frame, 
Sees a grand system round him roll, 
Himself its centre, sun, and soul ! 
Far from Ihe shocks of Europe— far 
From ever, wild, elliptic star 
That, shooting with a devious fire, 
Kindled by heaven's avenging ire, 
So oft ha h into chaos huil'd 
The systems of the aucient world. 

The warrior here, in arms no more. 
Thinks of the toil, Hie conflict o'er, 
And glorying in the freedom won 
For hearth aid shrine, for sire and son, 
Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 
His sleeping sword's remember'd ] nde. 
While Peace, wi h sunny cheeks of toil, 
Walks o'er the free, unlordid roil, 
Effacing with her splendid share 
The drops that war had sprinkled there 
Thrice happy land ! where he who flies 
From the dark ills of other skies. 
From scorn or want's unnerving woes, 
May shelter him in ptoud repose: 
Hope sings along the yellow sand 
His welcome to a patriot land ; 
The mighty wood, with pomp, receives 
The stranger in its woild of leaves, 



95 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



Which soon their barren glory yield 

'1 o the warm shed aid culiur'd field; 

And he. who came, of all bereft, 

To whom malignant fate had left 

Nor home nor friends nor country dear, 

Finds home and friends and country here. 

Such is the picture, warmly such, 
That Fancy .on?, with Horid touch, 
Had painted to my sanguine eye 
Of man's new world of liberty. 
Oh ! ask me not, if Truth have yet 
Her seal on Fancy's promise s=t ; 
If ev'n a glimpse' my eyes behold 
Of that imagin'd age of gold ;— 
Alas, not yet one gleaming trace ! 1 
Never did y u h, who lov'd a face 
As sketcli'd by some fond pencil's skill, 
And made by fancy lovelier rtHl, 
Shrink back "wiih more of sad surprise, 
When the live model met his eyes, 
Than I have felt, in sonoiv let. 
To find a dream on which I 've dwelt 
From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee 
At toi.ch of stern reality ! 

But, courage, yet, my wavering heart ! 
Bl'iue not the temple's meanest part,* 
Till thou hast trac'd the fabric o'er: — 
As yet, we have beheld no more 
Thm just ihe porch io Freedom's fane ; 
And, though a sable spot may stain 
The vestibule, t is wrong, '! is sin 
To doubt ihe godhead re ens within ! 
So here I pause — and now, my Kate. 
To you, and those dear friends, w hose fate 
Touches more near this home sick soul 
Thau all the Powers from pole io pole, 
One word at parting,— in the t lie 
Mo-t sweet to you, and most my own. 
The simple strain I send you here,3 
Wild though it be, would charm y ur ear, 
Did you but know the trance of -bought 
In which my mind its numbers caught. 
T was one of those half-waking dreams, 
That haunt me oft. when music seems 
To bear my soul in sound along, 
And turn its feelings all to song 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ;' 
Freshly in each succeeding note 
I found some young remembrance float, 
Till following, as a clue, that strain, 
I wander'd back to home again. 

Oh ! love the song, and let it oft 
Live on vour ljp in accents soft. 
Say that it tells v >u. simply well, 
All 1 have bid it's wild notes tell,— 



i Such romantic woik- as •• The American Farmer's 
Letters," and the account of Kentuckv by Inilav, 
would seduce u< into a belief, that innocence, peace. 
and freedom had deserted the rest of the woild for 
Martha's Vineyard and the banks of the Ohio. The 
French travellers, too, almost all fr >m revolutionary 
motives, have contribute) their share to the diffusion 
of this tlat'ering misconception. A visit to the coun- 
try is. however, quite sufficient to correct even the 
most enthusiastic prepossession. 

°- Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavour- 
able specimen of America. The charac'erislics of 
Virginia in general are not such as can delight either 
the politician or the moralist, and a: Norfolk they 
are exhibited in their least attractive form. At the 
time when we arrived ihe yellow fever hid not yet 
di-appeared, and every odour that assailed us in the 
streets very strongly accounted for its visitation. 

3 A trifling attempt at musical composition accom- 
panied this F.pistle 



Of Memory's dream, of thought that yet 
Glow w i:h the light of joy t|,al 's set, 
And all the fond heait keeps in store 
Of friends and scenes beheld no more 
And now, adieu! — this artless air. 
With a few rhymes, in transcript fair 
Are all the gif s 1 yet can boast 
To send yon from Columbia's coast ; 
But when the sun, with warmer smile, 
Shall light me to my destin'd isle,* 
You shall have many a cowslip. bell, 
Where Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
In which that gentle spirit drew 
From honey -flowers the morning dew. 



A BALLAD. 

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAM?. 

WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. 

"They tell of a young man, who lost his mind open the 
death of a girl he loved, onj who, suddenly d-sarpeanug 
from hid friends, was never afterwards heard oi. As he 
had frequently scid, in his raving*, that the gill wu not 
dead, bat gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had 
wandered inlo that dreary wilderness, and had died of 
hunger, or been lost in some of iu> dreadful 



" They made her a grave, loo cold and damp 

•' For a soul so w.irni an : 
" And 'he 's gone to the I. keol'the Dismal Swamp,' 
" Where, all night long, by a the fly lamp, 

"She paddles her white ca 

" And her fire-flv lamp I soon «hall see, 

"And her paddle I soon shall hear; 
" Long and 1 ving our life 'hill be, 
"And I '11 hide 'he mai I in a cypress tree, 

" When the footstep of Df ath'is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — 

His path was rugged and so e. 
Thr ugh tangled juniper, teds of reeds, 

any a fen, where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod bef re. 

And, when on 'he earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelid- knew, 
He lay, w here the deadly \ ir.e doth weep 
Its vein mous tear 

The flesh with blistering dew ! 

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake. 

And the copper-snake 1 re 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
"Oh! when slnll I -ee the dusky Lake, 
: 'he white canoe of my dear?" 

He saw the Lake, and a me'eor bright 

Quick over its surface ) 
14 Welcome," he said, "mv dear-nnr's ligh' !• 
And the dim shore echoed f 

The name of the dea'h-cold maid. 

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark, 
Which canied him off from shore; 

F r. far he fullow'd the meieor spark. 

The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 
And the boat return \i no more. 



* Bermuda. 

s The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles 
distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it 
,'aoout seven miles long) is called Drummoud's I 
Pond. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



91/ 



But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lake by a fire fly lamp, 

And paddie their while canoe ! 



TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER 

OF DONEGALL. 

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804. 

Lady ! where'er you roam, whatever land 
Wous the bright touches of that artist hand ; 
Whether you sketch the valley"s golden meads, 
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads jt 
Eiiam >ur'd catch the mellow hues that sleep, 
At eve, on Meillene's immortal sleep ; 
Or musing o'er the Lake, ai d y's decline, 
Mark the last shadow on thai holy shrined 
Where, many a uighl, the sh'de of Tell complains 
Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains; 
Oh', lay the pencil for a moment by, 
Turn from (lie canvass lb it cieative eye, 
And let its splendour, like the morning ray 
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. 

Yet, Lady, no — for song so rudr as mine, 
Chase not ihe wonders of your art divine; 
Still, radiant eye, up n the canvass dwell ; 
Still, magic finger, weave your potent spell; 
And, while 1 sing the animated smiles 
Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles. 
Oh, might the song awake some bright design, 
Inspire a touch, or prompt one hippy hue, 
Proud were my soul, to see ns humble thought 
On painting's mi ror so divinely caught ; 
While wondering Genius, as he Itau'd to trace 
The fain) conception kindling into grace, 
Might love my numbers for the spark they threw, 
And bltas the lay that lent a charm to you. 

Say, have you ne'er, in niihtly vision, stray'd 
To those pure isles of ever-bloomi- g shade, 
Which bards of old, wi h kindly fancy, plac'd 
For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste? 3 
There listening, while, from earth, each breeze that 

came 
Brought echoes of their own undying fame, 
In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song, 
They charm d heir lapse of flightless hours along: — 
Nor yet in song, that mortal ear might suit, 
For every spirit ivas itself a lute, 
Where Viitue waken'd. with elysi.n breeze, 
Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies. 

Believe me. Lady, when the zephyrs bland 
Floated our bark to this enchan ed land, — 
The e leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, 
Like s'uds'of emerald o'er a silver zone, — 
Not all the ch irni, that ethnic fancy aave 
To blessed arbours o'er the western wave, 

1 Lady Donegall, I had reason lo suppose, was at 
this time still in Switzerland, where the well-known 
powers of her pencil must have been frequently 
awakened. 

1 The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of Lu- 

s M. Gebelin, says, in his Monde Primitif, " Lors- 
que S'rabon crut que les anciens theolcgiens et poetrs 
placoient les champs elysees dans les isles de I'Ocean 
Atlan'ique, il n'emei id it nen a leur doctrine." M 
Gebelin's supposition, I have no doubt, is the moie 
correct ; but that of atrabo is, in Ihe present ins ance, 
most to my purpose. 



Could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime, 
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. 

Bright rose the morning, every wave was still 
When the first pe fume of a cedar hill 
Sweetly awak'd us, and, with smiling charms, 
The fairy harbour woo'd u- to its arms.'* 
Gently we slide, before Ihe whisperiBg wind, 
Through plainlain shades, that round, like awnings, 

twm'd 
And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, 
Breathing our welcome to these len.al vales; 
While, far reflected o'er ihe wave serene, 
Each woodeJ island shed so soft a gieen 
That the enamour'd keel, wi h whispering play, 
Through liquid heibage seem'd to steal its way. 

Never did weary bark more gladly glide, 
Or rest its ai.chor in a lovelier tide 1 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
Whi e as the palace of a Lapland gnome, • 
Brighten'd the wave ; — in every myrtle grove 
Secluded bashful, like a shrii e of lo've, 
Some eltin mansion sparkled through the shade ; 
And, while Ihe foliage interposing play'd, 
Lending the scene an ever-chansmg grace, 
Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace 
The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch, 5 
And dream of .em pies, ti:l her kindling torch 
Lighted me back o all the glorious day's 
Of Attic genius : and I seem'd to gaze 
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, 
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. 

Then thought I, too, of ihee, most sweet of all 
The spii it race that come at poet's call, 
Delica e Ariel ! "ho, in brigti er hours, 
Liv'd on the perfume of these honi.d bowers, 
In velvet buds, at evenii g, lov'd to lie, 
And win with music every rose's sigh. 
Though weak the mafic of my humble strain 
To charm your spiril fiom i's orb again, 
Yet. oh, for her. beneath whose smi e I sing, 
For her (whose penci , if your rainbow wing 
Were diium'd or rulrled by a wintry sky, 
Ci uhl smooth its feather and relume its dye,J 
Descend a moment from yuur starry sphe e. 
And, if ihe lime-tree giove that once was dear, 
The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill, 
'II e sparkling giotlo c>o deligh 1 you still, 
Oh, cull tliei' choicest tints, their softest lisht. 
Weave all these spells into one dieam of night, 
And, while the 1 vely artM slumbering lies, 
Sl.ed the warm picluie o'er her menial eyes; 
Take for the task her on n cieative spells. 
And brightly show what song but faintly tells. 



4 Nothing cm be more romantic than he little bar 
hour of St. George s. 'I he number of beautiful islets, 
the singular clearness of ihe water, and the animated 
play of (he graceful little boats, gliding for ever be- 
tween the islai d-, aid seeming to -a. I f om one cedar- 
grove into ano'her, formed altogether as lovely a 
miniature of nature's beauties as can well be ima- 
gine.!. 

s This is an illusion which, !o the few who are 
fanciful enough to indulge in it, tenders the scenery of 
Bermuda particulaily interes'ing. In the short but 
beautiful twilight of their spring evenings, the while 
Ct t aies, scattered over the is aids, and but partially 
seen thr ugh the trees thai surround ihetn, assume 
often the appearance of li tie Grecian lemples; and a 
v i - id fancy may embellish the po r fisherman's hut 
with columns sucii as the pencil f a Claude might 
imitate. I had one fav. urite object if this kind in 
my wa'ks, which Ihe hnspitali'y of its owner robbed 
me of, by asking me to visit him. He was a plain 
good man. and received me well and warmly, but I 
could never tu n his house into a Giecian* temple 



100 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ. 

OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA. 1 

FROM BERMUDA, J A N C A R Y, 1 8 4. 

Kcivq d' r\vzfiotaaa /cat argonos, oto $■' iXinXtjl, 
AlSvltjs itai paMov trrtco/toj rjeirtp Innois, 

lloVTifl EI'£G-rr/lKT<H. 

Callirnach. Hymn, in Del. v. It. 

Oh, what a sea of storm we 've pass'd ! — 

High mountain wave- and foamy showers, 
And battling winds whose savage blast 

But ill agrees with < ne whose hours 

Have passed in old Anacreou's bowers. 
Yel think not poesy's bright charm 
Forsook me in r his rude alarm : * — 
When close they reefd the timid Fail, 

When, every plank complaining loud, 
We labour'd in the midnight eale, 

And ev'ti our haughty main-mast bow'd, 
Even then, in that unlovely hour, 
The Muse st. II bi ought her soothing power, 
Ani, midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song's Elysium lapp'd my mind. 
Nay, when no numbers of my own 
Responded to her wakening lone, 
She rtpen'd, wi'h her golden key, 

The casket where my memory lays 
Th"se genu of cla-sic p 

Which time has sav'd from ancient days. 

Take one of these, to Lais sung, — 
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 
As one might w ite a dissertation 
Upon " Suspended Animation ! " 

Sweet 3 is vour kiss, my Lais dear, 
But, » ith that kiss 1 feel a tear 



i This gentleman is attached to the British consu- 
late at Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much 
higher sphere; b<t the excellent disposi ions of the 
family with whom he resides, and the cordial repose 
he enjoys amongst some of the kindest hearts in the 
world, should be almost enough to atone to him for 
the worst caprices of fortune. The consul him-elf, 
Colonel Hamilton, is one among 'he very few instan- 
ces of a man, ardently loyal to hi- king. and yet be- 
loved by the Americans. Hi- house is the very tem- 
ple of hospitality, and I sincerely pi y the heart of 
that stranger who, warm from the welcome of such a 
board, could sit d \vn to write a libel on bis host, in 
the t ue spirit of a modern philosophy. See the 
Travels of the Duke de la Ronchefoucault Liaucourt, 
vol. ii. 

2 VVe were seven days on our passage from Nor- 
folk to Bermuda, during three of which we were 
forced to lay-to in a gale of w ind. The Driver sloop 
of war, in which 1 went, was built at Bermuda of 
cedar, and is accounted an excellent sea-t 
was then commanded by my very much regretted 
friend. Captain Compton, who in July la-t wis killed 
aboard the Lily in an action with a French privateer. 
Poor Compton! he fell a victim to the strange im- 
policy of allowing such a miserable thin; as he Lily 
to remain in the service; so small, crank, and un- 
manageable, that a well-manned merchantman was 
at any time a match for her. 

a This epigram is by Paul he Sileutiary, and may 
be found in the Analecta of Brut ck. vol iii. p. 72. 
As the reading theie is somewhat different fr^m w hat 
1 hive fo'lowed in 'his Iransla ion. 1 shall give it as I 
had it in my memory at the time, and aa it is in 
Heinsius, who, I believe, first produced the epigram. 
See his Poemata. 
Biv niv tori 0t\ij/ia to Aaifoc. i;tv c*< aviio* 

H-jorTivtjriDV (aicgv X ta S pXiipagwv, 



Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
When those who 've dearly lov'd must part. 
Sadly you lean your head to mine. 
And mute il.o e' arms around ne twine, 
Vour hair adown my bo.-om spread, 
AH glittering with the (ears you shed. 
In vain I 've kis-'d those lids of snow, 
For stitll, like ceasele-s founts they flow, 
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet. 
Why is it thus? do, tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais', are my b- ogs right? 
Am I to lose you ? 

Our last go, ln .ise to heaven and me ! 

Your very tears are tieacl.e y. 



Such, while ir sir I floating hung. 

Such was the st<a.:> Me gante mio ! 
The muse and 1 together 

With Boreas to make i Jt the trio. 
But, bless the little fairy isle ! 

How sweetly af'er all our ills. 
We saw the sunny morning smile 

Serenely o'er its frajrant hils ; 
And felt the pure, deliciou- flow- 
Of airs, thai round this Eden blow 
- 
O'er our own healthy hills at home. 

Could you but view the scenery fair, 

That now benea h my w iudow lies, 
You'd think, thai natuiV lavisb'd there 

Her purr 
To nnke a hea\en for 1 ne to sigh in, 
For bards ' lo d ein. 

Clse to my w. -oded tank below, 

In glassy c hi! the waters sleep, 
And to the 

The co'al r< cks they love to s'eep.* 
t T mori ii g fails ; 

The drowsy b at moves -lowly past, 
And I can almost touch its sails 

I ey flap atom d 'he mast. 
I It- sun a splendour pours 
That lights up all these ieafl 
While lis ow ii 1 nd beams 

Tha' each snail baik, in pa-sing, seems 
To fli at along a burnin; sky. "' 

Oh for the pinnace lent to thee * 
Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, 

Didst sail 
And touch at all its isles of light. 



Kei rroAv #a\-Ai£ovcra crofoic i\iocTgvxov aiyXijV, 

'H/itTtpo K£0aAnv c"npov totttra/itvm 
Mt'po/ievjjv <?' tc'-iAncra- ra i' <uc fpoo-tp^e ojto 

Aovpta fiiyvvfitvuiv kijtti Kara trrofuiTtav 
F.ittc c" avtipo/iti'w, tivoc ot'i'£ta Caicoi a 

Atttia lii] fit Atrrnc- £o-ts yap opicairarru. 

* The w.ter is so clear I '.. that the 

rocks are seen beneath to a very en 
we entered the Dal 

the surface that il ' .'uld not 

strike on tl.eni. There is no necessity, n| , 
heaving the had; and the 
at the rocks from the bow of II 
through this diffit 

fidence wh.ch seem to astonish s 
sailois. 

5 In Kircher"s " Ec tatlc .lourn. • 
miel. the _ 

ith which he embarks into the re- 
gions of the sun. 

tinam navicul&m commodiia i tr.j 
Itinerar. 1. Dial. i. cap. 5. This 
abounds with strange fancies. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



101 



Sweet Venus, what a clime lie found 
Wi hin thy orb's ambrosial round ! — i 
There spring the biee/es, rich ai d warm, 

That sigh around thy vesper carj 
And angels dwell; so pure of form 

That each appears a living star.* 
These are the -prites, celesiial queen! 

Thou sendest nightly to the bed 
Of her I love, whn t mch unseen 

Thy planet's brightening tints to shed; 
To lend that eye a light still clearer, 

To give that cheek one rose-blush more, 
arer, 
before. 

But, whither means the muse to roam? 

'lis lime to call the wauileier home. 

Who could have thought the nymph would perch 1 

Up in the cl uds w\ h F.uliet Kiieher ? 

So, health and love lo all your mansion ! 

Long may t tie bowl that pleasures bloom in, 
The How of heart, tin- sou '• expansion, 

Mirth aid song, your board illumine. 
At all your feas's, remember too, 

When cups are sparkling to the brim, 
That here is one who drinks lo you, 

And, oh '. as warmly drink to him. 



LINES WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. 

That sky of clouds is not the sky 
To light a lover to ihe pillow 

Of her he loves — 
The swell of yonder foaming billow 
Resembles not the happy sigh 

That rapture moves. 

Tet do I feel more tranquil far 
Amid the gloomy wild> of ocean, 

In this dark hour, 
Than when, in passion's young emotion, 
I've stolen, beneath the evening star, 

To Julia's bower. 

Oh ! there 's a holy calm profound 
In awe like Ihis, that ne'er was given 

To plea-.ure's thiill ; 
'T is as a solemn voice from heaven, 
And the soul, listening to the sound, 

Lies mute and still. 

'T is true, it talks of danger nigh, 

Of slumbering with the dead to-morrow 

In the cold deep, 
Where pleasure's throb or lears of sorrow 
No more shill wake the heart or eye, 

But all must sleep. 

Well '. — there are some, thou stormy bed, 
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure; 

Oh ! most to him, 
Whose lip hath drain'd life's cup of pleasure, 
Nor left one honey-drop to shed 

Round sorrow's brim. 



• When the Genius of the world and his fellow-tra- 
veller arrive at the planet Venus they find an islaud of 
loveliness, full of odours and intelligences, where an- 
gels preside, who shed the cosmetic influence of this 
planet over the earth ; such beins, according to astro- 
logers, the " vis influxiva" of Venus. When they 
are in this part of the heavens, a casuistical question 
occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks, •' Whether bap- 
tism may be performed with the waters of Venus ?"— 
"An aquis globi Veneris bap ismus institui possit f" to 
which the genius answers, " Certainly." 

» This idea is Fa'her Kircher's. "Tot animatos 
soles dixisses." — Itinerar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5. 

9* 



Yes — he can smile serene at death : 

Kind heaven, do Ihou but chase the weeping 

Of friends who love him ; 
Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping 
Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath 

No more shall" move him. 



ODES TO NEAj 

"WRITTEN AT BERMUDA. 



NEA Tvpavvti. 

Euriyid. Medea, v. 967. 



Nay, tempt me not to love again, 

There was a time when love was sweet: 
Dear Nei ! had I known thee then, 

Our sou Is had not been slow to meet. 
But, oh, this wear) 1 lie irt hath run, 

So mani a time, the rounJs ol pain 
Not ev'u for thee, thou lovely one, 

Would 1 endure such pangs again. 

If there be climes, where never yet 
The piint of beautj's foot was set, 
Where man may pas his loveless nights, 
Unfever'd by her false delights, 
Thither my' wounded soul would fly, 
Where rosy cheek or radian! eye 
Should bring no moie their bliss, or pain, 
Nor fetter me to eaith ngiin. 
Dear ab-ent girl I whose eyes of light, 

Though little pnzYl when all mv own, 
Now Boat bt-fo:e me, soft and bright 

As when they liist enamouring shone,— 
What horns and days have I seen glidej 
While fi.v'd. enchanted, by thy side, 
Unmindful of the flceiing day, 
I've let life's dream dissolve away. 
bloom of y uih profusely shed ! 
moments : simply, vainly s| ed, 
Yet sweetly loo — for Love perfum'd 
The flame which thus my life onsum'd; 
And brilliant w >s the chain of floweis, 
In which he led my vie im-hours. 

Say, Nei, say, couldst thou, like her, 
When waim to feel uid quick to err, 
Of lovmg fond, of rovmu fonder, 
Th s thoughtless soul might wish to wander,- 
Couldst thou, like her, the wi h reclaim, 

Endearing still, reproaching never, 
Till ev'n this heart should burn with shame, 

And be thy own more fix'd than ever? 
No, no — on' earth there 's only one 

Could bind such faithless folly fast ; 
And sure on earth hu.l one atone 

Could make such virtue tatse al last! 

Nea, the heart which she forsook, 

For thee were but a worthless shrine — 
Go, lovely trirl, tint aiuel look 

Must thrill a soul more puie than mine. 
Oh ! thou shalt be all else to me, 

That heart can feel or tongue can feign; 
I'll praise, admire, and worship thee, 

But must not, dare not, love again. 



■ Tale iter omne cave. 
Propert. lib. 



I pray you, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore, 



102 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



Where late we thoughtless stray'd ; 
T was nol for us, whom heaven inleuds 
To be i.o more lhan simple friends, 

Such loi.ely walks were made. 

Thai little Bay, where taming in 

From ocean's lude ai d angry din, 

A- lovers 4eal 10 bliss, 
The billow;: k.ss the shore, and then 
Flow back into ihe deep again, 

As thr ugh !hey did not kiss. 

Remember, o'er its circling flood 

In wha a dangerous dream we s'.ood — 

'I lie silein sea befoie us, 
Around u-, all Ihe gloom of grove, 
That ever lent its shade to love, 

No eye but heaven 's o'er us ! 

I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, 
In vain would formal art dissemble 

All we then look'd and Ihought ; 
'T was more than tongue could dare reveal, 
'T was ev'iy tiling thai young hearts feel, 

By Love and Nature taught 

I stoop'd to cull, with faltering band, 
A shell that, on the golden sand, 

Before us faintly gleam'd ; 
I trembling rais'd it, aud when you 
Had kist the shell, I kist it oo — 

How sweet, how wrong it seem'd ! 

Oh, trust me, 't was a place, an hour, 
The worst that e'er the tempter's power 

Could tangle me or you in; 
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore, 

Such walks may be our ruin. 



You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 

And there alone should love be read ; 
You hear me say it all in sighs, 

And thus alone should love be si id. 
Then dread no more; I will not speak; 

Although my heart lo anguish thrill, 
I Ml spare the burning of your cheek, 

And look it all in silence still. 
Heard you the wish I dar'd to name, 

To murmur on that luckle s night. 
When pa-si; n broke Ihe bonds of shame, 

And love grew madness in your sight? 
Divinely through the graceful dance, 

You seem'd lo float in silent song, 
Bending to earth hat sum y glance, 

As if to light youi sieps along. 
Oh ! how could others dare to touch 

That hallow'd form with hand so free, 
When but to look was bli-s too much, 

Too rare for all but Love and me I 
With smiling eyes, 'hat little thought 

How faial were Ihe beams they threw, 
My trembling hands you lightly caught, 

And round me, like a spirit, flew. 
Heedless of all, but you alone, — 

And yoii, al least, should no' condemn, 
If, when such eyes before me shone, 

My soul forgot all eyes but them, — 
I dar'd to whisper passion's vow,— 

For love had ev'n of thought beref' me,- 
Nay, half-way bent to kiss thai brow. 

But, with a bound, you blushing left me. 
Forget, forget that night's offence, 

Forgive it, if, alas! you can; 
T was love, 't was passion — soul and sen* 
T was all that 's best aud worst in man. 



That moment, did th' assembled eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness view, 

I should have seen through earth and skies, 
But you alone — but only you. 

Did not a frown from you reprove. 
Myriads of eyes to me were noiiej 

Enough for me to win your live, 
Arid die upon the spot, when won. 



A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. 

I just had turn'd the classic p .ge. 

And trac'd that happy period over, 
When blest alike were youth and age, 
And love inspired the wisest s-ge, 

And wisdom graced the tenderest lover. 

Before I laid me down to sleep 

Awhile 1 fioni the lattice gaz'd 
Upon thai still aid nwonligb deep, 

With isle* like floa ing gardens rais'd, 
For Ariel there his sports to keep ; 
While, gliding 't wixt their leafy shores 
The loi.e i.igrit-fi.-her plied his oars. 

I felt,— so strongly fancy's power 
Came o'er me in that witching hour, 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian sky, 
And I then breath'd Ihe blissful air 

That late bad thrilld lo Sappho's sigh. 

Thus, waking, dreamt I,— and when Sleep 

Came o'er my sense, the dream went on; 
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, 

Hath ever lovelier vision shone. 
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd 
Through that erene, luxurious shade,! 
Where Kp'Curus taught the 

To polish virtue's "native brightness, — 
As pearls, we 're told, that fondling owes 

Have play'd with, wear a smoother w hiteness.» 
»T was one of those delicious nights 

So common in the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half iK> lights, 

And all' is moonshine, balm, ar.d peace. 
And ihi u wen there, my own be I 
And l.y o-.d 

Through many a tempted everend gloom, 
And many I bower's seductive bhoni, 
Where Beauty leam'd what Wisdom taught, 
And sages sighd and lovers thought ; 
Where schoolmen c nn'd no maxims stem, 

But all was lorm'd to soothe or move, 
To make the dullest love to learn, 

To make the coldest learn to love. 

And now Ihe fairy pathway seem'd 

To lead us through enchanted ground, 
Where all that bird h s e^e' de m'd 

Of 1 ve or luxury blooni'd around. 
Oh! 'twas a bright, hew ildering cene — 
Along the alley's deepenii g jieen 
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, 
And scented and illum'd the boners, 



t Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausa- 
nias mentions, in his fir ? t book, were tho<e of Epicu- 
rus ; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities of Athens, 
" Near this convent'(the convent of Hagios Asomatos) 
is the i lace called at pre-ent Kepoi. or the Gardens; 
and Ampelos Keiios. or the Vineyard Garden : these : 
were prohahlv the gardens which Fausauias visited.'' 
Vol. i. chap. 2. 

1 This method of polishing pea'ls. by leaving them 
awhile to be played with : oned by 

the fanciful Cardauus, de Rerum Vanetat. lib. TJk 
cap. 34. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



103 



Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves 
Amid the lone Hercynian groves, 
Ar.pear those countless birds of light, 
That sparkle in the leaves at night, 
And from their wings diffuse a iay 
Along the traveller's vvea»y way. 1 
'T was light of hat mysterious kind, 

Through when the soul perchance may roam, 
When it has left this world behind, 

And gone lo seek its heavenly home. 
And, Nea. thou ivert by my side, 
Through all this heav'n-ward path my guide. 
But, lo, as wandVing tnus we rang'd 
That upwaid path, the vision chai.g'd; 
And now, methough 1 , we stole along 

Through halls of more v luptuous glory 
Than ever liv'd in Tciau song, 

Or wauto.'d in Milesian story.3 
And nymphs were there, wlicse very eyes 
Seeru'd sotteu'd o'er wi h breaih of sighs J 
VVh se ev'ry riiglet, as it wreath'd, 
A mute appeal to pas-ion breath 'd. 
Some Bew, with amber cups, around, 

Pouring the Howery wines of Crete ; 3 
And, as they pas'.-l with youthful bound, 

The onyx shone bei.eah their feet * 
While others, waving arms of snow 

Entwin'd by snakes of buroish'd gold, 5 
Ana showing charms, as lo h to show, 

Through many a thin Tarentian fold,6 
Glided among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, in languor breathing, 
And the young beegrape.t round them wreathing, 
Hung on their biushe- warm and meek, 
Like curls upon a rosy cl.eek. 

Oh, Nea ! why did morning break 

The spell that thus divinely bound me? 

Why did 1 »ake? how cendd I wake 

With thee my own and heaven around me ! 



Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be, 
And health to that c'heek, though it bloom not for n 



i In Hercynio Germaniae sallu inusilata genera all- 
ium accepimus, quarum plume, ignium modo, collu- 
ceant noctibus. — Plin. lib. x. cap. 47. 

2 The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their ori- 
gin in Mile'us, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides 
was Ihe most celebiated author of these licentious 
fictions. See Plutarch (in Crasso), who calls them 
UKoKaaTa (iiSXia. 

3 " Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenaeus 
calls oivoc avSocr/j.t.a^, from their fragrancy resem- 
bling that of Ihe finest flowers ." — Barry on Wines, 
chap. vii. 

* It appears that in very splendid mansions, the 
floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus 
Martial: ' Ca'catusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx." 
Epig. 50. lib. xii. 

5 Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament 
among the women of antiquity. Oi. mKapmoi. o<pu$ 
kcu at x'pixrat Ksiai Oatdoc Kac ApKTTayopac /cm 
AaifToc cJap/ta/ca. — Philoitrat. Epist. xl. Lucian, 
too, tells us of the Pgaxtoicri d"pa/covr£c. See his 
Amores, where he describes the dressing room of a 
Grecian lady, and we find the "silver vase," the 
rouge, the tooth-powder, and all the «• mystic order" of 
a modern toilet. 

6 Tapavrivitiov, c"(a<bavts tvSv/ia, uivoaaa-fu- 
vov airo ttjS 'i'apavTtvwv £p??o-£u)C /cat rpur/iijc. 
— Pollvx. 

i Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and " now 
Called the Muscatell (a muscarum telis)', says Panci- 
rollus, book i. sect. 1. chap. 17. 



To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,8 
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, 
And. far from" the light of those eyes, I may yet 
Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget. 

Farewell to Bermuda, 3 and long may the bloom 
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; 
May spring to eternity hallow the shade, 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller io has stray'd. 
And thou— when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam 
Through the lime-cover'd alley th it leads to thy home, 
Where oft, when ihe dance and the revel weie done, 
And Ihe stars were beginning to fade in the sun, 
I have led thee along, and have told by the way 
What my heait all the night had been burning to say — 
Oh ! think of the past —give a sigh to those times, 
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes. 



If I were yonder wave, my dear, 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 

I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bliss, my fairy ground. 

If I were yonder conch of gold, 
And tho'u the pearl within it plac'd, 

I would not let an eye behold 
The sacred gem my arms embrac'J. 

If I were yonder orange-tree, 

And thou the blossom blooming there, 
I would not yield a bieath of thee 

To scent the most imploiing air. 

Oh ! bend not o'er the water's brink, 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, 

Nor let its burning mirror drink 
The soft reflection of thine eye. 

That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, 
So pictur'd in the waters seem. 

That 1 could sladly plunge lo seek 
Thy image in tlie glassy stream. 

Blest fate ! at once my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that s'ream might be; 

I Ml wed thee in its mimic wave, 
And die upon the shade of ihee. 

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending 
O'er the waters blue and bright, 

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes of light. 

Oh. my belov'd ! where'er I turn. 

Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes; 

«n every star thy glances burn ; 
Thy blush on every flow'ret lies. 



8 I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to 
the West Indies. 

9 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were 
written Bemiooda. See the commentators on the 
words "s'ill-vex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest. — 1 
wonder it did not occu- to some of those all-reading 
gentlemen that, possibly, thedi-c nverer of this '• island 
of hogs and devils" might have been no less a per- 
sonage than the great John Beimudez, who, about the 
same period (the beginning of the six eenth century), 
was sent Patriarch of ihe Latin cliuich to Ethiopia, 
and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons 
and the Griffins which he encountered. — Travels of 
the Jesuits, vol. i. 1 am afraid, however, it would 
take the Patrhrch rather too much out of his way. 

to Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at 
Bermuda; but Ihe "Account of thu European Selle- 
ments in America" affirms it conridentiy. (Vol ii.) 
I mention tins work, however, less for its authority 
than for the pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknow- 
ledged produc ion of the great Edmund Burke. 



104 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Nor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or fare, 

Sweet to the sense, or pure to thought, 
But thou art found reflected there. 



THE SNOW SPIRIT. 

No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep 

An island of lovelier charms ; 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, 

Like Hebe in Hercules' arms. 
The blush of your bowers is light to the eye, 

And their melody balm lo the ear ; 
Bui the fiery plane! of day is to . nigh, 

And the Suow Spirit never cornes here. 

The down from his wing is as white as the pearl 

That shines through thy lips when they part, 
And il falls on the gree;. earth as melting, my girl, 

As a murmur of thine on the heart. 
Oh ! fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, 

As be cradles the birth of the year ; 
Bright are your boweis and balmy their breath, 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

How sweet to behold him, when borne on the gale, 

And brightening ihe bosom of mom, 
He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil 

O'er the brow of eich virginal thorn. 
Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts 

Is the veil of a vestal severe; 
No, no, thou wilt see, w ha' a moment it lasts, 

Should the Snow Spirit ever come here. 

But fly to his region — lay open thy zone, 

And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, 
To think thai a bosom, as w bite as his own, 

Should not melt in the daybeam like him. 
Oh ! lovely Ihe print of those delicate feet 

O'er Ins luminous path will appear — 
Fly, my beloved ! this island is sweet, 

But the Suow Spirit cannot come here. 



EvravOa (i KaOutpfkio-Toi ■fi/nv. km 6, n ptv 
ovofia ttj vi)cr<i), ovk oic~a' xpv<rij &' av "'poS Y* 
ipov ovo/iaiOiTO. — Philostrat. Icon. 17. lib. ii. 

I stole along the flowery bank, 

While many a bending seagripe » drank 

The sprinkle of the feat he 

That wing'd me round this fairy shore. 

'T was noon ; and every orange bud 
Hung languid o'er the crystal flood, 
Faint as (he lids of maiden's eves 
When love-thoughts in her bosom rise 
Oh. for a naiad's sparry bower. 
lo shade me in that glowing hour! 

A little dove, of milky hue, 
Before me from a plant i in 8tiv, 
Ar.d, light along the water's trim, 
I steer'd my gentle bark by him ; 
For fancy t old me, Love had sent 
This gentle bird with kind intent 
To lead my steps, where I should meet — 
I knew not wliat, but something sweet. 

And — bless the little pilot dove! 
He had indeed been sent by Love, 
To guide me to a scene so "dear 
As fate allows but seldom here ; 

> The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the 
West Indies. 



One of those rare and brilliant hours, 
That, like the aloe's 3 lingering flowers, 
May blossom to ihe eye of man 
But once in all his weary span. 

Just where the margin's opening shade 
A vista from the waters made, 
My bird repos'd his silver plume 
Upon a rich banana's bloom. 

Oh virion bright ! oh spirit fair ! 

What spell, what magic rais'd ber there? 

T was Nea ! slumbering calm and mild, 

And bloomy as ihe dimpled child, 

Whose spirit in elvsium keeps 

Its playful sabbath,' while he sleeps. 

The brond banana's green embrace 
Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace 
One little beam alone cou;d win 
The leaves to let it wander in. 
And. ste.Jing over all her charms, 
From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, 
New lustre to each beauty lent,— 
Itself all trembliug as it went ! 

Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe 
Upon tha cheek whose roseate tinge 
Mix'd with its shade, like evening's light 

ng on the verge of night. 
Her eyes, though the; in slumber hid, 
Seem'd g'.nw ing through the ivory lid, 
And, as I thrug't.t. a lustre thiew 
■ lip's reflecting dewy- 
Such a-, a night-lamp, left to shine 
Alone on s n,e secluded shrine. 
May sh-d u, on re votive wreath, 
Which pious hands have hung beneath. 

Was ever vision hilfso sweet! 
Think, think how quick my heart-pu'se Deal, 
As o'er the ruslli: g bank 1 stole; — 
Ob ! ye, ihat know ihe lover's soul, 

u alone to guess. 
That moment's trembling happiness. 



A STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE. 

:hold, rtiT love, the curious gem 

T is hallov 

Who liv'd in "classic honrs of old. 

Some fair Athenian girl, pi • 
r hand this gem J 
Nor thought that timet succeeding lapse 
Should see it grace a lovelier maid. 

Look, deares', w hat a sweet design ! 

The more we gaze, it charms the more) 
Come— cheek to mine, 

And trace with me its beauties o'er. 

Thou seest, it is a simple youth 

By some enamour'd nymph embrae'd — 

Look, as she leans, and say i 

Is not that baud most fondly plac'd ? 

Upon his curled head behind 
It seems in careles- play to lie,3 

Yet presses gently, half in'clin'd 
To bring the :ruant's lip more nigh. 



- The A;ive. This. I am aw. re. is an f- - - 
notion, but it is qn 

I think, allows a poet to be "three removes fiom 
truth ; " Tpcraroi oiro tbj- a '- 

3 Somewhat like the sympJegma of Cupid and | 
Psyche at Florence, in wfa .-■ l'sycje» | 

hand is finely a'd delica'ely expre-sve of "" 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



105 



Oh happy maid ! too happy boy ! 

The one so fot.d and little loth, 
The other yielding slew to joy — 

Oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. 

Imagine, love, that I am he, 

And just as warm as he is chilling} 
Imagine, too, that thou art she, 

But quite as coy as she is willing: 

So may we try the graceful way 

In which their gentle arms are twin'd, 

And thus, like her, my hand I lay 
Upon thy wreathed locks behind : 

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, 
As slow to mine thy head I move j 

And thus our lips together meet, 
And thus,— and thus,— 1 kiss thee, love. 



• USavoTw aicaa-tv, bri a-KoWv^ivov zvQpaivsi, 
Aristot. Rhetor, lib. iii. cap. 4. 

There's not a look, a word of thine, 

My soul hath e'er forgot ; 
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, 
Nor giv'n thy locks one graceful twine 

Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 

From that beguiling tongue, 
Which did not, with a lingering spell, 
Upon my charmed senses dwell, 

Like songs from Eden sung. 

Ah ! that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts me so — 
And vet, thou witching girl,— and yet, 
To die weie sweeter than to let 

The lov'd remembrance go. 

No ; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
Oh let it die, remembeiing thee, 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consum'd in sweets away. 



TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 
FROM BERMUDA. 1 

1 The daylight is gone — but, before we depart, 
• One cup shall go round to the fiiend of my heart, 
; The kindest, the dearest — oh ! judge by the tear 
' I now shed while I name him, how kind and how 
dear." 



See (he Museum Florentinum, torn. ii. lab. 43, 44. 
There are few subjects on which poetry could be more 
interestingly employed than in illustrating some of 
these ancient statues and gems. 

i Pinkerton has said that "a good history and de- 
scription of the Bermuds might afford a pleasing 
addition to the geographical library ; " but there cer 
tainly aie not materials for such a work. The island, 
since the lime of its discovery, has experienced so 
very few vicissitudes, the people have been so indo- 
lent, and their trade so limited, that there is but little 
which the historian could amplify into importance 
and, with respect lo the natural productions of the 
country, the few which the inhabitants can be in- 
duced to cultivate are -o common in the West Indies, 
that they have been described by every naturalist who 
has written any account of those islands. 

It is often asserted by the trans-Atlantic politicians 
that this little colony deserves more at'ention from 
the mother-country than it receives, and it certainly 



'T was thus in the shade of the Calabash-Tree, 
With a few, who could feel and remember like me, 
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw. 
Was a sigh to the past and a blessing on you. 

Oh ! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, 
When friends are assembled, when wit, in full flower, 
Shoots forth from the lip, under Baccbus's dew, 
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new — 
Do you sometimes remerrcer. and hallow the brim 
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him 
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair, 
And would pine in elysium, if friends weie not there 

Last night, when we came from the Calabash-Tree, 
When my limb? were at rest and my spirit was free, 
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day 
Set the magical springs of my fancy in play, 
And oh,— such a vision as haunted me then 
I would slumber for age- to witne-s again. 
The nniiv I like, and the few 1 adore, 
The friends who were dear and beloved before, 
Bu< never till now so beloved and dear, 
At the call of my F-ney, surrounded me here; 
And soon,— oh, at once, did the light of their smiles 
To a parad.se brighten this region of isles; 
More lucid the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd, 
And brighter the lose, as they gather'd it, glow'd. 
Not the vallevs Heiaen (though water'd by nils 
Of the pea liest How, from th se pastoral hills.i 
Where the Song of the Shepherd, primeval and wild. 
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child,) 



po-sesses advantages of situation, to which we should 
not be long insensible, if it weie once in the hands of 
an enemy. I was told by a celebra'ed friend of 
Washinglon, at New York, that they had formed a 
plan for i's capture towards the conclusion of the 
American War; " with the intention (as he expressed 
himself) of making it a nest of lionets for the annoy- 
ance of Briiish trade in thai part of the world." And 
there is no doubt it lies so Conveniently in the track to 
the West Indies, that an enemy might with ease con- 
vert it into a verv harassing impediment. 

The pi <u of Bishop Berkeley for a college at Ber- 
muda, where American savages might be converted 
and educated, though concurred in by the government 
of the day, was a wild and u ehss speculation. Mr. 
Hamilton, who was governor 'f the island some 
years since, p opose I, if I mistake not, the es'ablish- 
ment of a marine academy for the i stuction of those 
children of Wes' Indians, v. ho might be intended for 
any nautical empl yment. This was a more rational 
idea, and for something of this nature the island is 
admirably calculated. But the plan should be much 
more extensive, and embrace a general s>stem of 
eduction; wh ch i'0uld lelieve the colonists from 
the alternative to which they are reduced at present, 
of eithtr sending their sons to England for instruction, 
or intrusting them to colleges in the states of America, 
where ideas, by no me r.s favourable to Gieat Britain, 
are very sedulously inculcated. 

The women of Bermuda, though not generally hand- 
snie. have an affection* le lmguor in their look and 
manner, which is always interesting. What the 
French imply by their epithet aimanle seems very 
much the character of the young Bermudiau giris — 
tha 1 pr< disposition to loving, which, without being 
awakened by any particular object, diffuses itself 
through the general manner in a tone of tenderness 
that never fails 'O fascina'e. The men of the island, 
I confess, are not very civilised ; and the old philoso- 
pher, who imagined tha'. ai;er thi< life, men would 
be changed into mules, and women into turtle-doves, 
would find the metamorphosis in some degree antici- 
pited at Bermuda. 

2 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the 
first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the 
nymphs. See the lively description of ihe^e moun- 
tains in Diodorus Siculus, lib. iv. 'Hgaia yap op?) 
Kara rr)V HiKtMav tanv, & fpao~i KaAAtt, K. T. A. 



106 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Could boast such a luslre o'er land and o'er wave 
As (he m.igic of love lo this paradise gave. 

Oh. made of love! unembellish'd by you, 
Halh Ihe garden a blush of the landscape a hue? 
Or shines there a vis a in nature or ail, 
Like ihat which Love opes thro' the eye to the heart ? 

Alas, that a vision so happy should fade ! 
That, when m ruin; around me in brilliancy play'd, 
The r.se aud the stream 1 had thought of at night 
Should still be before me. ui.fadingly bright ; 
While Ihe fiieuds, who had seem'd to hang over the 

stream. 
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream. 

But look, where, all ready, in sailing array, 
The bark that's to carry these pages away,i 
Impatiently flut'e's her wing to Ihe wind, 
And will ?oon leave the-e isle's of Ariel behind. 
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove, 
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that 1 love ! 
Yet pleasant Ihe swell of the billows would be, 
And the roar of those gales would be music to me. 
Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew, 
Not the sunniest tears of the summer-eve tiew, 
Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the foam 
Of the surge, that would hurry y ur wanderer home. 



THE STEERSMAN'S SONG, 

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE. 
28TH APRIL.* 

When freshly blows Ihe northern gale, 

Aud under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when heir breezes s^'ell the sail, 

And rovals proud 'y sweep the sky ; 
'Longside Ihe wheel, unwearied s ill 

I stand, and, as my wacliful e\e 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I thiuk of her 1 love, and cry, 

Port, my boy ! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 

Right from Ihe point we wish to s'eer; 
When by the wind clo-e-haul'd we go, 

And strive in v in ihe port to near; 
I think 't is thus the fa'es defer 

My bliss with one that 's far away. 
And « hile remembrance springs to her, 

I watch the sails and sighing say, 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

But see the wind draws kindly aft, 

All hands are up Ihe yarls to situate, 
And now the floating stu'n-suls waft 

Our stately ship through waves aud air. 
Oh ! then 1 think that yet f >r me 

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
Some breeze to waft me. love, to thee — 

And in that hope I smiling sin;, 

Steady, boy ! so. 



TO THE FIRE-FLY.3 

At morning, when the eirth and sky 
Are glowing with the lighl of spring, 

We see thee not, thou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon thy gleaming 'wing. 



But when the skies have lost their hue, 
And sunny lights no 1 nger play, 

Oh, then we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o'er the dreary way. 

Thus let me hope, when lost to me 
The lights that now my life illume, 

Some milder joys may come, like thee, 
To cheer, if not to warm, ihe gloom ! 



TO THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

If firmer times had never left a trace 

Of human frailty in the.r onward race, 

Nor o'er their pathway wii ten, as they ran, 

One dark memorial ot ihe crime* of man ; 

If every age, in new uncou-cious prime, 

Rose hke a phenix. from the ties of time, 

To wing its way uugu.ded aud aioi e, 

The future smiling and Ihe p-st unknown ; 

Then ardent man would to himself be new, 

Earth at his foot and hea\en within his view : 

We 1 might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme 

Of full perfection prompt his darng dream, 

Ere cold experience, with her ve'eian lore, 

Could lell him. fools had dreamt as much before. 

But, tiacing as we do, through age and clime. 

The pla' s of virtue midst Ihe deeds of crime, 

The thinking follies and the reasoning rage 

Of man. at once the idiol and the sage ; 

When still we see, through every varying frame 

Of arts and polity, his course he same, 

And know that ancient f.ols but died, to make 

A space on earth for modern fols to take; 

T is sdanee, bow quickly we the | ast lo.ge' ; 

That Wisdom's self should nut be tu'oi'd ye', 

Nor tire of w.tching for the monslrous birth 

Of pure perfection midst the sons of ear:h ! 

Oh ! nothing but that soul which God has given, 
Could lead us thus to lo k on earth for I eaven ; 
O'er dross without to shed 'he light within, 
Aud dream of virtue while we see but sin. 

Even here, beside the proud Potowimc's s'ream, 
Might sages sill pursue he flattering theme 
Of d iys to come, when man shall conquer fate, 
Rise ri'er the evel vt his mo tal stale, 
Belie the monument- 'f frailty past. 
And plant perfection in this wr d at last ! 
" Hen-." might thtysay, "sha.l power's divided reign 
"Evince Ihn latiio's have not lied in vain. 
' Here godlike liberty's herculean wuth, 
"Cnilled in peice, and nurtur'd up by truth 
•'To full maturity of nerve and mind, 
"Shall ciush the giants that be-tride mankind.* 



» A ship, ready to sail for England. 

3 I left Bermuda in Ihe Boston about the middle of 
April, iu company with the Cambrian and Leander, 
aboard the la'ter of which was the Admiral, Sir 
Andreir Mitchell, who divides his year between 
Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society 



and good-fellowship to both. We separated in a few 
d iys, and >he Boston alttr a short cruise proceeded to 
New Vork. 

3 The lively and varying illumination, wi'h which 
these fire fl es light up the wood, at night, gives quite 
an idea of enchantment. ' Puis ces mouches 
developpant de iVbscuri'e de CfS arbres et s'appro- 
chanl de nous, nous les voyions ur Its orangers voi- 
sins, qu'i's mettoient tou en feu, i.ous reudant la vue 
de leurs beaux fruits dores que la nuit avit ravie," 
&c. &c. — See L'Histoirt i 
liv. i. 

« Thus Morse. " Here the sciences and the arts of 
civilised life are to receive their highest improve- 
ments : here civil and religious liberty are to flourish, 
unchecked by the cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical 
tyranny: here genius, aided by all ihe improvements 
of former ages, is to be exerted in humanising nuui- 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



107 



" Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught 
" In form no more from cups of sta e be quaff'd. 
" But (low fur all, through nation, rank, and -ect, 
'• Free as that heaven its tranquil wave- reriec'. 
"Around the columns of the public shrine 
" Shall growii g arts their tradu .1 wreath entwine, 
" Nor bre\the corruption from ihe flowering braid, 
" Nor mine that fabric which they b.oom to shade. 
" No longer here shall Jus ice bound her view, 
"Or wrong the many, while she nghts the few; 
" But take her range ihrough all the social frame, 
"Puie and pervading as thai vital flame 
" Which warms at once nur best a: d meanest part, 
«' And thrills a hair while it expands a heart!" 

Oh golden dream ! what soul that loves to scan 
The bright di-k rather than the dark of man, 
Thai owns the good, while smarting vvi h the ill, 
And loves the world with all its frailty still,— 
What ardent bosom does not spring to meet 
The geueious hope, with all that heavenly heat, 
Which makes the soul unwilling to resign 
The thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine ! 
Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow to think 
The chain of axes yet may boast a link 
Of purer texture th>n the world has known, 
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne. 



But, is it thus? doth eve 
Borrow from truth that di 



the glorious dream 
uncertain gleam. 
Which tempts us still to give such fancies scope, 
As shock not reason, while they nourish hope? 
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so — ev'n now, 
While yet upon Columbia's risiug brow 
The showy smile of young presumption plays, 
Her bloom is poison'd and her heart decays. 
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath 
Burns with the taint of empires near their death ; 
And, like the nymphs of her own withering clime, 
She 's old in youth, she 's blasted iu her prime.! 

Already has the child of Gallia's school 
The foul Philosophy that sins by rule, 
With all her train of reasoning, dunning arts, 
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless hearts, 
Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood, 
The veuom'd birth of sunshine and of mud, — 
Already has she pour'd her poison here 
O'er eveiy chirm that makes existence dear; 
Already blighted, with her b'ackening tiace, 
The opening blo.im nf every social giace, 
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot 
Round virtues stem, the flow'rets of her fruit. 

And, were these errors but the wanton tide 
Of young luxuriance or uncha-ten'd pride; 
The fervid follies and the faults of such 
As wrongly feel, because they feel too much; 
Then might experience make the fever less. 
Nay, gralt a virtue on each warm excess. 
But no ; 't is heartless, speculative ill, 
All youth's trangression with all age's chill; 
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 



kind, in expanding and enriching their minds wilh 
religious and philosophical knowledge," &c. &c. — P. 
569. 

i " What will be the old age of this government, if 
it is thus early decrepit !" Such was the remark of 
Fauchet, the French minister at Philadelphia, in that 
famous despatch to his government, which was inter- 
cepted by one of our cruisers in the year 1794. This 
curious memorial may be found in Porcupine's Works, 
vol. i. p. 279. It remains a striking monument of 
republican intrigue on one s'de and republican profli- 
gacy on the other; and I would recommend the peru- 
sal of it to every honest politician, who may labour 
under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity 
of American patriotism. 



Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, 
And latesi folly of man's sinking age, 
Which, randy venturing in the van of lift, 
While nobler passions waxe their hented strife, 
Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear, 
And dies, collecting lumber in Ihe rear, — 
Long has it pdsied every gra?ping hand 
And greedy spirit through this bartering land J 
Turn'd life to traffic, set" the demon gold 
So loose abroad that virtue's self is sold, 

conscience, truth, and houesly are made 
To rise and fall, like oiher wares of trade.* 

Already in this free, this virtuous state, 
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate, 
To show the world, what high perfection springs 
Fiom rabble senators, and merchant kings, — 
Even here already patriots learn to steal 
Their private perqulsi es from public weal, 
And, guardians of the country's sacked fire, 
Like Afrie's priest, let out the flame for hire. 
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose 
From England's deb'ois to be England s foes,3 
Who could their monarch in their purse forget, 
And bieak allegiance, but to cancel debt,* 
Have prov'd at length, the mineral's tempting hue, 
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too.s 
Oh! Fieedom, Fieedom, how 1 hate thy cant! 
Not Eastern bombast, not the savage rant 
Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all 
From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul, 
Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, 
As the rank jargon of that f.-ctious race, 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal of word*, 
Form'd to be slaves, ye struggling to be lords, 
Strut forth, as patriots, f oni (heir negro-maits, 
And shout for rights, with lapine in their hearts. 

Who can, with patience, for a moment see 
The medley mass of pride and misery, 
Of whips aid charters, manacles and rights, 
Of slaving blacks and demooaiic whites^ 



3 " Nous voyons que, dans les pays on I'on n'est 
affec e que de l'esprit de c. mmr-rce, on trafique de 
toutes les actions humaines et de tou'es les vertus mo- 
rales." — Montesquieu, de VEsprit des Lois, liv. xx. 
chap. 2. 

3 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to justify 
those arbitrary s'eps of the English government which 
the colonies found it so necessary to resist ; my only 
object here is to expose the selfish motives of some of 
the leading American demagogues. 

* The most persevering enemy to the interests of 
this country, amongst the politicians of the western 
world, has been a Virginian merchant, who, finding 
it easier to settle his conscience than his debts, was one 
of the first to raise the s'andard against Great Britain, 
and has ever since endeavoured to revenue upon the ! 
whole country the obligations which he lies under to 
a few of its merchants. 

5 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania In 
suirection in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's works 
throughout, for ample cmroboration of every senti- 
ment which I have ventured to express. In saying 
this, I refer lees to the comments of that w riter than 
to the occurrences which he has rela'ed aid the docu- 
ments which he has presetted. Opinion may be sus- 
pected of bias, but fac's speak for themselves. 

6 In Virginia the effects of ihis system begin to be 
felt rather seriously. While the" master ra\es of| 
liberty, the slave cannot but catch the contagion, and ! 
accordingly theie seldom elapses a month without 1 
some alarm of insurrection amongst the nesrnes. The j 
accession of Louisiana, it is feared, will increase this : 
embanassment ; as Ihe numerous emigrations, which | 
are expected to take place, from the southern sla'es to 
this newly acquired teriitory, will considerably I 
diminish the white population, and thus sirengthen 1 
Ihe ptoportion of negroes, to a degree which "must I 
ultimately be luinous. 



108 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



ADd all 'he piebald polity ihat reigns 

In free c nfusiuii u'er Columb a's plains? 

To thi k thai man, thou jus and gensle G d! 

Should S'and bef ?re thee «ri h a tyrant's rod 

O'er creatures like h inse'f, with s u!s fioiu thee, 

Yet dare to boast of peifect - 

Away, aw y— 1 d ather h< Id my neck 

By doubtful tenure from a sul ib;- beck. 

In climes, where liberty has sea ce teen nam'd, 

Nor any righl but that of ruling claim'd, 

Than thus to live, where bastard Freed im waves 

.Her fi.stian flag m mockery over slaves; 

Where — motley laws admitting no degree 

Betwix the vilely slav'd ad na.dly free — 

Alike the bondage and the license suit 

The bru e made ruler and the man made brute. 

But, while I thus, my friend, in fiowerless song, 
So feebly paint, what yet 1 feei s-* =• ■ 
The ill-, the vices of the land, where first 
Those rebel fiends, that lack the world, were nurs', 
Where treason's arm bv royalty was nerv"d, 
And Fienchnien learu'd to crush the throne they 

serv'd - 
Thou, calmly lull'd in dreams of classic thought, 
By birds iliumin'd and by sages taught, 
Pint's- to be all, upon this mortal - 
That bard htth fancied or that sage hath oeen. 
Why should I wake thee ? why severe. y chase 
The lovely forms ut virtue ai.d of grace, 
That dwell befo:t thee, Ike he p.cti.res spread 
R> Spartan matrons ro'.i.d the geo al bed, 
Moulding ;h> fancy, and wiih gradual ait 
Brightening the young conceptions of ihy heart. 

Forjive me, Forbes — and should the song destroy 
One gener. us hope, one Biroh of social joy, 
Une high pulsation of the zeal for man, 
Which" few can feei. and bless that few who can,— 
Oh ! turn to him, beneath wh se kindred eyes 
Thy talents open and thy vir 
Forget where nature has been dark or dim. 
And pr. udly st dv all h«r bgh's i'i him. 
in him the erring world forget, 
And feel that man may leach perfection yet 



TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M. D. 
FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 



Atijyijc-o/ioi ditjyij^oro ttrioc < 

ntzovBa ovk t^tuv. 
Xcnijfhcnt. Epha. Ephaiac. lib. v. 

T is evening now ; bene<th the western star 
Soft sishs the lover through his sweet segar, 
Ai d fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy. 
The patriot, fresh fr in Freedom'; c ur.cil- ( 
Now pleas'd retires to lash hi> slaves at hrnie ; 
- charms. 
And dream of freedom in bis bondsmaid's arms.* 

In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom. 
Come, let me lead thee o'er this " second Rome ! "» 



i The '• black Aspasia " of the present »*»»*» of 
the United States, inter Avernales baud ignotissima 
nymphas. has eiven rise 'o much pleasantry among 
the anti-democrat n its io America. 

» •' On the original location of the excund now 
allotted for the seat of the Federal City 'snys Mr. 
Weld; the identical spot on which the capitol now 
stand- was called Rome. This anecdote is re 
many as a certain prognostic of the future magnifi- 
cence of thi- citv, which is to be, as it were, a second 
Rome."— IVeld'i Travels, letter iv. 



This embryo capita.', where Fancy rees 
Squares in moiasses. obelisks lu trees; 

I :.d-sigh ed setrs, ev'n now, adorn 
With shrine- unbuilt and heroes jet unborn, 

Though nought but woods * and J n they see, 

Where sreels should ruu and sages ought to be. 

And look, how calmly in yon radiant wave, 
The dying suu prepares his golden grave. 
Oh. mighty river : oh, ye banks of shade! 
Ye matchless scei.es. in natures morning made, 
While still, in all th' exuberance of prime, 
She pnur'd her wonders, lavishly sublime, 
Nor yet liad learn*d o shop, with humbler care, 
From grand to so t, from w< nderful to fair ; — 
Say. were yo'jr lowering hi. Is. your boundless floods, 
Tour rich savanna- ai d'niajtsti'c woods, 
Where bards should medit. e and her 
And woman c ami, and man deserve her love,— 
Oh, say, was bui born to grace 

Its own half-oigamsed, h lf-min<ted race s 
Of weak baib.riaas, swarming o'er its breast, 
Like vermin seide.'d on U 

Were none bu bru e- to call tint soil their home, 
Where none but deuiig ds should dare to roam ? 
Or worse, th u wondrous world '. oh! doubly worse, 
Did heaven design thy lordly land to nurse 
The an Hey dreg? of every d.s - ant i 
Each blast' of anarchy and taint «.f crime 
Which Eurr p c shake- fr m her perturbed sphere, 
In full maligiii'y to iai k.e here? 



3 A licie stream runs th ch. with 

was originally cai e 

* -'To be ur.de r h ougb a 
deep woo 

see a next- the same city, is a 

cum us and. I believe, a novel circums ar.ee.'"— H'tld, 
letter iv. 

1 he Federal C 
not been much n 

Most of the public buildmss, which mere then in 
some dt-g 
suspended. 1 Ir- 

occupie! _ . ten and 

Irish emigrants. ry noble 

buiuilin 

coiner of the nw 

to a state hose »ho 

ih'OLgh which a comm n 

: :he firs man in .. 
all that .- inii ate the pru- 

dent forbearance of Herodotus, and say, -a ci tv 

OTOpOIJT/O. 
The j r: 

luin : and I -e begun | 

dated. 

* The pic'ure which Pufibn and De Pauw have 
drawn at 

r-s that 

■ 
suflkieo'ly reeve ed. — Rtchircha rur lu Jmtri- J 
[ caint. part i. torn. i. p. 102. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



109 



But hold.— observe yon liltle mount of pines, 
Where the breeze niurinu s and 'he fire-fly shines. 
There let thy fancy raise, in boid relief, 
The sculptur'd imaze of that ve eran chiefs 
Who lost the rebel's in the hern's name, 
And clir J, 'd o'er prostrate loyalty to fame; 
Beneath «r .ose sword Columbia's patriot train 
Cast off their monarch, that their mob might reign. 

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page? 
Thou more than soldier and just less than sage! 
Of peace too fond lo act the conqueror's part, 
Too long in camps to learn a staiesman's art, 
Nature design'd thee for a hero's mould, 
But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow cold. 

While loftier souls command, nay, make their fate, 
Thy fate made ihee and fore'd thee 10 be great. 
Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindh sheds 
Her brightest balo round the weakest heads, 
Found ilice undazzled, tranquil as befoie, 
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more ; 
Less mov'd by glory's than by duty's claim. 
Renown the meed, but self-applause the aim; 
All that thou wert reflects less f^me on thee, 
Far less, than all thou did*', forbear to be. 
Nor yet the patriot of one land al'ine, — 
For, thine 's a name all nations claim their own; 
And every shore, where breath'd the good and brave, 
Echo'd the plaudits thy own country gave. 

Now look, my friend, where faint the moonlight 
f4ls 
On yonier dome, and, in those princely halls, — 
If thou canst hate, as sure tha' soul must hate, 
Which loves the virtuous, and reveres the great, — 
If thou canst loathe and execrate with me 
The poisonous drug of French phil sophy, 
That nauseous slaver of these f: antic times, 
With which false liber'y dilutes her dimes,— 
If thou has' go', within thy freeborn breast, 
One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest, 
With honest scorn for ihat inglorious soul 
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control. 
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god, 
There, in those walls — but, burning tongue, forbear ! 
Rank must be reverene'd, even the rank th't's theie : 
So here I pause — and now, dear Hume, we part: 
But oft again, in frank exchange of heart, 
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear 
By Thames at home, or by Potowmac here. 
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through fogs, 
Midst bears and yankees. denmcia's and fiogs, 
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes 
With me shall wonder, and with me des.ise.* 
While I, as oft, in fancy's dreim snail rove, 
With thee conversing, through that land I love, 



i On a small hill near the eapitol there is to be an 
equestrian statue of General Washington. 

2 In the ferment which the French revolution ex- 
cited among the democrats of America, and the licen- 
tious sympathy with which they shared in the wildest 
excesses of jacobinism, we may find one source nf 
that vulgarity of vice, that hostility to all the graces 
of life, which distinguishes the present demagogues 
of the United States, and has become indeed too gene- 
rally the characteristic of their cou-itrymen. But 
there is another cause of the corruption of private 
morals, which, encouraged as it is by the government, 
and identified with the interests of the "community, 
seems to threaten the decay of all honest principle in 
America. I allude lo those fraudulent violations of 
neutrality to which they are indebted for the most 
lucrative part of their commerce and by which they 
have so long infringed and counterac ed the maritime 
riehtsand advantages of this country This unwar- 
rantable trade is necessarily abetted by such a system 
of collusion, imposture, and perjury, as cannot fail to 
spread rapid contamination around it. 

Io~~ 



Where, like the air that fans her fields of green, 
Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and serene; 
And sovereisn man can condescend to see 
The throne and laws more sovereign still than t 



LINES WRITTENON LEAVING PHI- 
LADELPHIA. 

TrjvCt T7JV :roAti> 0lAu)C 
Jlittwv, iita\ui yop. 

Sophocl. (Edip. Colon, v. 758. 

Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd. 
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; 

But far, very far were the friends th .t he lov'd, 
And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh. 

Oh Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, 
O'er the brow of creation enchau ingly thrown, 

Yet faint are they all to the lusre that plays 

In a smile from the heart that is fondly our own. 

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain 
Unblcst by ihe smile he had languished to meet ; 

Though scarce did he hope it would s othe him again, 
Till the threshold of home had been prest by his feet. 

But the lays of his boyhood had slol'n to their ear, 
And they lov'd what they knew ot so humble a 

And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, 
That they found in his heart" something better than 
fame. 

Nor did woman — oh woman ! whose form and whose 
soul 

Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue ; 
Whether s'mn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the pole, 

If woman be there, there is happiness too: — 

Nor did she her enamouring magic deny, — 
That magic his heart had "relinquish 'd so long, — 

Like eyes he had lov'd was her eloquent eye, 
Like them did it soften and weep at his song. 

Oh, blest be the tear, and in memory oft 

May its spaikle be shed o'er the wanderer's dream-, 

Thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam 1 

The stranger is gone — but he will not forget, 

When at home he shall talk of the toils he has 
known, 

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, 
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone. 



LINES WRITTEN AT THE COHOS, OR FALLS 

OF THE MOHAWK R1VER.3 

Gia era in loco ove s' udia 'i rimbombo 



3 There is a dreary and savage character in the 
country immediately about these Falls, which is much 
more in harmony with the wildness of such a scene 
than Ihe cultivated lands in the neighbourhood of 
Niagara. See the drawing of them in Mr. Weld's 
book. According to him, the perpendicular height of 
the Cohos Fall is fifty feet; but the Marquis de Chas- 
tellux makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is continually forming and 
dissolving, as the spray rises in'o the light of the sun, 
is perhaps the most interesting beauty which these 
wonderful cataracts exhibit. 



110 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And as I mark'd the woods of pine 

Along his mirror darkly shine, 

Like tall and gloomy forms hat pass 

Before the wizard's midnight glass ; 

And as I view'd the hunying pace 

Wilh which he ran his turbid race, 

Rushing, alike unlir'd aud wild, 

Through shades thai frown'd and flowers that smil'd, 

Flying by eve y green recess 

That woo'd him to its calm caress, 

Yet, sometimes turning with the wind, 

As if to leave one look behind,— 

Oft have I thought, and thinking sigh'd, 

How like to thee, thou i estless ude, 

May be the lot, the life of him 

Who roams along thy wa er's brim ; 

Through what alternate wastes of woe 

And flowers of joy my path may go; 

How many a shelter'd, c<lm retreat 

May woo the while my weary feet, 

While still pursuing, still unblest, 

I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 

But, urgent as the doom that calls 

Thy water to its destin'd falls, 

I feel the world's bewildering force 

Hurry my heirt's devoed course 

From lapse to lapse, till life be done, 

And the spent current cease to run. 

One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward thus my course I take ;— 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shine 
Upon the mist that circles me, 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee I 



SONG OF THE EVIL SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. • 



Now the vapour, hot and damp, 
Shed by day's expiring lamp. 
Through the mis'y ether spreads 
Every ill the white mandieads; 
Fiery' fever's thirsty thrill, 
Fitful ague's sniveling chill ! 

Hark ! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the woods along ; — 
Christian, 'I is the song of fear ; 
Wolves are round tbee, night is near, 
And the wild th u dar\t to" n am — 
Think, 't was once the lndiau's home!* 

Hither, sprites, who live to harm, 
Whereeoe'er you work your charm, 
Bv the creeks, or by the brakes, 
Where the pale witch beds her snakes, 
And the cayman a loves to creep, 
Torpid, to his wintry sleep: 



I The idea of this poem occurred o me in passing 
through the very dreary wilderness between B.a'aui, 
a new settlement in the midst of the woods, and the 
little village of Buffalo upon Lake Erie. This is the 
n, st fatiguing part of the route, io travelling through 
the Genesee country to Niagara, 

a "The Five Confedetatcd Nations (of Indians) 
were settled along the b inks of the Susquehanna!) and 
the adjacent country, until the year 1779, "lien Gene- 
ral Sullivan, wilh an army of slCOO men, drove them 
from their country to Niagara, where, beii,_ 
Io live on salted provisions, to w Inch they were unac- 
customed, great numbers of them died. Two hundred 
of them, it is said, were buried in one grave, where 
they had encamped."— Morse's American Geography. 

s The alligator, who is supposed to lie in a torpid 



Where the bird of carrion flits, 
And the shuddering muiderer sits,* 
L ne beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poison'd food, 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 

Hither bend ye, turn ye hither, 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither ! 
Cross the wandering Christian's way, 
Lead him, ere the giirnpse of day, 
Many a mile of mad'ning error 
Through the maze of night and terror, 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager sight 
Seeks the coidial cottage-light"; 
Gleam then, like the Itghtmng-bug, 
Tempt him lo the den tha' 's dug 
For the foul and famish'd brood 
Of the she-wolf, gsuat fur blood; 
Or. unto the dangerous pass 
O'er the deep and dart morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belt- of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
Tributes, to be hung in air, 
To the Fiend presiding iheie! * 



Then, when night's long labour past, 
Wilder'd, faint, he falls at last, 
Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the slimy sedge, 
There lei every noxious thing 
Trail its filth a'nd fix its sting; 
Let the bull-toad taint him over, 
Round him let niu-ijuitoes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood their poison nnugling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 
Rankling all, the wretch expires! 



TO THE HONOURABLE W. R. SPENCER. 
FROM BUFFALO, IPON LAKE ERIE. 



Thou oft hasl told me of the happy hours 
Enjoy d by thee in fair Italia's bo«ers. 
Where, lingering \et, the ghost of ancient wit 
Nli Is nr dcrn monks pr fanely dares to flit, 

t unlaid, 
Haunt every rirea \gb every shade. 

There still the lard who ( this nun I 
His tongue's light echo) mu-i luive talk'd like thee,— 



state all the winter, in the buik of S"me creek or pond, 

having previou ly swall » 

knots, which are his only snstemncc durii _' 

* 7 his was the <nt for murder (>s 

Charlevoix teljs 0%) among the Huron-, '-'lheylaid 
the dead bod; upon poles at the top n| a cabin, and ibe 
murderer w as obfig'd o lemam several da) - 
and to receive all that dropped from the carcass, not 
only on himself but on bis i 

s " He find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, ears 
of nmze, skn s. ire. b] the side of diflicult and danser- 
"us ways, on i cks, or I y the side of the falls; and 
these are so many offerings macV to the sp.r 
preside in these places." — - Letter on 

the Traditions and the A 
Canada. 

Fa her Hennepin too menti rs this cert - 

made a kind of sacrifice upon an 
of St. Anthony of P.dm, upon the 
— See B - ' t nto Xorth America. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Ill 



The courtly bard from whom thy mind has caught 
Those playful, sunshine holydays of thought, 
In which the spirit baskin-rly reclines, 
Bright without effort, resting while it shines, — 
There still he roves, and laughing loves to see 
How modern priests with ancient rakes agree; 
How, 'neath the cowl, the festal garland shines, 
And Love still finds a niche in Christian shrines. 

There still, too, roam those oher souls of song, 
With whom tby spirit hath comniun'd so long, 
That, quick as light, their rarest gems of thought, 
By Memory's magic to thy lip are brought. 
But here, alas ! by Erie's stormy lake, 
As far from such tright haunts my course I take, 
No pioud remembrance o'er the fai.cy plays, 
No clasoic dream, no star of other d ys 
Hath left that visionary light behind. 
That lingering radiance of immortal mind, 
Which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene, 
The humblest shed, where Genius once has been ! 

All that creation's varying mass as-umes 
Of grand or lovely, heie aspires and blooms; 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering » rivers flow; 
But mind, immortal mind, without whose ray 
This world 's a wilderness and man but clay, 
Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, 
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows. 
Take Christians, Mohawks, democri s; and all 
From the rude wig-warn to the congress-hall, 
From man the savage, whether s!av'd or free, 
To man the civiliz'd, less tame than he, — 
'T is one dull chaos, one ui fertile strife 
Betwixt half-polish'd and half-barbarous life ; 
Where every ill the ancient world couid brew 
Is mix'd with every grossness of the new ; 
Where all corrupts, though little cau entice, 
And nought is known of luxury, but its vice ! 

Is this the region then, is this the clime 
For soaring fancies ? for those dreams sublime, 
Which all their miracles of light reveal 
To heads that meditate and hearts ;hat feel ? 
Alas ! not so — the Muse of Nature 1 ghts 
Her glories round ; she scales the moun'ain heights, 
And roams the f rests ; every wond'rous spot 
Burns with her s'ep, yet man regards it not. 
She whispers round, her words are in the air, 
But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there,* 
Without one breath of soul, divinely strong, 
One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Yet, yet forgive me, oh, ye sacred few, 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks 1 knew ; 
Whom, known and lov'd hrough many a si cial eve, 
'T was bliss to live with, and 't was pain to leave. 3 



i This epithet was suggested by Charlevoix's strik- 
ing description of the confluence of the Missouri with 
the Mississippi. "I believe this is the finest conflu- 
ence in the world. The two rivers are much of the 
same bre.dth, each ab ut half a league ; but the Mi- 
souri is by far the most rapid, and seems to enter :he 
Mississippi like a conqueror, through which it carries 
its white waves 'o the opposite shore, without mixing 
them : afterw rds it gives its colour to the Mississippi, 
which it never loses again, but carries quite down to 
the sea." — Le ter xxvii. 

2 Alluding to the fanciful r.olion of "words con- 
gealed in northern air." 

3 In the society of Mr. De^nie and his friends, at 
Philadelphia, I passed the fewagreeble momen's 
which my tour through tie Stites sfl rded me Mr. 
Dennie has succeeded in diffusing through this culti- 
vated little circle that love for go d liera ure and 
sound politics, which he feels so zealously himself, 
and which is so very rarely the characteristic of his 
countrymen. They will not, I trust, accuse me of 

j iiliberality for the picture which 1 have given of the 



Not with more joy the lonely exile scann'd 
The wri in» traced upon the desert's sand, 
Where his lone heart but little hop'd to find 
One trace of life, one stamp of human kind, 
Thau did 1 hail the pure, th' enlighlen'd zeal, 
The strength to reason and the warmth to feel, 
The manly polish and the illumin'd t.iste, 
Which.— 'mid the melancholy, heartless waste 
My foot has traver»'d,— oh, you sacred few ! 
I found by Delaware's green banks with you. 

Long may you loathe the Gallic dross that runs 
Through your fair country and corrupts its sons; 
Long love the ar s, the glories which adorn 
Those fields of freedom, where your sires were born. 
Oh ! if America can ye' be great, 
If neither cluin'd by choice, nor doom'd by fate 
To the mob-mmia which imbrutes her now, 
She yet can raise the crown'.!, yet civic brow 
Of single majesty,— can add the grace 
Of Rank's rich capital to Freedom's base, 
Nor feir the mighty shaft will feebler prove 
For the fair ornament that flowers above ; — 
If yet releas'd from all that pedant throng, 
So vain of error and so pledged to wrong. 
Who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide 
Weakness In vaunt, and b.rrenuess in pride, 
She yet can rise, can wreathe (he Attic charms 
Of soft refinement round the pomp of arms, 
And see her poe's flash Ihe fiies of song, 
To light hei warriors' thunderbolts along; — 
It is to you, to souls that favouring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task i= given : — 
Oh ! but for such, Columbia's day> were done; 
Rank without lipeness, quicken'd without sun, 
Crude at the surface, roteu at the core, 
Her frui:s would fall, before her spi ing were o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd the hours 
Where Schuylkill winds his way through banks of 

flowers, 
Though few the days, the happy evenings few. 
So warm with heart, so rich with mind rhey flew, 
That my charm'd soul forgot its wish to roam, 
And resed there as in a drtam of home. 
And looks I met, like looks I 'd lov'd before, 
And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er 
The chord of memory, foui d full many a tone 
Of kindness there in co: cord with heir own. 
Yes.— we had nights of that communion free, 
'I hat flow of heart, which I have known with thee 
So olt, so warmly; nights of mirth and mind, 
Of whims that taught, and foilirs that refin'd. 
When shall we both renew them ? when, restor'd 
To fhe giy feast and intelec ual board, 
Shall I oi.ee more enjoy w i<h thee and thine 
Those whims hat leach, those follies that refine? 
Even now, as, wandering up n Erie's shore, 
1 hear Niagara's dis'ant cataract toar. 
I sigh for home —alas ! the e werv feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet 

Qn.ATPIE, 'J2£ 20YKAPTANYN MNEIAN 
EXQ. Euriyida. 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd 
Above the green elms, that a cottaee was near, 

And I said. -If there's peace to be fouud in the 
world, 
"A heart that was humble might hope for it here !', 



ignorance and corruption that surround them. If I 
did not hate, as I ought, the rabble to which they are 
opposed, I could not value, as I do, the spirit with 
which they defy it; and in learning from them what 
Americans can be, 1 but see with the more indignation 
whit Americans are. 



112 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



It was noon, and on flowers that langmsh'd around 

In silence repos'd Hie voluptuous bee ; 
Every leaf was at ret, an'i i heard not a s^'Und 

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree. 

And, '• Here in this lone little wool," I exclaim'd, 
" Wi h a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, 

"Who would blu-.h when 1 prais'd her, and weeD if 
I blan.'d, 
" How blest could I live, and how calm could I die ! 

"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips 
" In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, 

"And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, 
" Which had never been sigh'd on by any but 
mine ! " 



A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 
WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE. 

Et remigem cactus hortator. 

Quint ill an. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. 

Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 

We 'II sin? at St. Ann's our parting h> nra.l 

Row, bnthers, row, the stream runs fast, 

The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 



l I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen 
sung to us frequently. The wind was so unfavourable 
that they were obliged to row all the way, and we 
were five days in descending the river from Kings'on 
to Monreal, exposed to an intense -un durii gtheday, 
and at night forced to take shelter fiom the dews in 
any miserable hut upon the banks that would receive 
us. But the magnificent scenery of the St. Lawrence 
repays all such difficulties. 

Our voyagturs had good voices, and sung perfectly 
in tune together. '1 he original words of the air, to 
which I adapted these stanzas, appeared to be a lo g. 
incoherent story, of which I could understand bit 
little, from the barbarous pionuuciatioa of the Cana- 
dians. It begins 



And the refrain to eery 



I ventured to harmonise this air. and have published 
it. Without that charm which associa'ion gives to 
every little iiiein >rial of scenes or feelings that are 
past, the melody may, perhaps, be thought common 
and trilling; but I lemrniber when we hive entered, 
at sunset, upon one of those beautiful hke«, into which 
the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, 
I have heard t his simple air with i pleasure which 
the finest compositions of the first masters have never 
given me ; and now theie is not a note of it which 
does not recall to my memory the dip of our cars in 
the St. Lawrence, the (light of our boat down the 
Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to 
winch my heart was alive during the whole of this 
very in'ere-ting voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those 
voyageurs who go to the Grand Ponage by the Ula- 
was River. For an account of this wonderful under- 
taking, see Sir Alexander Mackenzie's Ge eral His- 
tory of the Fur Trade, prefixed to hs Journal. 

« " At the Rapid of Si. Ann they are obliged to take 
out part, if not the whole, of their lading. ~ It is from 
this spot the Camdians consider ihey tike their depar- 
ture, as it possesses the last church on the island, 
which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of vovagers.'" — 
Mackenzie, General History of the Fur Trade. 



Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. 
But, when the w ind blows orl' the shore, 
Oh ! sweeiy we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
'i he Rapids are near and the daylight 's past 

Utawas' tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over :hy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers, 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favnuring airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast. 
The Rapids are near and the daylight 's past 



TO THE LADF CHARLOTTE RAWDON. 

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

Not many months have now been dream'd away 
Since yncler sun, be eat h whose evening ray 
Our boat glides swiftly past th-se wooded shores, 
Siw me where Trent his mazy current pours. 
And Donington's old oaks, to every breeze, 
Whisper the tale of by-gone centuries;— 
Those oaks, to me as sacred as the groves, 
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves, 
And hears the spirit-voice of sire, or chief, 
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf.3 
There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath sung 
My own unpolish'd lays, how proud 1 've hung 
On every tuneful accent ! proud to feel 
That notes like mine should have the fate to steal, 
As o'er thy hallowing lip thty sieh'd ah ng. 
Such breath of passion and such soul of song. 
Yes,— I have wonder'd, like s me peasant boy, 
Who sings, on Sabbath eve, his strains of joy, 
And w hen he hears the wild, untutnr'd noie 
Back to his ea> on softening echois I 
Believes it still some ai.swe: i: g spirit's 'one, 
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own 1 

I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year 
Had fill'd its circle, 1 should wander here 
In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world. 
See all its store of inland waers hurl'd 
In one vast volume d w n Niagara's steep, 
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, 
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed 
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's ted ; 
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide 
Down the white rapids of his lord I \ 

n assy woods, mid islets flowering fair, 
And bloomiug'glades, where the fi.s' sinful pair 
For consola'i in migh' have weepngtrod, 
When banish'd from the garden of their God. 
Oh. Ijdy ! ihese are miracles, which n.an, 

.- hounds of Eur< pes pigmy s| an. 
Can scarcely dream of,— which his eye must see 
To know how woudeiful this world can be ! 

But lo,— the last tints of the west decline, 
And nigh! fills dewy o'er these banks of pjne. 
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat 
Is rork'd to res', the wind's complaining note 
Dies like a half-breath'd wliisjeui g of (lutes ; 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, 
An! I can trace him, like a watery 
Down tie seep current, till he fades afar 
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light. 
Where yon rough rapids siarkle through the night. 

s " Avendoessi percos'umediavere in venerazione 
gli alberi grandi et antic!. i. quasi che siano spesso 
ricettaccoli di Mime beaie."— Pietrc delta f'aile, part. 
second., lelera 16 da i giaidini di Sciraz. 

* Anhutey, in his Travels, has noticed this shoot- 
ing illumination which porpoises diffuse at night 
through the river St.' Lawrence. — Vol. i. p. 29. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



113 



Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray, 
And the smooth glass snake ' gliding o'er my way, 
Shows the dim moonlight through Ins scaly form, 
Fancy, with all the scenes enchantment warm, 
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze 
Some Indian Spirit warble words like these: — 
From the land beyond the sea, 
Whi'her happv spiii s flee; 
Where, transform".! to srcred doves,* 
Many s blessed Indian roves 
Through the air on wing, as white 
As those w ■nd'r ns stones of light, 3 
Which the eye of morning counts 
On the ApalliChian mounts,— 
Hither oft my flight I take 
Over Huron's lucid lake, 
Where the wave, as clear as dew, 
Sleeps beneath the light canoe, 
Which, reflec'ed, floati.i g there, 
Looks as if it hung in air. 4 

Then, when I have stray'd awhile 
Through 'he Manataulin He, 5 
Breathing all i's holy bloom, 
Swift 1 mount me on the plume 
Of my Wakon-Bird, 6 and fly- 
Where, beneath a burning sky, 
O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a waer-nake, 
Wrapt within the web of leaves, 
Which the water-lily weaves.' 
Next I chase the flowret-king 
Thronsh his rosy reilm of spring; 
See him now, while diamond hues 
Soft his neck and wings suffuse, 
In the leafv chal-ce sink. 
Thirsting for hi- balmy drink ; 
Now behold him all oh fire, 
Lovely in his looks of ire, 



* The glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 
» "The departed spirit eoes into the Country of 

Souls, where, according to some, it is transformed into 
a dove." — Charlevoix, upon the Traditio7is and the 
Religion of the Savages of Canada. See the curious 
fable of the American Orpheus in Lafilau, torn. i. p. 
402. 

3 "The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with 
white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were 
called by the Indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit- 
stones." — Mackenzie's Journal. 

* These lines were suggested by Carver's description 
of one of the American lakes. " When it was calm," 
he says, ''and the sun shone bright, 1 could sit in my 
canoe, where the depth was upwards of six fathoms, 
and plainly see huge piles of stone at the boltom, of 
different shapes, some of which appeared as if they 
had been hewn ; the water was at this time as pure 
and trai sparent as air. and my canoe seemed as if it 
hung suspended in thai element. It w as impossible to 
look attentively through this limpid medium, at the 
rocks below, without finding, before many minutes 
were elapsed, your herd s«im and your eyes no 
longer able to behold the dazzling scene." 

5 Apres avoir traverse plusieurs isles pen conside- 
rables, nous en trouvames le quatrieme jour une fa- 
meuse nommee lisle de Manitoualin. — Voyages du 
Baron de Lahontan,lom. i. let. 15. Manataulin sig- 
nifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Lake Huron 
is held sacied by the InJim«. 

6 "The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the 
same species with the bird of Paradise, receives its 
name from the ideas the Indians have of its superior 
excellence ; the Wakon-Bird being, in their language, 
the Bird of the Great Sp'ni'."— Morse. 

f The islands nf Lake Erie are surrounded to a con- 
siderable distance by the la'ire pond-lily, whose leaves 
spread thickly over the surface of the' lake, and form 
a kind of bed for the water-snakes in summer. 



Breaking every infant stem, 
Scattering every velvet gem, 
Where his little tyrant lip 
Had not found enough to sip. 

Then my playful hand I steep 
Where the gold-thread 8 loves to creep, 
Cull from thence a tangled wreath, 
Words of magic round it breathe. 
And the sunny chaplet spread 
O'er the sleeping ny-bird's head, 9 
Till, wiih dreims of honey blest, 
Haunted, in his downy nest, 
By the garden's fairest spells, 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, 
Fancy all his soul embowers 
In the fly -bird's heaven of flowers. 
Oft. when hoar and silvery flakes 
Melt along the ruffled lakes, 
When the giay moose sheds his boras, 
When the tiack, at evening, warns 
Weary hunters of the way 
To the wig-wam's cheering ray, 
Then, aloft through freezing air, 
With the snowbird io so fi "and fair 
As the fleece that heaven tiings 
O'er his little pearly wings, 
Light above the rocks I play. 
Where Niagara's starry spiay, 
Frozen on the cliff, appears 
Like a giant's starting tears. 
There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just upon the cataract's edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began, 
Lone I sit, at close of day, 
While, beneath the golden ray, 
Icy columns gleam below, 
Feather'd round with falling snow, 
And an arch of glory springs. 
Sparkling as the chain of rings 
Round the neck of virgins hung, — 
Virgins,' 1 who have vtander'd young 
O'er the waters of the west 
To the land where spirits rest ! 
Thus have I charm 'd, with visionary lay, 
The lonely moments of the night away ; 
And now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams ! 
Once more, embark'd upon the glittering streams, 
Our boat flies light along the leafy shore, 
Shootiriff the falls, without a dip of oar 
Or breath of zei hyr, like the mystic bark 
The poet saw, in dremis divinely dark. 
Borne, without sails, along the du-ky flood, '3 
While on its deck a pilot angel stood, 



8 •' The gold-thread is of the vine kind, and grows 
in swamps The rools spread themselves just under 
the surface of the morasses, and are easily drawn out 
by handfuls. They resemble a large entangled skein 
of silk, aid are ofa bright yellow." — Morse. 

9 " L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est 
de touies couleurs. vives et change-antes : il tire sa 
subsistence des fleurs commes les abeilles; son nid est 
fait d'un cotton tres-fin suspend a a une branche d'ar- 
bre.'' — Voyages aux hides Occidcntales, par M. 
Bossu, seconde part, lett. xx. 

io Emberiza hyemalis. — See Inilay's Kentucky, p. 
280. 

n Lafitau supposes that there was an order of ves- 
tals established among the lioquois Indians. — Mceurs 
des Sauuages Americains, $c. torn. i. p. 173. 
12 Vedi che sdegna gli argomer.ti umani ; 
Si che remo non vuol, ne allro vtlo, 
Che 1' ale sue tra liti si lontani. 
Vedi come 1'ha dritte verso 'I cielo 
Tiattando 1' aerc con I' eterne penne ; 
Che non si niut.ui, come mortal pelo. 

Dante, Purgator. cant. ii. 



114 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And, with his wings of living light tinfurl'd, 
Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 

2t, oh ! believe me, mid this mingled maze 
Of nature's beauties, where the fancy strays 
From charm to charm, where eveiy flow'ret's hoe 
Haih something' strange, and every leaf is new, — 
1 never feel a joy so pure and s ill. 
So inly felt, as when some brook or hill, 
Or veteran oak, like hnse remeinber'd well, 
3>me mountain echo or some wild-flower's smell, 
(For, who can say by what small fairy ties 
The mem'ry clings to pleasure ns ii flies?) 
Remind-, my heart of many a sylvan dream 
I once indufg'd by Trent's inspiring stream 
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 
On Doniugton's green lawris and breezy height!. 

Whether I trace the tranquil momen's o'er 
When 1 have seen thee cull the frui's of lore, 
With him, the polish'd warrior, by thy side, 
A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
When thou has! read of heroes, trophied high 
In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye 
Turn to the living hero, while it read, 
For pure and brightening comments on the dead ;— 
Or whether memory to my mind recal's 
The fes'al grandeur of those lordly halls. 
When guesis have met around the s; a kling board, 
And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd ; 
When the blight future Star of England's throne, 
With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone, 
Winning respect, nor claiming what he won, 
But tempering greatness, like an evening sun 
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire, 
Radiant, but mild," all softness, yet all fire; — 
Whatever hue my recollection^ take, 
Even the regret, the very pain they wake, 
Is mix'd with happiness": — but, ah ! no more — 
Lady ! adieu — my heart has linger'd o'er 
Those vanish'd time;, till all that round me lies, 
Stream, banks, and bowers have faded on my eyes ! 



IMPROMPTU, 
AFTER A VISIT TO MRS. , OF MONTREAL. 

'T was but for a moment — and yet in that time 
She crowded lh' impressions of many an hour: 

Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime, 
Which wak'd every feeling at once into [lower. 

Oh ! could we have borrow'd from Time but a day, 
To renew such impressions again and again, 

The things we should look Mid imagine and say 
Would be worth all the life we had wasted till then. 

What we had not the leisure or language to speak, 
We should find some more spiritual mode of re- 
vealing. 

And, between us, should feel just as much in a week 
As others would take a millennium in feeling. 



WRITTEN 

ON PASSING DEADMAN'S ISLAND,* 

IN THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, 

LATE IN THE EVENING, SEPTEMBER, 1804. 

See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 

Fas! si '.ii !i^ lion?, a gloomy bark ? 

Hei mils are full,— though the wind is still, 

An! there blows not a breath her sails lo till '. 



i 
I 

IT 



Say, what doth that vessel of darkness bear ? 
The silent calm of the grave is there, 
Save now and again a death knell rung, 
And the flap of the sails with night-fog hang. 

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 
Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 
Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost, 
Full mauy a mariner's bones are tost. 

Ton shadowy bark hath been to that wreck, 
And the dim blue fire, that lights her deck, 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Dead man's Isle, in the eye of the blast, 
To Deadmau's Isle, she speeds her fast; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl d, 
And the hand that steers is not of this world ! 

Oh ! hurry thee on — oh ! hurry thee on, 
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, 
Nor let m >mmg look on so foul a sight 
As would blanch for ever her ro_-y light ! 



TO THE BOSTON FRIGATE, a 

ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, 
OCTOBER, 1604. 

Noorov 7rpo£a<ns yXvKtpov. 

Pindar. Pyth. 4. 

With triumph this morning, oh, Bos'on ! I b»il 
The s!ir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, 
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in ihee, 
To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, 
And that chill Nova-Scotia's unpromising strauJ 3 
Is the last I shall Iread of American anj. 
Well— peace to the land! may her sons know, at length, 
That in high-minded honour lies liberty's strength, 
That though man be as fiee as the fetterless wind, 
As the waironest air that the north can unbind. 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast, 
If no harvest of mii.d ever sprung wheie it ; 



This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singu- 



lai ly enough, is the property of Sir Isaac Coffin. 1 be 
above lines were suggested by a superstition very 
common anion* sailor*, who call this ghost-ship, 1 
think, " the Flying Dutchman." 

We were thirteen day> on oor passage from Quebec 
lo Halifax, and 1 bad been so spoiled by the truly 
splendid hoapi ality of my friends of the r'haeton and 
Boston, that I w.s'but ill prepared for the n, 
a Canadian vessel. The weather, however, was 
pleasant, and the scenery along the river delightful. 
Our passage through the Gut ol Canso. with ■ 
sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking and 
romantic. 

* Commanded by Cap'ain J. E. Douglas, with 
whom 1 returned to Englaid.and to whom 1 am in- 
debted for many, many kindnesses. In 'ruth, I should 
but offend Ibe delicacy of my friend Douglas, and. at 
the same time, do injustice to my own feelings of 
gratitude, did 1 atiempt to say how much I one to 
him. 

3 Sir John Wentworlh. the Governor 
Scotia, very kindly allowed me to ace mpanv him on 
his vi-it to the College, which thev hate la elv 
established at Windsor,"about forty miles from Hali- 
fax, and 1 was indeed most pleasantly surprised bv 
the beauty and fertiliv of the countrv which opened 
upon us after the bleak and rocky wilderness by which 
Halifax is surrounded.— I was told that, in 'ravelling 
onwards. «e <l ould find the soil an! he scenery im"- 
■ me n ucli pleasure lo kn' » that the 
worthy Governor has bs no intans such an " inama- 
bile legnum" as 1 was, at first sir;hl, inclined to 
believe. 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME. 115 



Then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its might,— 
Free only to ruin, aud strong but to blight ! 

Farewell to the few I have left with regret ; 
Miy they sometimes recall, what I cannot forget, 
The delight of those evenings.— too brief a delight ! 
When in converse and soi.g » e have stol'n on the night; 

| When they ve ask'd me the m .nuers, the mind, or 

the mien 

Of some bard I had known or some chief I had seen, 

Whose glory, though distant, Ihey long had ador"d, 

Whose name had oft hallow'd the wine-cup they 

pour'd; 

i And still as, with sympathy humble but true, 
I have told of erch' bright son of fame all I knew, 
They have lis end. and sigli'd that the powerful stream 
Of Americi's empire should pass, like adreim, 
Without le ving one relic of genius, to say 
How sublime was the tide which had vanish'd away! 
Farewell to the few — though we never may meet 
On this planet again, it is soothing and s«eet 
To think that, whenever my song or my name 
Shall recur to their ear, they '11 recall me the same 
I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful, and 

blest, 
Ere hope had deceiv'd me or sorrow deprest. 



But, Douglas ! while thus I recall to my mind 
The elect of the land we shall soon leave' behind, 
I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye, 
As it follows the rack fluting over the sky, 
That the faint coming breeze will be fair for our flight, 
And shall steal us away, ere the falling of nigh'. 
Dear Douglas! thou kn'owest, with thee by my side, 
With thy ft iendsbtp tosoothe me, thy courage to guide, 
There is' not a bleak isle in those summer less seas, 
Where the day comes in darkness, or shines but to 

freeze, 
Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore, 
That I could not with patience, with pleasure explore! 
Oh, think :hen how gladly I f. Mow thee now, 
When Hope smooths the billowy path of our prow, 
And each prosperous sigh of the west-springing wind 
Takes me nearer (he home where my heart is 

enshrin'd ; 
Where the smile of a father shall meet me again, 
And the ears of a mother turn bliss into pain ; 
Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my heart, 
And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part ? — 

But see ! — the bent top-sails are ready to swell — 
To the boat— I am with thee— Columbia, farewell • 



END OF VOL. II 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME. 



The thee satirical Poems with which this Volume 
commences, were published originally without the 
author's name ; 'Corruption" and " Intolerance" in 
the ye>r IbOS, and " The Sceptic " in the year follow- 
in;. The poli'ical opinions adop'ed in the first of 
these Sat-res— the Poem on Corruption — were chiefly 
caught up, as is intimated in the original Preface, 
from the wri ings of Bolingbroke, Sir William 
Wvndham, and other s'atesmen of that factious 
period, when the same sort of alliance took place 
between Toryism and what is now called Radicalism, 
which is always iikely to ensue on the ejection of ihe 
Tory parly from power.! In this s mewhat rash 
effusion, it will be seen that neither of the two great 
English parties is handled with much respect; and I 
remember being taken to task, by one of the few of 
my Whig acquaintances that ever looked into the 
poem, fir the following allusion to the silencing 
effec s of official station on certain orators : — 



But 'hese attempts of mine in the stately, Juvenalian 
style of satire, met with but little success — never 
having attained, I believe, even the honours of a 
second edition; and I found that lighter form of 
weapon, to which 1 afterwards betook my-elf, not 
only moie easy to wield, but, from its vety lightness, 
perhaps, more sure to reach its -mark. 

It would almost seem, too, as if the same unembit- 
tered spirit, the same freedom from all real malice 
with which, in most instances, this sort of squib- 
warfate has been waged by me, was felt, in s<>me 
degree, even by those who were 'hemselves the 
objects of it: — so generousiy forgiving have I, in 
most instances, found them. Even the high Person 
age ag inst whom the earliest and perhaps most suc- 
ce sful of my lighter missiles were launched, could 
refer to and quote them, as I learn from an incident 
mentioned in the Life of Sir Waller Scott, wih a 
degree of good-humour and playfulness which was 
creditable alike to his temper and good sense. At a 
memorable dinner given by the Regent to Sir Walter 



» Bolingbroke himself acknoivle-.lg 
parties were become factions, in the s;: 
word.'' 



"both 
: of the 



in the year 1815, Scott, among other stories with 
which his royal host was much amused, told of a 
sentence passed by an old friend of his, the Lord Jus- 
tice Clerk Biaxrield, atieuded by citcumsances in 
«hich the cruelty of this waggish judge was even 
more conspicuous than his humour. "The Regent 
laughed heartily," says the biographer, "at this speci- 
men of Br.xlield's brutal humour; and " 1' faith, 
Walter." said he, "this old big-wig seems to have 
taken things as coolly as my tyrannical self. Don't 
you remember Tom Moore's description of me at 
breakfast? — 



In reference to this, and o'her less exalted instances, 
of the good-humoured spirit in which my "innocui 
sales ' have in general been taken, 1 shall venture to 
cite here a few flattering sen'ences »h,ch, coming as 
'hey did from a political adversary and a stranger, 
touched me far more by their gener'osi'y than even by 
their prai-e. In speaking of the pension which had 
just then been conferred upon me, and expressing, in 
warm terms, his approval of the grant, the editor of 
a leading Tory journal ^ thus liberally expresses him- 
self: — " We know that some will blame us for our 
prejudice— if it be prejudice, in favour of Mr. 
Moore ; but we cannot help it. As he tells us him- 
self, 

' \\ it a diamond brings 
That cuts ila bright way through ' 

the most obdurate political antipathies. « * * We do 
not believe that any one w..s ever hurt by libels so 
witty as those of Mr. Moore :— great privilege of wit, 
wh ch renders it impossible even for those whose 
enemies wits are, to hate them !" 

To return to the period of Ihe Regency : — In the 
numerous attacks from the government press, which 
my volleys of small shot against the Com! used to 
draw down upon me, it was constantly alleged, as an 
aggravation of my mi deeds, that I had been indebted 
to the Royal | ersonage thus assailed by me for many 
kind and subsian ial services. Luckily, ihe list of the 
benefits sho»ered upon me from that high quarter 
may be despatched in a few sentences. At the re- 



* The Standard, August 24, 1S35. 



116 PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME. 



quest of Lord Moira, one of my earliest and best 
friends, his Royal Highne-s graciously permitted me 
to dedicate to him my Translation of the Odes of 
Anacreon. I was twice, I think, admitted to the j 
honour of dining at Carlton House; and when the 
Prince, on his being made Regent in 1611, gave his 
meniur be fete. I was one of the crowd— ab. ut 1500. 
1 believe, in number — who enjoyed the privilege of : 
being Ins guests on the occasion. 

There < ccur some allu-ions, indeed, in the Two-] 
penny Post-B'g, to the absurd taste displayed in the. 
om.mei.ts of the R yal supper table at that fete ; 1 
and this violation — lor such, to a certain extent, 1 
allow il to have been — ol the leverence due to the 
riles of the Ho pi able Jove,* which, whether ad- 
ministeied by prince or peasant, ought to be sacied 
from such expo-me. I am by no means disposed to | 
defend. But. whatever may Le thought of ihe taste 
or piudenceof some of these satires, theie exists no 
longer, 1 ai prehend, much ditfeiei.ee of opinion re- 
specting the ch iracter of the Royal personage against 
whom they were aimed. Alieady, indeed, has the 
stern verdict which the voice of History cannot but 
pronounce upon him, been in some degree antici- 
pated^ in a ske'ch of the domestic events of his 
reign, supposed to have proceeded from the pen of 
one who was himself an actor in some of is most 
painful scenes, and who, from his pre fessional posi- 
tion, commanded a near insight into the character of 
that exalted individual, both as husband and father. 
To the same high authority I must refer for an ac- 
count of the mysterious " Book,''* to which allusion 
is more than once made in the following pages. 

One of the first and mo-t successful of the numer- 
ous trifles 1 wrote at that period, was the Parody o,i 
the Regent's celebrated Leter. announcing to the 
world that he " had no predilect.ons,'' &c. Th s 
very cppoitune squib was, at firs', circulated pri- 
vately ; my Wei d. Mr. Perry, having for some time 
hesia ed to pnb'ish it. He got some copies of it, 
however, prin'ed off for me, which I sent round to 
se enl rnembe s "f the Whig party : and havit g to 
meet a number of them at dun er immediate y after, 
found it no easy mater to Keep my countei ance while 
they were discussing am >ng them the merits of the 
Parody. One of the party, 1 recollect, having quoted 



to me the following description of the state of both 
King and Regent, at that moment, — 



grew ralher provoked with me for not enjoying the 
fun of the parody as much as himself. 

While thus the excitement of party feeling lent to 
the political triries contained in this volume a relish 
and pungency not their own, an effect has beeD atri- 
buted to two squibs, wholly unconnected with politics 
— the Letters fiom the Dowager Countess of Corke, 
and from Me-srs. Lackington aud Co. 5 — of which 1 
myself had not the slightest notion till I found it thus 
alluded to in Mr. Lockharl's Life of Sir Walter Scott 
In speaking of the causes which were supposed to 
hive coutiibuted to Ihe comparative failure of the 
Poem ( f " Rokeby," the biographsi says, ■ It is lair 
to add that, among the Lord u circles, at least, some 
sarcastic flings, in Mr Mo lie's Two-penny P. st-Bag, 
must have had an unfavourable influence on this occa- 
sion.'^ 

Among the translations that have appeared on the 
Continent, of the g ea er part of my poetical works, 
there has been no attempt, as far sis 1 can learn, to 
give a version of any of my satirical writings,— wiib 
the single exception of a squib contained in this vo- 
I u,-, e tilled "Li tleMan and LitileSoul/iof which 
there is a translation into Ge man verse, by the late 
distingu shed oriental scholar, Professor Von Bohlen.* 
I h ugh unskilled, my-elf. in Germ.n, 1 can yet per- 
ceive — sufficiently to marvel at it— the dexterity 
aud ease w i h which tiie Old Ballad metre of the ori- 
ginal is adopted and managed in the translation. As 
thistriile may be c nsiJeted curi us, n"t only in itself, 
but still more as connected with so learned a name, I 
shall here present il k> my readers, premising that 
the same eminent Professor has left a version also of 
my very early facetuc, "Ihe Rabbiuidl Origin of 
Woman." 

"THERE WAS A LITTLE MAS." 



(Trantlated >iy Pro/ei 
war ein klei: 



- con BoUcn.) 



Mann 

lei halt -ii kit-men Geist 
Cod er sprach : kleiuer Gent »>hn wir zn, zu, in. 



t The same fauteuils and girandoles — 

The SUIlc g It I 

That, in this rich and cl .ssic dome, 

Appear so petfectlyat I. 

The same bright liver, 'm"itg 'he dishes, 

But not — ab ! not the same dear fishes. 

Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones; — 

So, steid of silver and of gold ones, 

(It being rather hard to raise 

Fish of that specie now a-daysj 

Some sprats have been, by Y— rm— h's wish, 

Promo'ed into silver fish, 

And gudgeons (so V— ns— tt— t told 

The Reg— I) are as good as gold. 

iy Post-Bag, p 135 
5 Ante fores s'abat Jovis Ho pitis ata. Ovid. 
3 Edinburgh Review, No. exxxv., George the 
Fourth and Queen Caroline — '• When to 
entered upon public life, he wis f 'U d to have ex- 
hansted the re-ources of a career of pleasure; to hive 
gained followers without making friends ; to have ac- 
quired much envy and s"me admiration among the 
unthinking multitude of polished society; but not to 
command in any quarter either respect or es'eem. * * 
The portiail which «e have pain'ed of him is un- 
doubtedly one of the daikest shades, and most repul- 
sive forni." 

* " There is no doubt whatever that The Book, 
written b? Mr. Perceval, and privately printed at his 
house, under Lord Eldon's superintendence and his 
own, was prepared in concert with the tin g, and was 
intended to sound the alarm against Carl! 
and the Whigs." — Ed. Review, ib. 



5 Tw penny Post-Bas, p. 135. I avail myself of 
the mei ' il er squib, to recant a cor- 

rection which 1 too hastily made in the two following 
lines of it : — 



Forgetting that Pope's ear »a- satisfied with the sort 
of rhyme here u-. red (aud spoiled) 

the Whole couplet to get rid of'it 

6 -See, for instance," savs Mr. L'ckhart, ''the 
Epistle of Lady C rke ; or (bat of Messrs. Lackiug- 
ton, b oksellers. to one of their dandy aulh >rs: — 

■Should you feil any tou. h nf poelicat glow, 

Hon mint kn-m, 
(Wbo, we Ram.') 



-■■ to pay) 
Means lo 4„ ■ 

- can beat 

To etart a fresh Port Ihrouch Hipheate tn mett him: 

Who, ry mi-ausnf qt . . voarhes— 

May d i a few villas, before Sk 

Iodral, tfoor Peeaasa bv not 

He'll r. ah, without fuuod'i ing.nl least Wnburn Abbey.'" 

i Alluding to a speech delivered in thevear 1SI3 by 
the Right Hon. Charles Abbot (then Speaker) against 
ui's motion for a Committee on the claims 
of the Catholics. 

8 Author of •' The Ancient Indian." 

• Paternoster Row. 



CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE 



117 



Ob iiih moglicli wc.hl wird seyn 

So em klciues KciJeleiii 
Uas wir halteii, kleiner ich und kleiner du, du, do. 

Das wir halien, Kleiner ich unil kleiner du. 

Und der klciDe Geist, dcr brach 

Aus deui Lmhe nun und sprach : 
Ich beliauo'*. k'^t-r Maim, du nisi keck, keck, kfck, 

A mini oicht ubi rsj-sj Zweifel, 

Aber sage mir, 2um Teufel, 
Hat die kleine kleine lied' cinen zv i% zweck, zweck, 

Hat die kleine kleine Red' eiiieu zweck? 

Der kleine Maun darauf 

Bliess die Backen macbtig auf, 
Uud er sprach : klciin-i bti>[ sey gescheut, scheut, scheut ; 

Kleiner ich uud kleiner du 

Suid berufeii ja dazu 
Zu verdamnieu uud liekehreu alle Leut', Leut', Leut' 

Zu verdamnieu und bekelireu alle Leut' 

Und sie tlngen beide an 

Der kleine Heist und kleine Mann, 
Paukteu ab ibre llede so klein, kleiu, klein; 



Und die ganz Welt fur wahr 

Meiut, das aufgeblas'lie l'aar 
Musst ei 11 wiuziges 1'f.iiieleiu nur seyn, seyn, seyn, 
Musst eiu winzigeH l'failclcin, nur seyn. 

Having thus brought together, as well from the re- 
cords of otheis, as from my own recollection, what- 
ever incidental lights could be thrown from those 
sources, on some of the satirical effusions contained 
in these pages, 1 shall now reseive all such reminis- 
cences and notices as relate to the Irish Melodies, for 
our next volume. 

It is right my readers should here be apprized, that 
the plan of classing my poetical works according to 
the o der of their first publication, is pursued no "fur- 
ther I han the Second Volume of this Collection ; and 
lha 1 , therefore, Hie arrangement of the contents of the 
succeeding Volumes, though not, in a general way, 
departing much from this rule, is not to be depended 
upon as observing it. 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 

TWO POEMS. 
ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BY AN IRISHMAN. 



PREFACE. 

The practice which has been lately introduced into 
literature, of writing very long no es upon very indif- 
ferent verses, appears to me raiher a happy inven- 
tion ; as it supplies us with a mode of turning dull 
poetry to account; and as horses too heavy for the 
saddle may yet serve well enough to draw lumber, so 
Poems of "this kind make excellent beasts of burden, 
and will bear notes, though they may not bear read- 
ing. Besides, the comments in such cases aie so linle 
under the necessity of paying any servile deference to 
the text, that they may even adopt that Socratic dogma, 
"Quod supra nos nihil ad no S . 

In the hist of the two following Poems, I have ven- j 
lured to speak of the Revolution of 16S8, in language 
which has sometimes been employed by Tory wi iters, 
and which is theiefore neither very new nor popular. 
But however an Englishman might be reproached 
with ingratitude, for depreciating the nerits and re-, 
suits of a measure, which he i- tanghl to regard as the 
source of his liberties — however ungrateful it might 
appear in Aldeiman B— rch to question for a moment 
the purity of that glorious era, to which he is indebt- 
ed for the seasoning of so many orations — yet an 
Irishman, who has none of thee obligations to ac- 
knowledge ; to whose c nnuy the Revolution brought 
nothing but injury and insult, and who recollects that 
the book of Molyneux was bun.eJ, by order uf Wii- 
liam'- Whig P.vliamcnt, for daring to extend lo un- 
fortunate Ireland those p inciples on which the Revo- 
lution was professedly founded— an Irishman may be 
allowed lo cri icise f.-eely the measures of that | eriod, 
without exposing himself either to the iuipu atiou of 
ingiatitude, or to the suspicion of being influenced by 
any Popish remains of Jacobitism. No nation, it is 
true, was ever blessed n illi a moie golden opportunity 
of establishing and securing ils libeities foi ever than 
the conjuncture of Eighty-eight presented to the peo- 
ple of Cireal Biitain. But the disgraceful re gt s of 
Charles and James had weakened and degraded the 
national character. The hold notions of popular 
right, which had arisen out uf the stiugg'es between 
Charles the First and his Parliament, were gradually 
supplanted by those slavish d ctnnes for which Lord 
H—kesb—ry" eulogises the churchmen of that period ; 
atd as the Reformation had happened too soon for the 
purity of religion, so the Revolution came too late for 
the spirit of liberty. Its advantages accordingly wete 
for the most part specious and transitory, while the 



evils which it entailed are still felt and still increas- 
ing. By rendeiing unnecessary the frequent exercise 
of Prerogative, — that unwieldy power which cannot 
move a step without alarm, — it diminished the only 
interference of the Crown, which is singly and inde- 
pendently exposed before the people, and whose 
aLuses thereto: e are obvious to their seu.-es and capaci- 
ties. Like the myrtle over a celebrated statue in 
Minerva's temple at Allien-, it skilfully veiled from 
the pi blic eye the only obtrusive feature of royalty. 
At the same t.nie, however, that the Revolution 
abridged this unpopular attribute, it amply compen- 
sated by the s b-lilution of a new power", as much 
more potent in ils effect as it is more secret in its ope- 
rations. In Ihe disposal of an immense revenue and 
theexteusive | alroiiage annexed lo it, Ihe liist foun- 
dation- of this power of the Crown were laid; the 
innovation of a standing army at once increased and 
strengthened it, aud the" few slight barriers which the 
Act of Settlement opposed to ils progiess have all 
been gr. dually removed duiing the whiggish reigns 
that succeeded ; till at length this spirit of influence 
has become the vital principle of the state,— an 
agency, subtle ai d unseen, which | ervades every pail 
of the C ns itution, lurks under all its forms and 
regulites all it- movement-, aud. like the invisible 
sylph or grace which presides over the motions of 
beauty, 



The cause of Liberty and the Revolution are so habi- 
tually associated in the minds of Englishmen, that 
probab y in objecting to the latter I may he thought 
hostile or indifferent to the former. But assuredly 
nothing could be more unjust than such a sus| icion. 
Ihe very object, indeed, which my humble animad- 
versions would attain is, that in Ihe cii-is to which I 
think England is now hastening, and between which 
aud foreign subjugation she may soon be compelled to 
choo-e, 'he errors and omissions of 1GSS should be 
remedied ; and, as it was then her fate to experience 
a Revolution with Reform, so she any now endeavour 
to accomplish a Ref im wilhou' a Revol 

In si easing of ihe parties which have so long agi- 
tated England, it will be observed that i lean as little 
to the V\ higs as to their adver-aries. Both factions 
have been equally ciuel lo li eland, and perhaps 
equally insincere in their efforts for the liberties ci 



118 



CORRUPTION. 



England. There is one name, indeed, connected with 
whiggi-m, of which I can never think tut with vene- 
ration and tenderness. As justh. however, might the 
light of the sun be claimed by any particular nation, 
as the sanction of that name be monopolized by any 
parly whatsoever. Mr. Fox belonged hi mankind, 
and they have lost in him their ablet frie d. 

With respect to the few lines upi n Intolerance, 
which I have subjoined, they a T e but the imperfect 
beginning of a long series of Essays, with wh ch I 
he:e menace my leaders, upon it.e same important 
subject. I shall look to no higher merit in lie lask, 
than that of giving a new form to claims and remon- 
strances, which have often been much moteeb quently 
urged, and which would long ere now have produced 
their effect, but that ihe minds of some of our stales- 
men, like Ihe pupil of the human eye, contract them- 
selves the more, the stronger light there is shed upon 
them. 



CORRUPTION. 

AN EPISTLE. 



Nvv 6' anavS' ito-nto t| ayopac acne-parai 
TaVTO.' aVTti<rrjKTai Ct avrt tovtwv, v$' wv 
airoAtoAt xai vtvoarjKtv i/ 'EAAac. Taura rj' 
to-Tt Tt ; £nAoc, a rtc eiAtj^e rr yeAaic av 6u,oAo- 
yij- cvyyvioti.i) rots £A£y^ou,£Votc /uo-oc, av tov- 
toic tij imri/ia - ToAAa iravTa, 6<ra tK tov 6"oo- 
qo&okuv ■qOT-qrax. Danoslh. Plulipp. iii. 



And feel, though close our wedded countries twice, 
More soriow for my own than pride from thine. 

Yet pause a moment — and if truths severe 
Can rind an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W— rd's gazetted lies, 
And loves no politics in rhyme hut Pye's, — 
If aught can please thee but ihe zood old saws 
Of •'Church aud State," and ••"William's matchless 

laws." 
And u .Acts and Rights of glorious Eighty-eight,"— 
'1 hings which though now a century out of date, 
Still serve to ballast, with convenient words, 
A few crank arguments fjr speeching lords. — * 
Turn, while I lei I how England's freedom found. 
Where most she look'd foMife. I.er deadliest wound ; 
How brave she struggled, while her foe was seen, 
How faint since Influence leni lhat f e a screen ; 
How strong o'er James and Poperv she prevarl'd, 
How weakly fell, when Whigs and gold assail'd.i 

While kings were poor, and all those schemes un- 
know ii 
Which dram the people, to enrich the throne; 
Ere yet a yielding Commons had supplied 
Those chaii s of gold by which themselves are tied ; 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to creep 
With bribery's silent foot on Freedom's sleep, 
Franky avow'd his bold enslaving plan. 
And c.aim'd a right from God io trample man ! 
But Luther's schism had Ko much mus'd mankind 
For Hampden's tiu'hs io linger long brhir d ; 
Nor then, when king like popes had f lien so low, 
Could pope-like kings 6 escape the levelling blow. 



Boast on, my friend — though stript of all beside, 
Thy struggling na' ion still retains her pride: » 
That pride, which once in genuine glorv woke 
When Marlborough fought, and brilliant St. John 

spoke ; 
That pride which sti II, by time and slnme unstung. 
Outlives even Wh— tel— cke's sword and H— wk— s- 

b'ry's tongue! 
Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled isle 3 
Where Honour moutns and Freedom fears to smile, 
Where the bright light of England's fame is known 
But by the shadow o'er our fortunes thrown ; 
Where, doom'd ourselves to nought but wrongs and 

slights,3 
We hear you boast of Britain's glorious rights, 
As wretched slaves, that under hatches lie, 
Hear those on deck extol the sun aid sky ! 
Boast on. while wandering through my native haun's, 
I coldly listen to iliy patriot vaunts ; 



> Angli suos ac sua omnia impense mirantur ; cae'e- 
ras nationes despectui h.ihent. — Barclay (as quoted 
in one of Dryden's prefaces). 

» England began very eirly to feel the effects of 
cruelty Inwards her dependencies. " The severity of 
her government imvs Mtcpher-on) contributed more 
to deprive her of the continental dominions of the 
family of Planiagenet than ihe arms of France." — See 

I his //i-slon/, vol. i. 

3 " Rv the total reduction of the kingdom of Ireland 

! in 1691 (says Birkei, the ruin of Ihe native Irish, and 

j in a great measure, too, i f the fir-t iacfs of the Eng- 
lish, was Completely accomplished. The lew Eng- 
lish interest was se'tled with as solid a sterility m any 
thing in human affairs can lo k for. A tlie penal 
laws of that unparalleled code of oppression, which 
were made after the last event, were man festrj the 
effects of national haired and scorn towatds a con- 
quered people, whom the viciors delighted io trample 
upon, and we e not at ail afraid to provoke." Yet 
this is the era to which the wise common council of 

I Dublin refer us for " invaluable blessings," &c. 



* It never seems lo occur to those orators and ad- 
dres-ers who rou nteocea ad para- 
graphs wiih the Bill of Rights, the Act of Se 'lenient. 
&c , that most of the provisions which ihese Ads 
contained for the preservation of parliamentary inde- 
pendence have been long lard aside as romantic and 
troublesome. I never meet. I conVss. wi'h a |ioliti- 
cian » h" quotes se inusty the Declaration of Rights, 
&c, to prove the actual exi-tence of Engli-h liberty, 
that I do not think of thai iiiarqin-, wh m Mo 
mention?,* who set alx-u' e» in the 
Pyrenees, on the -tret gth of auth< ri'ies which he hid 
read in some ancient authors. Ihe poor marquis 
toiled and searched in vain. He quo ed his authori- 
ties to the last, but found no mines afier all. 

s The chief, perhaps the only advantage which has 
resul'ed from the svs em of influence, is hat tranquil 
course of unin'errup'ed ac ion which it has given lo 
the adminisiia'ion of gmenment. If kings mtat be 
paratnnuni in the slate (ami 'heir minis en for the 
time being always think s \ the c untry is indebted 

■ to the Revolution fcr enabling them to lecnme so 
quietly, aid for removing skilfully the danger of those 
shocks and collisions which the' alarming efforts of 
, never failed 1 1 produce, 
i of vain and disturbing eff. r*s to es'ablish 
that speculative balance of the constitution, which, 
|>erhaps, has never <x stt ,t lut in the pases of Montes- 
quieu ai d I)e L line, a preponderance is now silently 
yielded to one of the three estates, which carries the 
o'her two almost insensibly, but still effectually, along 
with it ; and even though the path n ay lead evrntu- 

. ally to destructi' n, vet i's s|iecious and g'di 
ne-s almost a'ones for the dang, r ; at d, lik 
bridge over Chars, it m ij be said to lead, 

"Smooth, easy, ioofftnsrre, dowu to ." 

6 The drivelling correspondence be'ween James I. 
and his " _ S ^ ogham), 

which we find among the Hardwicke Papers, suffi- 
ciently shows, if we wanted any such illustration, 
in o what doting, idiotic brains the plan of arbitrary 
power may enter. 

* Lit. xxi. chap. 2. 



COR RUPTION. 



119 



That p -nderous sceptre ( in whose place we bow- 
To the light talisman of influence now), 
Too gross, too visible to work the spell 
Which modern power performs, in fragments fell: 
In fragments lay, till, pa'ch'd and paineJ o'er 
With fleurs-de-lys, it shone and scourged once more. 

Twjs then, my friend, thy kneeling nation qu iff d 
Long, long and deep, the churchman's opia'e draught 
Of passive, prone obedience — then took flight 
All sense of man's true dignity and right; 
And Bri'ons slept so sluggish in their chain, 
That freedom's watch-voice callM almost in vain. 
Oh England ! England ! whit a chance was thine, 
When the last tyrant of that ill-starr'd line 
Fled from his sullied crown, and left thee free 
To f.iund thy own eternal liberty ! 
How nobly high, in that propitious hour, 
M ight patriot hands have rais'd the triple tower * 
Of British freedom, on a rock divine, 
Which neither force could storm nor treachery mine ! 
But no — the lumii.ous, the lofty plan, 
Like mighty Babel, seem'd too bold for man ; 
The curse of jarring tongues again was given 
To thwart a work which raised men nearer heaven. 
While Tories mar'd what Whigs had scarce begun, 
While Whigs undid what Whigs tliemselves had 
done,* 



The hour was lost, and William, with a smile, 
Saw Freedom weeping o'er the uniinish'd pile! 
Hence all the ills you suffer, — hence remain 
'uch galling fragments of that feudal chain, 3 
Whose links, around you by the Norman flung, 
Though lorded and broke so often, still have clung. 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old, 
Has turn'd his thunder into showers of gold, 
Whose silent courtship wins securer joys,* 
Taints by degrees, and ruins without noise. 



i Tacitus has expressed his opinion, in a passage 
very frequently quoted, that such a distribution of 
power as the theory of tho- British constitution exhi- 
bits is me ely a subject of bright speculation, u a sys- 
tem more easily praised than prac ised, and which, 
even could it happen to exist, would certainly not 
prove permanent ;" and, in truth, a review of Eng- 
land's anuals would dispose us to agree with the great 
historian's remark. For we find ihat at no period 
wlia ever has this balance of the three estates exis ed ; 
that the nobles predominated till the policy o.' Henry 
VII. and his successor reduced their weigh' by break- 
ing up the feu Jal system of pro|>erty ; Ihat the power 
of the Crown became then supreme and absolute, till 
the bold encroachments of the Commons subverted the 
fabric altogether; that the alternate ascendency of 
prerogative and privilege distracted the period which 
followed the Restoration ; aud that, lastly, the Acts of 
1688, by laying the foundation of an unbounded court- 
influence, have secured a preponderance to the 
Throne, which every succeeding year increases. So 
that the vaunted British constitution has never per- 
haps existed but in mere theory. 

2 The monarchs of Great Britain can never be suf- 
ficiently grateful for that accommodating spirit which 
led the'Bevoluiioiary Whigs to give away the crown, 
without imposing any of those restraints or stipula- 
tions which other men might have taken advantage of 
so favourable a moment to enforce, and in the fiaming 
of which they lad so good a model to follow as the 
limitations proposed by the Lords Essex and Halifax, 
in the debate upon the Exclusion Bill. They not 
only condescended, however, to accept of places, but 
took care tbat these digmtie- should be no impedi- 
ment to iheir ''voice potential" in affairs of legisla- 
tion; and although an Act was af er many years suf- 
fered to | as>, which by one of its articles di-qualified 
plactmen from serving as members of the House of 
Com mom, it was yet not allowed to interfere with 
the influence of the reigning monarch, nor with that 
of his successor Anne. The purifying clause, indeeJ, 
was not to take effect till after the'decea-eof the latter 
sovereign, and she very considerately repealed it 
alt< gether. So that, a6 representation has continued 
ever since, if the king were simple enough to send to 
foreign courts amba-sadors v>ho were most of them in 
the pay of those courts, he would be just as honestly 
and faithfully represented S6 are his people. It 
would be endless to enumerate all (lie favours which 
were conferred upon William by those "apostate 
Whigs." They cmpl merited him with the first sus- 
pension of the Habeas Corpus Act which had been 



hazarded since the confirmation of tbat privilege ; and 
this example of our Deliverer's reign has not been lost 
upon any of his successors. They promoted the 
establishment of a standing army, and circulated in 
its defence the ce'ebrated ''Balancing Letter," in 
which it is insinuated that England, even then, in her 
boasted hour of regeneration, was arrived at such a 
pitch of taction and corruption, tha' nothing could 
keep her in order but a Whig ministry and a standing 
rmy. They refused, as long as they could, to shorten 
the duration of parliaments; and' though, in the 
Declaration of Rights, the necessity of such a reform 
was acknowledged, they were able, by arts not un- 
known to modern ministers, to brand those as traitors 
and republicans who urged i .* But the grand and 
distinguishing trait of their measures wjs the power 
they besowed on the Crown of almost annihilating 
the freedom of ejections,— of turning from its course, 
and for ever defiling that great stream of Representa- 
tion, which had, even in the most agitated pei iods, 
reflected some features of the people, but which, from 
thenceforth, became the P. dolus, the "aurifer am- 
nis," of the couit, and served as a mirror of the 
national will and popular feeling no loi.ger. We 
need but con-ult the writings of that time, to under- 
s'.ind the astonishment then excited by measuies, 
which the practice of a century ha- rendered not only 
familiar but necessarv. See a pamphlet called " The 
Danger of mercenary Parliaments," 1698 ; State 
Tracts, Will. III. vol. ii. ; see also "Some Paradoxes 
presented as a New Year's Gifi," (State Poems, vol. 
iii.) 

3 The last great wound given to the feudal system 
was the Act of the 12th of Charles II., which abol- 
ished the tenure of knight's service m capite, and 
which Blackstone compares, for its salutary influence 
upon property, to the boasted provisions of Magna 
Charta itself.' Yet even in this Act we see the effects 
of that counteracting spirit which has contrived to 
weaken every effort of the English nation towards 
liberty. The exclusion of copyholders from their 
share of elective rights was permitted to remain as a 
brand of feudal servitude, and as an obstacle to the 
rise of that strong counterbalance which an equal re- 
presentation of property would oppose to the weight 
of the Crown. If the managers of the Revolution 
had been sincere in their wishes for reform, they 
would not only have taken this refer off the rights of 
election, but would have renewed the nude adopted 
in Cromwell's time of increasing the number of 
knights of the shire, lo the exclusion of those rotten 
insignificant borouehs which have t.inled the whole 
mass of the constitu'ion. Lord Clarendon calls this 
measure of Cromwell's "an alteration fit to be more 
warrantable made, and in a better time." It formed 
part of Mr. Pitt's plan in 1783; but Pi t's plan of re- 
form was a kind of announced dramatic piece, about 
as likely to be ever acted as Mr. Sheridan's " Forest- 
ers " 

4 fore enim tutum iter et patens 

Converso in pretium Deo. 

Aurum per niedios ire satellites, &c. 

Horat. 
* See a pamphlet published in 1693, upon the King's 
refusing ro sign the Triennial Bill, called "A Dis- 
course between a Yeoman of Kent and a Knight of a 
Shire."— '• Hereupon (says the Yeoman) the gentle- 
man grew angry, and said that I talked like a base 
commons-wealth man." 



120 



CORRUPTION 



While parliaments, no more those sacred things 
Which make and rule the destiny of kings, 
Like loaded dice by ministers are thrown, 
And each new set of sha pers cog their own. 
Hence ihe rich oil, that From ihe Trea 
Drips smooth o'er ali the Constitution's "heels, 
Giving the oid machine such pliant play. 1 
Thai Court and Commons jog cue joltless way, 
While Wisdom trembles for ihe eiazj car, 
So gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far; 



It would be a task not uninstructive to trace Ihe his- 
tory of Preroguhe from the dale of its strength ui.der 
Ihe Tudor princes, when Heiirj VII and Lis succes- 
sors "taught the people (as Nathaniel Bacon sa>s)* 
to dance to Ihe tune of Allegiance," to the period of 
the Revolution, when 'he 1 hrone, in its a tacks upon 
liberty, began to exchange the noisy exr 1 sir.ns of 
F.erogathe for Ihe silent and effectual air-gun of In- 
fluence. In following its course, too, since that 
memorable era, we shall find that, while ihe royal 
power has been ab idged in branches where n might 
be made conducive to the in'eres s of ihe people, il 
has been left in full and uu-hackied vigour against 
almost every point where the integrity of the consti- 
tution is vulnerable. For instai.ee, he power of 
chartering boroughs, to whose capricious at. use in the 
hands of the Stuart> we are indebted lor most uf the 
present anomalies of representation, might, if suffer- 
ed to remain, have in some degree atoned for its mis- 
chief, by restoring the old unchar ercd b r. nghs to 
their rights, and widening more equally the 
ihe legi-lature. Bu', by the Ac ol Union with Set- 
land, this part of ttie j'ri-r ved, lest 
Freedom should have a chance < f ben g healed, e\en 
bv Ihe rust of the spear which had farmer!* wound- 
ed her. The dangerous power, however, 1 1 creatin. 



peers, which has been so ofit-n exercised / 
ve nmeil against the constituliou, is still le(t in free 
and unqualified activity; notwithstanding the exam- 
ple of ihat celeb .Ved Bill for the limitation of 'his 
evei -budding branch of prerogative, which was pro- 
posed in Ihe reign of George 1. under the peculiar 
sanction and recommendation of ttie Crown, but 
which the Whigs thought tight to reject, with all Ihat 
characteristic delicacy, which, in general, prevents 
them when enjoying the sweets of office ti 
from taking any uncourlly advantage of the Throne. 
Il will be recollected, however, thai the ci 
ihe twelve peeis by the Torii gn (a mea- 

sure which S» ift, like a true party man. deli 
these upright Wh.gs all possible alarm for their liber- 
ties 

With regard to the generous fit ab. ut his preroga- 
tive which seized i 

I., historians have hinted mat the paroxysm originated 
far ni'-re in hatred to Ins - the c n- 

stitution.t This, of course, however, is a e 
no loyal person, acquainted with the annals of the 
three Ge I w of those 

gracious:. i ill-w ill to his heir, or in- 

difference fbi 

» "They diove -o f.s' (-ays Wei wood of the minis- 
ters of Charles 1.), that it" was no wonder that Ihe 
wheels ami chariot LioWe. ' >'>.) — But 

this filal accident, if w« may judge from experience, 
is to be imputed far less lo the fnliy and in | 
of Ihe drivers, than to the want of lh«t suppling oi'l 
from the Treasury which has been t 
to make a government like that of England run 
■monthly. Had Charles (■een as well provided with 
this ai licle as his successors have been si .ice the nappy 
Revolution, Ins Commons would never have merited 
from him the harsh appellation ol •■ 
but would have been (as they now are, and 1 trust 
always will be) "dutiiul I \al Coui- 

* Historic and Politic Discourse, &c- part ii. p. 
114. 

t Uoxe says that this Bill was projected by Sunder- 
land. 



| And the duped people, hourly doom'd to pay 
The sums tr.at bribe their liberties away, a — 
1 Like a young eagle, who has lent bis plume 
. To fledge the shall by which he meets his dcom,- 
, See their own feathers pluck'd. to w ing the dart 
! Which rank corruption destines for Iheir heart! 
' But soft I methiiiks 1 heir thee proudly say, 
" What ! shall 1 listen to the impious lay, 
; " Thai da'es, with Tory license, to piofane 
" The bright bequests o'f William's glorious reign? 
" Shall the great wi dom of our p .trior sires, 
'• Whom H— wks— b— y quotes ai d savoury 

admires, 

"Be slauJerd thus? shall honest St— le agree 
" With virtur us R— se lo call u- pure and free, 
" Tel fail to prove it ? Shall our patent pair 
«• Of w ise st.ve-poe s Waste 'heir words in air, 
"And F— e unheeded breathe his prosperous strain, 
"And C— nn— ng laht tint ytoyU's jeiue in >ain?"3 

The people! — ah. that Freedom's form should stay 
Whe e freedom's spit it long hath passaj away ! 
That a fal-e smile should play aiound the dead, 
And flush Ihe features when ihe soul bath lied ! * 

mons," &c. &c, and would have given him ship- 
money, or any other sort of money he might have 
fancied. 

2 Among those auxiliaries which the Revolution of 
I6>; marsh llled on the side of the Thn ne, the bug- 
bear of Popery has not been the least convenient and 
serviceable. Those unskilful tyrants, Charles and 

which has always distinguished the ministers of our 

religi us es'abl aliment, were so in: 

the ruin of his best bulwark of their p. 

r. counec ed then r.aich so 

sedlj with -heir attack- . 
tion, that they identihed in the h ii 
Ihe interests of their religion and their 
During hose iri.es. there; 
watchword of f. i 
spirit awake again -I the i 

j 

not failed to lake advantage ; and the crj 

peiple as 
I ever sine 
the Crow 

Trienn. . 
for the D 
Aci, an I 

very lately, too. 

- .me scarecrow s 

only claim to elevation, and who ai 
an alter 

sc uplesof the king ag: i • 'be em- 

pire. 

a Somebody has sak!, "Quand t"us U-s 
seraient noyes, ce ne sera^ . 
but I am aware tin 
at a time when ourbirth-dr, 
written by such j • 

j would cbange places with 1. 

in our 1 1 
j odes, and I 
* " It is 

Bmke ha- - 

— V 



CORRUPTION. 



121 



When Rome had lost her virtue with her rights, 
When her foul tyrant sat on Caprea?'s heights i 
Amid his ruffian spies, and doom'd to death 
Eich noble name they blasted with their breath, — 
Even then, fill mockery of that golden time, 
When the Republic rose revered, sublime, 
And her proud sons, diffused from zone to zODe, 
Gave kings to every nation but their own,) 
Even then the senate and the tribunes s'ond, 
Insulting maiks. to show how high the flood 
Of Freedom flow'd, in glory's by-gone day, 
And how it ebb'd,— for ever ebb\l away ! * 

I>.ok but around — though yet a tyrant's sword 
Nor haun's our slepp nor "glitters o'er our board, 
Though blood be better drawn, by modern quacks, 
With Treasury leeches than with sword or axe; 
Yet siy, could even a prostrate Ir.bune's power, 
Or a mock senile, in Rome's servile hour, 
Insult so much the claims lie ights i f man, 
As doth that fetterd mob. that fiee divan, 
Of n<ble t >ols and houourab e k- ;ives. 
Of pension 'd patriots and privileged slaves; — 
That party-colour'd mass, which nought can warm 
But rink corruption's heat — whose quicken'd swaim 
Spread Iheirlight wings in Bribery's golden sky, 
Buzz for a peri' d. lay their eggs, anddie ;— 
That greedy vampire, which from Freed m's tomb 
Comes f >r h, with all the mimicry nf bloom 
Upon its lifeless cheek, and sucks'and drains 
A people's blood to feed its putrid veins ! 

Thou stan'st, mv friend, at picture drawn so dark— 
" Is there no light ?" thou ask'st— '• no lingering spark 
" Of ancient tire to warm us ? Lives there none, 
"To act a Marvell's part ?" 3 — alas ! not one. 
To place and power all public spiri' tends. 
In place and power all public spirit ends;* 



fu'inn. they ti d in hese names of degenerated es'ab- 
lishments only new- motives to discontent. Those 
bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay in 
their arms and were their joy and c > 1 1 1 f o r t . when dead 
and putrid become more loathsome from remembrance 
of former endeirments.'' — Thoughts on the present 
Discontents, 1770. 

» Tutor haberi 

Principis, Augusta Caprearum in i upe sedentis 
Cum grege Chaldseo. Juvenal. Sat. x. v. 92. 
The senate still continued, during the reign of Tibe- 
rius, to manage all the business of the "public ; the 
money was then anJ I ng after coined by their aulhor- 
i'y, and every other public affair received their sanc- 
tion. 

We are told by Tacitus of a certain race of men, 
who made themselves particularly us.fu! lo the Ro- 
man emperors, and were therefore called •' instru- 
ments regni," or » court tools." From this it ap- 
pears, that my Lords M , C , &c. &c. are by 

no means things of modern invention. 

3 There is something very touching in what Tacitus 
tells us of ihe hopes that revived in a few patriot 
bosoms, when the death of Augustus was near ap- 
proaching, and the fond expec'ation with which they 
already began " bona liber atjs incassu^disserrere." 

According to Fe'guson, Caesar's interference with 
the right* of election •• made the subversion of the 
republic more felt thin any of the former acts of his 
power." — R-mian Republic, book v. chap. i. 

3 Andrew Marvell, the honest oppo-er of the court 
during the reign of Chailes the Second, and the last 
member of parliament who, according to the ancient 
mode, took wages from his cons i'uents. The Com- 
mo:is have, since then, much changed their pay- 
masters — See the State Poems for some rude but 
spirited effusions of Andrew Marvell. 

* The following artless speech of Sir Francis Win- 
nington. in the reign of Charles 'he Second, will 
:tmuse tho-e who are fully aware of the pet fee ion we 
have since atlained in lhat system of government 



Like hardy plants, that love the air and sky, 
When out 't will thrive — but taken in, 't will diel 

Not bolder truths of sacred Freedom hung 
From Sidney's pen or burn'd on Fox's tongue, 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market-night, 



Wh.ch, dire to tell, their much-lov'd country owes, 

And loud and upright, till heir prize be known, 

They thwart the King's supplies to raise their own, 

But bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum — 

So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 

And, though mo-t base is he who, 'ncaih the shade 

Of Freedom's ensign plies corruption's trade, 

And makes the saced flag he dates to show 

His passport to ihe market of her foe, 

Yet, yet. 1 own, so venerably dear 

Are Freedom's grave old anthems to my ear, 

That 1 enjoy them, though by traitors sung, 

And reverence Scripture even from Satan's tongue. 

Nay, when the const rut inn has expired, 

I'll have such men, like Irish wakers, hired 

To chant old " Haber.s Corpus" by its side, 

And ask, in purchas'd ditties, why it d.ed ? 

See yon smooth lord, whom nature's plastic pains 
Would seem to 've f shion'd for those Eastern reigm 
When eunuchs flou'ish'd, and such nerveless things 
As men rejected were the chosen of kings;— s 
Even Ae, forsooth, (oh fnui, of all the worst !) 
Dired to assume the patriot's name at firs! — 
Thus Pitt began, and ihus begin los afes: 
Thus devils, when first raised, take pleading shapes. 
But oh, poor Ireland ! if revenge be sweet 
F r centuries of wrong, fordatk deceit 
And withering insult _ f,, r ihe L'mon thrown 
Into lh\ bitiercup « when th t alone 
Of slavery's draught was wanrii g " — if f or this 
Revenge be sweet, thou hast that daemon'.- b!i-s : 



hose humble beginnings so much astonished the 
orthy bar net. -1 did observe (savs he) lhat all 
th< '-e who had pensions, and most of those who had 



offices, voed all of a side, as they were directed by 
some great officer, exactly as if their business in this 
Ho jse had been lo preserve their pensions and offices, 
and not lo make laws for ihe good of them who sent 
them he?e."— He alludes to "that parliament which 
was called, par excellence, the Pensionary Parliament. 

5 According to Xenophon, the chief circumstance 
which recommended these creatures lo !he service of 
Eastern priices was the ignominious station they 
held in s cie'y. aid the probability of their being, 
upon this account, mote devoted to the will and 
caprice of a masler, from whose notice alone they 
derived consideration, and in w hose favour ihey might 
seek refuge from the general con empt of mankind.— 
Adolot ovrtc; ol tvvovxoi 7taoa toi; aAAoic. av- 
Oowttois /cat cia tovto ctCTtoTOV citikovoov npos- 
iiovrai.— But I doubt whether e^en an Eastern 
prince wiild have chosen an entire administration 
upon this principle. 

6 " And in the cup an Union shall be thrown." 

IlanUet. 
1 Among the many measures, which, since the 
Revolution, have contributed to increase ihe influence 
of the Throne, and to feed up this "Aaron's serpent" 
of the constitution to its present healthy and rts[ eel- 
able magnitude, iheie h >ve been few more nutritive 
than the Scotch and Irish Unions. Sir John Packer 
said, in a debate upon ihe former question, thai -he 
would submit it to the House, whether men who had 
basely betrayed their trust, by giving ip their 'ode. 
pendent constitution, were 6t to be admitted int> the 
English House of Commons." But Sir John woold 
have known, if he had not been out ol p'ace at the 
time, that the pliancy of such n.ateiials was not among 
the least of i heir recommendations. Indeed, the pro 
moters of the Scotch Union were by no means disap 



11 



122 



INTOLERANCE. 



For, sure, 1 is more than hell's revenge to see 
That England irusis the men who've ruin'd thee;— 
Thai, in these awful days, when every h ur 
Creates some new or bias's some ancient power, 
When proud Napoleon, like th' enchanted shield > 
Whose light compell'd each wondering foe to yield, 
With baleful lustre blinds the btave and free, 
And dazzles Europe into slavery. — 
That, in this hour, when patriot zeal should guide, 
When Mind should rule, and — Fox should not have 

died, 
All thai devoted England can tr pose 

,:.ies made fiends and friends made foes, 
I-. the rank refuse, the despised remains 
Df that unpitying |>ower, whose whips and chains 
Drove Ireland Gist to turn, wilh harlot glai.c 
Towards other sboies, and woo th' embrace of 

Frai •: .— 
Those hack'd and tainted tools, so foully fit 
For the grand ailisan of mischief, P — it, 
So useless ever but in vile employ, 
So weak to save, ; y — 

Such are the men that guard thy 'hieaiei.'d shore, 
Ob England '. sinking England : » boast no more. 



pointed in the le>dine object of their measure, for the 
triumphant inaj .riies of the crat-parry in parliament 
may be dated from the aJrnis ion of the 45 a d the 16. 
Unce or twice, upon the al eiation of their law of 
treason and the im|> >s.iion of the malt-tax (measures 
which were in direct riotanoa of ihe Ac if Union), 
rlhy North Britons arrayed themselves in 
obpositimi to' the court ; but finding'this effut for their 
eoantry unavailing, they prude'tly determined to 
think thenceforward of the oeu have 

ever kept io a laudable resolution more ti mly. I he 
effect of Irish representation oo the liberties of Eng- 
land will be no less perceptible and permanent. 

Ovd" byt Tavoov 

Aumrai ovrtAXovroj.* 
The infusion of such che.p and useful ingredien's as 
my Lord L.. Mr. U. B.. &x. Sec. in o the l( - 
cannot but act as a powe ful al'era ive on II 

i 1 clear it by degrees of all troublesome hu- 
mours of I. 

i The magician's shield in Ariosto : — 
,-x-r verto dello gfleudore 
La libeilate a kiro. Cnt. 3. 

We are told that Caesar's co^e of mnrali'y "as con- 
tained in Ihe follow in* lint-s of Euripides, which that 
great man frequently repeated : — 
Eivtp yap aiucuv xpi? rvpovvtc'oj xtpx 
KoAAmtw oc"t«a v T'aXAo frtvvituv XP tav - 
This is, a!so, as it appears, the moral code of Napo- 
leon. 

•» The following prophetic remarks occur in a le"er 
written l tended the Duke 

of Bedford to Paris in 1762. Talking of stall 
have grown powerful in commerce, he says, '• Ac- 
coidiiik to the nature and common course <& things, 
there is a confederacy against t 1 em. and coi - 
in the same propor ion as they increase in riches, 
ihev appro<c!i to destruction. The address of o .r 
King William, in making all Eur. pe take "he alarm 
al France, has br • near that 

inevitable period. We mus' necessarily 
lurn, aid Gteat Bri'ain will attain it as soon as France 
thai! have a dec!aimer with nreaus as proi • - 
I political purpose as were those of our William the 

Third With ut doubt, n y 

Lord, Great Britain must lower her Might. Europe 

• From Aratus (v. 715.) a poet who wrote upen 

thing whatever "about the subject: ju«t as the great 
Harvey wro e " De Ge< erai' ne, ' though he tiaJ as 
t lit le to do with the matter as my Lord Viscount C 



INTOLERANCE 

A SATIRE. 



This clamour, which pretends to be raised lor 1 

. :on, has almost worn out ihe very appe 

ance of it, and rendered us not only the most divided I 

the most immoral people upon tbe face cf the earth." 

Addison, Frteh... 



Start not, my fri»-T>d, nor think the Muse v< ill stain 
Her classic fingers with the dust profane 
Uf Bulls, Decrees, and all those thundering scrolls, 
Which look such fieeJom once with r 



will remind us of the balance of commerce, as she has j 
reminded Fiance of the bal .r.ce of power. The ad- 
dress of our statesmen will immortalise them by con- 
trivius for us a descent which shall not be a fall, by 
making us lather resemble Holland than Carthage 
and Venice." — Letters cm the French Sation. 

* The king-deposii g d.c rine, notwithstanding its 
many mischievous absurdities, was of no little service 
to the cause of political liberty, by inculcating the 
right of resistance to tyrants, and asser ing the will of 
the people to be the only true fountain of power. 
Bellannine, the most violent of the -Jv cates foi 
I ai-al aot ■ am (De 

Ponif. lib. i. cap. 7.) - *that kii .-gs have not their 
authority or ctfjcr i his law, 

I ul only from ihe law of nations; > md 
J>mes's"-De;enc i.st Car- 

dinal Per 

; asserted 
e consent of the 
e words 
..says James.i the people are exal ed above 
and ma: 

sense of bigotry does no- i: « fouid 

many libc 

of government. | : ^h should be ioi- 

p srd up 

Throne to the i: 
Rege et Rtipj Imtiitdicmt 
cap. 6. 8. and 9.) It is ra 
Eng'and should be indct -,- 

earliest defence 'jp^n which the 

■ was founded, nan ely, the rich* of the 
people to change the succession. 

Intan'a i 

re)i;k>a 

own b ■ 

topish ancestors ; they should not onlv remember the 

lit, -Lndr- V 

broke) the c us'itutioi. o:" md trie 

uh >le form of our ; vernmen*. beonie reduced into 
- : , 'Uld know that even the 
errors c: 



] and have beeo 



; ngl 



l and bad subjects. 
We are told that confidence aui kindness will make 
I them ei r omen', though we know 



INTOLERANCE. 



123 



When heaven was yet the pope's exclusive trade, 

And kings were damn'd as faSi as now Ihey 're made. 

No. no — lei !)— gen — n search the papal chair* 

For fragrant treasures long forgo ten there; 

And, as the witch ot sunless Lapland ihinks 

I hat 1 it tie swarthy gnomes delight in stinks, 

Let sallow P— re — v— 1 snuff up the gale 

Which wizard D— gen— n's gather'd sweets exhale. 

Enough for me, whose heart has leamd to scotu 

Bigots alike in Rome or Engiaud horn. 

Who loathe the venom, whencesoe'er it springs, 

from popes or lawyer-,"* p stry-cooks or kings, — 

Enough lor me to laugh and weep hy turns, 

As mil ih provokes or indignation bums, 

As C— nn— ng vapours, or as France succeeds, 

As H— w k— sl/ry proses, or as Ireland bleeds ! 

And thou, my friend, if, in these headlong days, 
When bigot Zed hei diunken antics plays 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shud ier while they smile — 
If, in such fearful days, thou 'It dare to look 
To haples- Ireland, lo this rankling nook 
Which Heaven hath freed from poisonous things in 

vain, 
While G— If— rd's tongue and M— sgr— ve's pen re- 
main — 
If thou hast yet no golden blinkers got 
To shade thine eves from this devoted spot, 
Whose wrongs, though blazon VI o'er the world they be, 
Placemen alone are privileged not to see — 
Oh 1 turn awhile, and, though he shamrock wreathes 
My homely harp, yet shall the song it breathes 
Ut Ireland's slavery, and of lieland's woes, 
Live, when the memory of her tyrant foes 
Shall hut exist, all future knaves to warn, 
Embalm'd in hae and c nomsed by scorn. 
When C— stl — r — gh, in sleep si 1 m re profound 
Than his own opiate tongue now deals around, 
Shall wait th' impeachment of that awful day 
Which even At* practised hand can t bribe away. 

Yes, my dear friend, wert thou but near me now, 
To see how Spring lights up on Erin's brow 
Smiles that shine out, unconquerably fair. 
Even through the blood-marks left by C— nid — n' 

there,— 
Could'sl thou but see what verdure paints the sod 
Which none but tyrants and heir slaves have tr d, 
And dids! thou know the spirit, kind and brave, 
That warms the soul of each insulied slave, 



that exclusion and injuries have hardly prevenled 
them from being ils friends. In shorl, nothing can 
be ter illus'rate the misery of those shifts and evasions 
by which a long course of cowaidly injustice must be 
supported, than the whole history of Gieat Britain's 
conduct towards the Catholic part of her empire. 

i The '• Sella Stercoraria" of the popes. — The 
Right Honourable and learned Doctor will find an 
engraving of this chair in Spanheiru's '• Disquisitio 
Historica de Papa Fccmina" (p. 118;) and 1 recom- 
mend it as a model for the fashion of (hit seat which 
the D ctor is about to lake in the privy-council of 
Ireland. 

3 When Innocent X. was entreated to decide the 
controversy between the Jesuits and the Jansenisls, he 
answered, that "he had been bred a l.n» yer, and had 
therefore nothing to do with divinity."— It were to be 
wished that some of our Engl sir pettifoggers knew 
their own fit element as well as Pope innocent X. 

3 Not the C— md— n who speaks thus of Ireland :— 

"To wind up all, whether we regard the fruitful- 
ness of the soil, the advantage of the sea, wi:h so 
many comm-'diou- havens, or the natives themselves, 
who are warlike, ingenious, handsome, and well-com- 
plexioned, s^ft-skmned and verj nimble, by reason of 
the pliantne-s of 'heir muscle-, this Island is in many 
respect so happy, that Giraklus m ght very well say, 
' Na'me had regarded with more fivourableeyes than 
ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.' " 



Who, tired with struggling, sinks beneath his lot, 
And seems by all but watchful Fiance forgot * — 
Thy heart would burn — yes, even thy Pittite heart 
Would burn, to think that such a blooming part 
Of the world's garden, rich in nature's charms, 
And fill'd with social souls and vigorous arms, 
Should be the victim of that canting crew, 
So smooth, so godly,— ye! so devilish too ; 
Who, arm'd at once with prayer-books and with 

whips, s 
Blood on their hands, and Scripture on their lips, 



■» The example at toleration, which Bonaparte has 
held forth, will, 1 fear, produce no other etlect than 
that of determining the Hrilish government to persist, 
from the very spirit of opposi'ion, in their own old 
system of intolerance and injustice; just as the Sia- 
mese blacken their teelh, •' because," as they say, 
'• the devil has white oues." * 

* One of 'he unhappy results of the controversy 
between Protestants and'Catholics, is the mutual ex- 
posure which their c iminatioiis and recrimina'ions 
have produced. In vain do the Piotestanls chaige the 
Papists with closing the door of sahation upon others, 
while many of their own writings and articles breahe 
the same uncharitable spirit. No canon of Constance 
or Lateian ever damned heretics more effectually 
t han the eighth of the Thirty-nine Articles consigns to 
perdition every single member if the Greek church; 
and 1 doubt whether a more sweeping c'ause of dam- 
nation was ever proposed in the most bigo ed council, 
than tint which the Calvinistic theory of predesti- 
nation in the seventeenth of these Articles exhibits. 
Il is true that no liberal Pro'estant avows such exclu- 
sive opiDior.s ; that every honest clergyman must feel 
a pang while he subscribes to them; thai some even 
assert the Athamsian Creed to be the f rgery of one 
Vigilius Ta| sen is, in the beginning r.f the sixth cen- 
lury, ai d that eminent divines, like Joitin, have not 
hesi'ated to say, " There are propositions contained ill 
our Liturgy and Articles, which no man if common 
sense among us believes." t But, while all ■ li is is 
frtelv conceded to Protectants ; while nobody doubts 
their sincerity, when they declare that their articles 
are not essentials of faith, bu' a collection of opinions 
which h.ve been promulgated by fallible men, and 
from many of which Ihey feel themselves justified in 
dissenting,— while so much liberty of letiaetatinn is 
allowed to Proles ants upon their own declared and 
subscribed Ai tides of religion, is it not strange that a 
similar indulgence should be so obsiir alely refused to 
the Catholics, upon tenets which their church has uni- 
formly resisted and condemned, in every country 
where it has independently Houri-hed ? Wheu the 
Catholics say, " The Decree of the Council of Lateran, 
which you object to us, has no claim whatever upon 
either our faith or i ur reason ; il did not even profess 
lo contain any doctrinal decision, tut was merely a 
judicial proceeding of that assembly ; and it would be 
as fair f r us lo impu e a wife-killing doctrine lo the 
Protestants, because their first pope, Hemy VIII., w s 
sanctioned in an indulgence of that propensity, as for 
you to conclude that we have inherited a kini-de- 
posing taste from the acts of the Council of Lateran, 
or the secular pre'ensions of our pope*. With re 
spect, too, to the Decree of the Council of Constance, 
up in he strength of which you accuse us of breaking 
faith with heretics, we do not hesnale to pronounce 
that Decree a calumnious forgery, a forgery, too, so 
obvious and ill-fabricated, that none but our* enemies 
have ever ventured to give it the slightest credit for 
authenticity." When the Catholics make these de- 
clarations (and they are almost weary with nnkii g 
them,) when they show, too, by their conduct, that 
these declarations are sincere, and that their faith and 
morals are no more regulated by the absurd decrees of 
old councils and popes, than their science is influenced 

* See I'His oire Naturelle et Polit. du Royaume de 
Siani, &c. 

t Strictures on the Article?, Subscriptions, &c. 



124 



INTOLERANCE. 



Tyrauts by creed, and torturers by text, 

Make this life hell, in honour of the next '. 

Your P.— des.l— les, P— re— v— Is,— great, glorious 

Heaven, 
If I 'ni presumptuous, be nay tongue forgiven, 
When here I swear, tjy my soul's hope of rest, 
I 'd mther have been utnii, e e man was best 
VVnh the pure dawn of Reve "alion's light, 
Yes,— rather plunge me back in pagan night, 
And take mj cliai.ee with S c ales for bliss. i 
Than be the Christian of a fairh like 'his, 
Which builds on heavenly ea«l it- earthly sway, 
And in a cmiverl in u' its 'o lo>e a prey j 
Which, grasping human htaits « ith d ublehold,- 
Like lJauaes lover mixing g d and gold,2 — 



by the papal a>.atherna against that Irishman* who 
first foand out the .An ipi.es.— is it not strange that S3 
many still wi fully distrust what every god man is so 
much interested in believing? That so m ny should 
piefer the d 'rk-lantern of the 13th century to Ihe sun- 
shine if intellect which has sii ce overspread ttie 
world, and tha' every dabbler in theology, from Mr. 
Le Mesuner down to the Chancellor of 'he Exche- 
quet, should dare 10 opp se the rubbish of Constance 
and Laterau to the btigb' and triumphant progress of 
justice, generosity, and truth ? 

■ In a singular work, wiitten by one Franciscus 

Collius, "upon the 'ouls of the Pagans," the author 

di-cus-es, with much coolness and erudition, all the 

iti ii upon which a heathen 

ler might ca'rulite. Consigning to peidi.ion 

without much difficulty, Plato. Socrates," &c the only 

sage at whose fate he seems to hesitate is P\ 

in considera'ion of his golden thigh, and the many 

miracles winch he performed. Hut. having balanced 

a little his claims, and linding reason to father all these 

iniraeles on the devil, he at length, in the twenty-filth 

chapter, decides upon damning him also. (DeJlm- 

:n, lib iv. cap. 20. and 2h ) 'Ihe 

poet Da ite compi 

and gives them a neutral territory or limbo of iheir 
own, wheie heir employment, it must be owned, is 
n t wrj enviable — " Sei za speme vivenio in desio." 
Cant. iv. Am .iig the nunierous errors inn, uled to 
Origeii, he is accu id of having dc ied the eierni'y of 
future punishment ; ai d. ii he never advanced a more 
inational doe'rite. we may venture. I thin 
give him. He went so far. h «rever, as lo include the 
devil himself in the gener I hell-delivery which he 
supposed would o:e day or other rake pl'ice. and iu 
this M. Angustin thinks him nil er too merciful — 
"Misereeoidtor profecto luit nngeues, qui et ipsum 
diabolum," &c. (/)t Civitat. Dei. lib xxi. cap. 17.) 
Acc'udiug to St.Jemm, it was Ongen's i pinion, that 
" the devil himself, afer a ceriain time, will be as 
well off as the angel Gabriel' — • Id ipsum fore 
Gabrielemquodd ah ium " to Pam- 

mocAtitf.) Hu' Ha lo.x. in his Defence • f Origeii. 
denies strongly that this leaned father had any such 
misplaced tenderness for the devil. 

- Mr Fox, in hi- Speech on the Repeal of the Test 
Act (1790.) thus condemns the in tei mixture of ie- 
ligion with tie political cons i uli"n of a 
"What purpose (he asks) can it -erve, except the 
baleful purpo-eof communicating and receiving con- 
tamination ? Under such an alii nice corruption niust 
alight upon the one, and slaveiy overwhelm the 
other.'' 

Locke, too, says of the connection between church 
and state, "The biundaries on both sides are fixed 
and immoveable. He jumbles heaven and earth 
together, the things most remote .uid opp • 
nnxes Ihtse two societies, which are in their original, 

* Virg.lius, suraamed Solivagus a native of Ireland, 
who maintained, in 'he S'h century, the d ctrine of 
the Antipodes, and was anathematised accoi 
the Pope. J'>hn Scotus Erige a. an >ther It 
was the first that ever wrote against trans; 



Corrupts both state and church, and makes an oal 
The knave and atheist's passport into both; 
Which, while it dooms dissenting souls to know 
Nor bliss above nor liberlj i 
Adds the slave's suffering to the sinner's fear, 
And, lest he 'scupe hereafter, racks him here ! 3 



end. business, and in every thing, perfectly distinct 
and infinitely different from each other." — First Let- 
ter oti Toleration. 

The corruptions introduced in'o Christianity may- 
be dated from the iblishmenfun e'r 
Constantine, nor could all the splendour wbch it 
then acquired atone for the peace and purity which 
it lost. 

3 There has been, after all. quite as much intole- 
rance among Protectants as among Papists. Accord- 
ing to the hackneyed quo'ation — 

Iliacos intra muroa petcatur ct extra. 

Even the great champion of the Reformation, Me- 
. lancthon, whom Jortm calls "a divine of much mild- 
| ness and govd-nalure," In ; robarion 

| of Ihe burning of Servetus : ■ Legi (he sa;.s to Bullin- 
ger) quae de Serveti blasphen.iis respondistis, et pieta- 
tem ac judicia veslra prubo. JudiCo etiam senatum 
: Genevensem recte fecis-e, quod hominem iiertmacem 
et non imissurum blasphemias -ustulit ; ac miratus 
sun: esse qui seve-i latent illam impn bei.t. "' — 1 have 
great pleasure in conuasting wi h thee '-mild and 
good-nalured'' seniu ent> the following words of the 
iF pi-t Bal ze. in addrtssiig his friend Connngius: 
"Interim amemus, mi Conringi et tanietsi diversas 
opiuiones uemur in causa reiigi nis, marital tamen 
due si urn simus, qui ea.iem bieramm studia secta- 
mur." — Herman. Conring. Eptslol. par. secund. p. 

! Hume tells us 'hat the Comnions, in the beginning 

of Chailes the First's reign, "attacl 

of the Kii g's chapla ns, on account of a I 
\ book which he i • bich, to 

; their grea' disgust, saved . - as well 

as O'her Chrisi • ' — In the 

iner a complaint •■■ the Lords 

of he Council again-t th I Hooker, 

for having, in a Sermon agaiust Popery attempted 'o 

save ma 

To these . hall beg 

leave to 

Aschmi .the tutor of Queen E 

wh ch Is | 

was written in 1566, o the L'.rl of Leict- 

plaining 

away his prebend in the 

B unie » did never g'ieve me half so m ct; 

ing me wrong, as Mr. Dudley snd the I 

York doe. in taking away my right 

Q. Mary s time w 

- Bourne I . che* e lived, : 

; so dealt with me. FnrsM 
jdayesev 

and Cardinal Poole, made of m> prnere service, tha' 

alth- ugh they knewe perfectly 'hat in reiigi 
ge and pr\ vir a k-. , 

unto them ; yea 

did note i 

would not sutler i 

ellswhea'e. saiinze -uche m 

ihongh lettres cannot. II' • 

lordship Winch* 

ing f tii e and « isl 

fi r me/ whcieb; . 



In Sutcliffc's "S " there occurs the 

* Sir John Bourne, Principal Secretary of State to 
Queen M ny. 

t By Gardener's favnur Ascham long held his fel- 
lowship, though not resident. 



INTOLERANCE. 



125 



Rut no — far other faith, far milder beams 

Of heavenly justice warm the Chi is'im's dreams 

IHs c eed is writ on Me cy's page above,, 

ire In. ds of all-<tonio* Love ; 
//e weeps lo see abused Relig.'n twine 
Bound Tyranny's coarse brow her wrea'b divine j 

e. r ui.d him see's am! na'io. s raise 
I o the one God their v trying notes of praise, 
Blesses each voice, whate'er us tone may be, 
Tint serves to swell the geue.al barney. 1 

Such wns the spiri', gently, grandly bright, 
Tha fil.'d. oil Fox '■ thy peaceful soul wi h light J 
While free and spacious as dial amb entair 
Which f I is our planet in its circling cire, 
The mighty -piiere of thy tra sparest mind 
Embraced the world, and breathed for all mankint 
Last ill the g eat. farewell ! — yet not the las- — 
though Britain's suo lime hour witn thee be past, 

• jives. 
And feels but half Ihy loss while Grattan Mves. 



A P P E X D I X , 

To the foregoing Poem, as fist published, were 
subjoined, in toe shape of a Note, or Appendix, the 
following reimrks on ihe History and Muse of lie- 
land. This fragment was originally intended to form 
part of a Preface to the Irish Melodies ; but after- 
wards for some reason which 1 do not now recollect, 
was thrown aside. 



Our history, for many centuries past, is creditable 
neither to our neighbours nor ourselves, and ought not 
to be read by any Iri-hman who wishes either to love 
England or to fee! proud of Ireland. The loss of in- 
dependence ver. early debased our character ; and our 
feuds and lebelli us, though frequent aid ferocious, 
hut seldom displayed that generous spirit of enterprise 
with which the pnde of an independent monarchy so 
long dignified the struggles of Sc dland. It is true 
this island has given bir h to heroes who, under more I 
favourable circumstances, might have left in the 
hear- of their c u'nt yn en recollections as dear as 
those of a Bruce or a Wallace; but success was »ant- 
asecrate re-isance, their cause was branded 
with the disl.e r'ening name of treason, and their 
oppressed country was such a blank among nations, 
that, like theadven'uiesof Ihi se woods which Rinaldo 
wi-bed to explore, the fame of their actions was lost 
in the obscuri'.y of the place where they achieved 
them. 



following assertion: — -'Papists, that positively hold 
the heretical and false docrn.es of Ihe modern church 
of Rome, cannot possibly be sived " — As a contrast 
to this and other specimens i f Protestant liberality, 
which ii would be m leh more easy than pleasant to 
collect, I refer my reader to the Dec'aration of Le 
Pere Courayer {-doubting not that, while he reads 
Ihe sentiments of this pious man upon toletation, be 
will I'.el inclined to exclaim with Belshim, "Blush, 
ye Protestant bigots ! and be confounded at the com- 
parison of your own wretched and malignant preju- 
dices with ihe gene ous and enlarged idea-, the noble 
and animated language ef th.s Popish prier 
lays, xxvii. p. S6. 

i "Latolerance est la chose du minde la plus p'o- 
pre a ramener le siecle d'or, et a f lire un concert et 
uue harmonie de plusieurs von et instruments de dif- 
ferent tons et n tes, aus-i agreable pour le i. 
1'uniformite d'unc seule v.iix."— Bayle. Commentaire 
Phih sophiaue, &c. part ii. chap, vi.— Both Bayle and 
Locke would have heated the subject of Toleration in 
a manner much more worthy of themselves and of the 

(I cause, if they had wiitten in an age less distracted by 

j religious prejui 



EiraudJ In qoelli boschi 

Trovar rotrii sirane avventure e raolle, 
Ma come i la igt.i i fa! ti ancor son foschi, 
Che non s*'n ba notizia le piu volte.2 

Hence it is that the annals of Ireland, through a 
lapse of six hundred years, exhibit not one of those j 
shining name-, not one of those then.es of national | 
pride, from which poetry borrows bcr noblest inspira- 
tion ; aid that history, which ouiht to be the richest 
garden of the Muse, yields no growth to her in this 
haples- island but cyp>ess and weeds. In truth, the 
poet who would embellish bis song with allusions to 
Iri-h names and events, must be contented to seek 
tbem in 'hose early peiiods when our character was 
yei unalloi ed ai d d iginal, before the impolitic cralt 
of our conquerors had divided, weakened, and dis- 
graced us. The sole traits of heroism, indeed, which 
he can venture at Ibis day to con. memo a e, either 
with safety to himself, or honour to his country, are 
to be looked for in tho^e a: eieut imes when the na- 
tive monarchs of Ireland displayed and fostered virtues 
wortbv of a better age ; when our Malachies wore 
around their necks c liars of gold which they bad won 
in single combat from the invader,* and our Br. ens 
deserved and won the wa m affections of a people by 
exhibiting all Ihe most estimable qualities of a king. 
It may be said that he m.g.c of tradition has shed a 
charm over this remo'e period, to which it is in reality 
but little en'itled. and that most of the pictures, which 
we dwell on so fondly, of days when this island was 
distinguished amidst the gloom of Europe, by Ihe 
sanctity of her morals, the spiri' of her knighthood, 
and the piiish of her schools, ate little more than the 
inventions of national partial! y, — that bright but spu- 
rious offspring which vanity engenders upon igno- 
rance, and with which the first recoid^ of every pe pie 
abound But the sceptic is scarcely to be envied n ho 
would pause for stionger prorfs than- we already 
possess of the early elones of Ireland ; and were even 
the veracity of all these proofs surrendered, yet who 
would not fly to such flattering fictions from the sad 
deg admg truths which the history of later times pre- 
sents to us ? 

1 he language of sorrow, however, is, in general, 
best suited to our Music, and with themes of this na- 
ure the poet may be ampiy supplied. There is 
scarcely a page of our annals that will not furnish 
him a subject, and while the national Muse of other 
countries adorns her temple proudly with tr phies of 
in Ireland her melancholy altar, like the 
shrine of Pity at Athens, is lo be known only by the 
tears that aie shed upon it; " lacrymis altari'a ni- 
dant.' « 

'1 here is a well-known s'ory, rela'ed of the Antio- 
chians under the reign of The dosius. which is not 
only bom urab'e to the towers of mus.c in gener.l, but 

biefa applies so peculiarly to the mournful mcl dies 
of I.elmd. that 1 cannot resi-t the temptation of intro- 
ducing it here. — 1 he pie y of I he dosius would bavl 
been admirable, had i no been s'aned with intole 
; but under hi- reijrri was. I leiieve. tirst set the 
example of a disqualifying penal c de e 
Chr.siians agai-s Chris-iaiis. 5 Whe'her bis inter- 
ference with the relig.on of the Antiochians had any 



» Ariosto, canto iv. 

s See Wane '? H ;' ry rf Ireland, v 1. i. bo: k ix. 

* Satins, TI ebaid. lib xii 

s " A sort of civil excouimm ica'ion (<ays Gibbon). 

which sepa-at.d them from their fellow-c*ii7ens by a 
peculiar brand of infamy . and this declaraion of the 
supreme mazistiate tended to justify, or at least to 
excuse, the ins Is of a fanatic nopulace. The secta- 
r es were graduaiy disqualified for the po- 
honourable or 1 crtive eniploymet 
was sattsfiej with his own jus ce when he decreed, 
that, as the Euiiomians distinmiished tl /nature of the 
Son from that of the Father, tr.ry should Le incapable 
of making their wii's. or of receiving any advan'age 
from testamentary donate ns " 



11* 



126 



THE SCEPTIC. 



-hare in the alienation of their loyalty is no! expres-ly 
ascertained by historians; but severe edicts, heavy 
taxation, and the rapacity and insolence of the men 
whom he sent to govern them, sufficiently account for 
the discontents of a warm and susceptible people. 
Kepen'ance soon followed the crimes into which their 
impatience had hunied them; but the vengeance of 
the Emperor was implacable, arid punisbmen's of he 
most drcdful nalure hung over the ci'y of Antioch, 
whose devoted inhabitant, totally resigned to despon- 
dence, wandered through the streets and public assem- 
blies, giving utterance to their grief in dirges of the 
most touching lamentation.! At length, Flavianus, 



i _\hAn riva o\o<t>vofLov TrXtjgr] kcu <rvaira9uas 
avvfiijiivoi, rots nuAtoCiai; tnijcov. — Siccph .r. 
lib. xii. cap. 43. This story is told also in S Borneo, 
lib. vii. cap. 28.; but unf 'rtuna'ely Clirysostom says 
nothing whatever about it, and he not only had the 



their bishop, whom they had sent to intercede with 
Tbeodosius, finding all his entreaties coldly rejected, j 
adop ed the expedient of teaciiing these songs of sor- j 
row which he had heard from the lips of his unfortu- ' 
nae cou ,'rvmen to he minstrels who performed for . 
the Emperor at tab e. The heart of Theodosius c"uld j 
not resist this appeal ; tears fell fast in'o his cup while j 
he listened, and the An'iochiara were forgiven. — 
Surely, if music ever spoke the misfortunes of a peo- ' 
pie, o. couli ever c mediate f irgiveness for the r errors, I 
the music of Ireland ou^ht to p<s e-s those powers. 



best oppo tu ities of inforn.a ion, but was 10 
music, as appears by his prai-es ot psalmody (Expo- 
sit, in P-alui. xli.), to omit such a flattering 
tiou of its |>owers. He imputes their reconciliation 
1 1 the inlerfeience of the int.och an s litares, while 
Zozunus attributes it to the remcnstiances ot Ibe so- 
phist Libainus. — Gibbon, I think, does not even 
allude to this story of the musicians. 



THE SCEPTIC, 
A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE. 

No/iov TtavTuv PamXta. — Pindar, ap. Berod. lib. iii. 



PREFACE. 

The Sceptical Philosophy of the Ancients has been 
no less misrepresented than the Epicurean. Pyrrho 
mav perhaps have carried it to rather an irrational 
excess;— but we must not believe, with Beattie, all 
the al«urdities imputed to this philosopher; and it 
appeals to me that the doctrines of the school, as ex- 
plained by Sextus Empiricus,^ are fa' more suited to 
lite wants and iufiimities of human reason, as well as j 
more conducive to the mild virtues of humility aid 
patience, than any of those systems of | i 
which preceded the introduction of Christianity. I be 
Sceptics may be said to have held a middle path be- 
tween the Dogmatists and Academicians ; the f rmer 
of whom hashed that they had attained the truth, 
while the latter denied that any attaiuaole 'ru'h ex- 
isted. The Sceptics, however, without either assert- 
in' or denying its exis ence, professed to be modestly 
and anxiously in search of it; or, as St. Augustine 
expresses it, in his liberal tract against the Minichae- 
ans. •' nemo nostrum dicat jam se invenisse veriia'em ; 
sic earn quxramus quasi ab utrisque nescia ur."3 From 
this habit of impartial investigation, and the nects-i y 
which it imposed upon them, of s'udyn.g not only 
every system of philosophy, bnt every art and science, 
which professed to lay i's'bisis in tru:h, the. 

% a wider range of erudition, and were far 
mote travelled in the regions of phi losophi thin h>>e 
whom conviction or bigo'ry hod domesticated in any 
pinicular system. It required all the learning of doe- 
matism to overthrow the dogmatism of learning ; and 
the Sceptics may be said to resemble, in this respect, 
that ancient incendiary, who st le from the altar he 
rire with which he destroyed the temple. This ad- 
vantage over all the other sects is allowed to them 
even by Lipsius. win se treatise on the miracles r.f the 
Virgo Hallensis will sufficiently save him from all 
suspicion of scepticism. •' Lahore, ingenio, memo- 
ria." hesa\s, " supra omne? pene phil- s"phns fuisse. 
—Quid noune omnia alioum sec'a tenere debuerunt 
et inquirere, si poterunt refellere ? res dicit. Noone 



» Pyrrh. Hypoth. — The reader may find a tole- 
rably clear abstract of this work of Sext'us Empiricus 
in La Verite des Sciences, by Mersenne, liv. i. chap, 
i:., &c 

a Lib contra E;.is». Mintchsei quam vocant Funia- 
menii, Op. Paris, torn. vi. 



orationes varias, ra'as, subtiles inveniri ad tam recep- 

tas, caras, ccila- (ut vide! a 

&c. &c .* — Manduct. ad PltUaofh 

Between the scepticism of the ar.cieu s and the mo- 
derns the great dirlereuce is, thai the fornn 
for the purpose'.!' 
by the third bi» k 

the latter investigate for the purp"- 
may be seen thidogh most 

of Hume s Indeed, the P r dajs « 

not only more subtle than that of antiquity, but, it 
mu-t be c nfessed, n;ore dangerous in its tendency. 
The happiness of a Chris-ian depends so essentially 
upon bis belief, that it is but n.tural he si 
alarm at the | rogie-s of doub - , lest it thou. 
degrees into that regi' n Tom which he is ■ 
e« ed in excluding it. ai d poison ar last the \ 
of his consolation and hope. Still, however, the 
abu-es of doubt. ng ought not to deter a philosophical 
mind fr m indulging "mildly and rationally in it? use ; 
arid 'her. 

meek spi'it of ( b 

cism which pr. fes-es :iot to extend i s dn'rus' beyond 
the circle of human lursuits. and the p-etetsiouf of 
human know ledge. A follower of this sch ol may be 
among the readiest to admit the cla 
tending Intelligence upon his faith and a i 
is only <o the » isdom of this n eak woi id that he re- 
fuses, or at least delays bis assent , — it is only in past- 
ing th"'._ A under- 
goes, the eclipse of scep'ici 
has ever spoken more strongly agi 

: aul himse f, in il 
rm'hians; and there are passages in Eccle- 
other parts' f Sciplure, which justify our at 
fidence in all ilia human revon originates. Even the 



« See Martin. Schrsockitis de Scepticismo, who e< ■ 



deavours,— weakly, I think,— to refute this opinion of 



* EcTi (t rot-- 
yov to iiavoorj<rax no. 
cap. 1. 

s Nei-her Hun.- 
judged by tie misi e. whose 

a niosl 
on phi lose 



THE SCEPTIC 



127 



Scertics of antiquity refrained carefully from the mys- 
teries of the. dog , and. in eu ering the' temples of re- 
ligion, laid aside their philosophy at the porch. Sextus 
Empiricus thus declares the acquiescence of his sect 
in Ihe general belief of a divide and fore-knowing 
Tower: — Tip fktv /3t&) KaraKoXovdovvTis aco|ao-- 
T(o$ <j>a/izv aval -3-tovs <ai trtpoptv -3-eovs tat 
Kpovouv avrory ipafitv.i In short, it appears to 
me, that this rational and well-regulated scepticism is 
the only daughter of the Schiols that c n safely be 
selec'ed as a ii .ndmaid for Pit v. He who distrusts 
■he light of reasou, will be the first to follow a more 
! iiinious guide : a d if, with an ardent love for truth, 
be has sousht her in viin through the ways of this 
life, he will but mm with the moiehopetn that better 
world, wi.ere all is simple, true, and everlasting : for, 
there is no parallax at the zenith :— it i- only neanur 
troubled horizon that objects deceive us into vague 
and erroneous calculations. 



THE SCEPTIC. 



As the gay 'int. that decks the vernal rose,* 

Not in the flower, but in our vision glows; 

As the r ; pe flivour of Falernian tides 

Not in the wine, but in our taste resides ; 

So when, with heartfelt tr.bute, we declare 

That Marco's honest and that Susan's fair, 

T is in our minds, and not in Susan's eyes 

Or Mtrco's life, the worh or beiuty lits : 

For she, in flat-nosed China, would appear 

As plun a thing as Lady Anne is here ; 

And one ligh' joke at rich Loretto's dome 

Would rank good Marco with the danin'd at Rome. 

There'- no deformity so vile, so base. 
That 'tis not somewhere thought a charm, a grace; 
No foul reproach, that may not sieal a beam 
From other suns, to bleach it to esteem. 3 



• Lib. iii.cap. 1. 

3 " The particular bulk, number, figure, and mo- 
tion of the parts of fire or snow are really in them, 
wheher any one perceives them or no', and there- 
fore they may be called real quali'ies. because thev 
really exist in 'hose bodies; bu' liarht. heat, white- 
ness, or coldness, are no more really in them than 
sickness or pain is in manna. Take away the sensa- 
tion of them ; let not ihe eye see light or colours, nor 
the ears hear sounds ; let the palate not 'a^te. nor the 
nose smell, and all colours, tastes, odours, and sounds, 
as they are such particular ideas, vanish and cease." — 
Locke, book ii. chap. 8. 

Bishop Berkeley, it is well known, extended this 
doctrine even to primary qualities, and supposed 'hat 
matter itself has but an ideal existerce. But, how 
are we to apply his theory to that period which Dre- 
ceded the formation of man, when our sys'em of sen- 
sible things was produced, and the sun shone, and the 
waers flowed, without any sen'ient being to witness 
them ? The spectator, whom Whiston supplies, will 
scarcely solve the difficulty : " To speak my mind 
■ays he. " I believe that the Messias was 
the e ac'ually present." — See tVhiston, of the Mosaic 
Creation. 

a Boetins employs this argument of the Sceptics 
among his consolatory reflections upon the emptiness 
of fame. "Quid qnod diversarum aren'iutn mores 
inter se atque insituta discordant, ut quod apud alios 
laude, apnd alios supplicio dignum judicetur ?" — Lib. 
ii. pmsa. 7. Many amusing instances of diversity, in 
the tastes, manners, and morals < f different nations, 
may be found ttirouschout the works of that amu-ing 
Sceptic Le Mothe le Vave-. — See his Opuscule Seep 
tique, h ; s Treatise " De la Secte Sceptque," and, 
above all. those Di ilojues, not to be f und in his 
wo.ks, which he published under the name of Hora- 



Ask, who is wise ? — you 'II find the self-same man 
A s*ge in France, a madman in Japan; 
And here some head beneath a mitre swells, 
Which there had tingled to a cap and bells : 
Nay. there may yet some monstrous region be, 
Unknown to Cook, and from Napoleon free, 
VVhere C — stl— r— gh would for a patriot pass, 
And mouthing M ve scarce be deem'd an ass ! 

" List not to reason (Epicurus cries,) 
•'But trust the senses, there conviction lies:"* 
Alas ; they judge not by a puier light, 
Nor keep their fountains more untinged and bright : 
Habit so mara them, that the Russian swain 
Will sigh for train-oil, while he sips Champagne; 
And health so rules them, that a fever's heat 
Would make even Sh — r— d — n think water sweet. 

Just as the mind the erring sense 5 believes, 
The erring mind, in turn, the sense deceives ; 



tius Tubero. — The chief objection to these writings 
of Le Vayeriai'd it is a blemish which may be felt 
also in the Esprit desLoix), is the suspicions obscurity 
of the sources from whence he frequently draws his 
instances, ai d the indiscriminate use made by him of 
the lowest populace of the library, — those lying tra- 
vellers and wcnder-moi.gers, of » houi Shaftesbury, in 
his Advice to an Author, complains, as having tend-J 
in his own time to the diiiusion of a very shallow and 
vicious sort of scepticism. — Vol. i. p. 532. The Pyr- 
rhonism of Le Vaver, however, is of the most innocent 
and playful kind ; and Villemandy, the author of 
Scepticismus Debella us, exempts him specially in the 
declaration of war which he denounces agains' t 1 ■<> 
other armed neutrals of the sect, in consideration of 
theorthodox limits within which he confines his incre- 
dulity. 

* This was the creed also of those modern Epicu- 
reans, whom Ninon de 1'Euclos collected" around her 
in the Rue des Tournelles, aid wh< se object seems to 
have been to decry the faculty of reason, as tending 
only to embarrass our wholesome u-e of pleasures, 
without enabling us. in any de»ree, to avoid their 
abuse. Madame des Houlieres. the fair pupil of Des 
Barreaux in the arts of pi e'ry and gallantry, has de- 
voted most of her verses to this laudable purpose, and 
is even such a determined foe to reason, that, in one 
of her pastorals, she congratulates her sheep on the 
want of it. St. Evremont speaks thus upon Ihe sub- 
ject : — 



Which may be thus paraphrased : — 

Had man been made, at nature's birth, 

Of ouly dame or only earth, 

Had he been fcrm'd a perfect whole 

Of purely that, or grossly this. 
Then sense would ne'er have clouded sculp 

Nor soul restrain'd the sense's blisa. 
Oh harpy, had his light been strong, 

Or had he never shared a lighr, 
Which shines en ugh lo show he 's wrong, 

But not enough to lead him right. 

S See, among the fragments of Petronius. those 
verses beginning " Fallunt nog oculi." &c. The most 
sceptical of the ancient p<-ets was Euripides ; and it 
would. I think, puzzle the w hole school cf Pyrrho to 
produce a doubt more startling than the follow ing : — 

Tic. 6' oifev si lr)V tov9' 6 KtKXrjrai Savtiv, 
To £ijv be Svr^Kttv tarn. 

See Laert. in Pyrrh. 

S era es and Plato vere thezrand sources of ancient 
seep icism. Accnrdii g 'o C'Cero (de Orator, lib. iii.l, 
they supplied Areeslas »i h the d e'rines of the 



1 128 



THE SCEPTIC 



And cold disgust can find but wrinkles there, 

Where passion fancies all that's smooth and fair. 

J' " * * *, who sees, upon his pillow laid, 

A face lor which ten thousand pounds were paid, 

Can tell, how quirk before a jury flies 

The spell that mocK'd tne warm seducer's eyes. 

Self is the medium through which Judgment's ray 
Can seldom pass without being lurn'd astray. 
The smith ot Ephesus 1 thought Uiau's shrine, 
fiy which his cralt most throve, the most divine; 
And ev'n Ihe true lailli seems not hall so true, 
When link'd with out good living as wilh rioo. 
Had VV — lc— t tiist been pension'd by the throne, 
Kings would have suuer'd by his pulse alone j 
And P—ine perhaps, for something snug per aun., 
Had laugh'd, like VV— II— s.ey, at all Rights of -Man. 

But 't is not only individual minds,— 
Whole nations, too. the same delusion blinds. 
Thus England, hot from Denmaik s smoking meads, 
Torus up her eyes at Gallia's guilty deeds ; 
'J hus. sell-pleas 'd still, the same dishonouring chain 
She binds in Ireland, she would break in Spam ; 
While p.ais'd at distance, but at home forbid, 
Rebels in Cork are patriots at Madrid. 

If Grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the book, — 
in force alone for i^aws of Nations look. 
Let sbipless Danes and whining yankees dwell 
Un naval rights, wilh Gr otius and Vatlel, 
While C— Lb— t's poale code alone ap pears 
Sound moral seu^e to England and Algiers. 

I Woe to the Scep'ic, in Ihese party days, 
Who wafts to neither shrine his pu'ifs of praise! 
For bun no pension pours its annual fruits, 
No ferule sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
Not Au the meed ibatcrowu'd Don H — kh— m's rhyme, 
Nor sees he e'er, in dreams of future lime, 
Those shadowy lurins of sleek reversions rise, 
So dear to Scoch men's second-sighted eyes. 
Vet who, that looks to History's donning leaf, 
Where Wing and Tory, thiel opposed to thief, 
On either sUc in lof } shame are seen,'-' 
While Freedom's form hangs crucified between — 
Who, II— rd — tt, who such rival rogues cau see, 
But flies from Luth to Houcsty and thee ? 

If, wean- of the world's bewildering maze,* 
Hopeless cif finding, through its weedy ways, 



Middle Academy; and how closely these resembled 
Ihe tenets of the Sceptics, may be se'en eveu in Septus 
Empiricus (lib. i. cap. 33.), who, wilh all his distinc- 
tions, can scaicelj prove any diiierence. It appears 
strange that Epicurus should have been a dogmatist ; 
and his oaiural temper would mo : ; 
him to the repose or scepticism, had not 'hr' - 
lhe:r violent op| 

tn in to be as obstinate as themselves. Plutarch, in- 
deed, in represents 
iving delivered theui with considerable hesi- 
VUHTKU TOVTOlV, 
U"/iH' - 

lib. ii. cap. 13. See also the 21st an 1 ".id chapters. 
But that the leading characteristics of the sect were 
self-Mitlxieocv and d giantism, appears from what 
— " Turn 
Velleius, nden ei - . nihil tam verens 

quam ue dubitare a.iqua de re videretur." 

» .ids. chip. xix. '-For a certain man named De- 
metrius, a silversmith, which male silver shrines for 
Diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmeu." 

»" Those two thieves,'' says Ralph, "between 
whom Ihe nation is cruci: Jliucof 

Parliaments. 

» The agitation of the ship is one of the chief dif- 
ficulties which ii.. 
at sea; and Ihe tumult and hurry of life in 



One flower of truth, the busy crowd we shun, 

And to the shades of tranquil learning run, 

How many a doubt pursues '. * how oft we sigh, 

When histories charm, to think that histories lie! 

That all are grave romances, at the best, 

And M— s;r— ve's 6 hut more clumsy than the rest. 

By Tory Hume's scducive pase beguiled, 

We fancy Llnrtcs was just aui Stratiord mild; 6 

And i ox' himself, wilh party pencil, draws 

Monmouth a hero, " for Ihe'g.iod old i 

Then, rights and wrongs, and victories aie defeats, 

As French or English pride the tale repeats: 

And, when they tell Coruuna's story o'er, 

They Ml disa^iec in all, but honouring Moore: 

Nay, future pens, to flaiter future courts, 

May cite perhaps the Faik-guns' gay reports, 

To prove that England triumph'd on the morn 

Which found her Juuot's je-t and Europe's scorn. 

In science, too — how many a system, raised 
Like Neva's icy domes, awhile hath blazed 
With lights of fancy md with forms of pride, 
Then, inching, mingled with the oblivious tide! 
-Von.' Eailh us'.rps toe centre i the sky. 
Now Newton puis the paltry planet by J 



unfavourable lo that calm level of mind which is 
necessary to an inquirer after truth. 

In the mean time, our modest Sceptic, in the 
absence of truth, contents himself with probabilities, 
resembling in this respect those suitois ot 1 
who, on finding that they Could nut possess 'he mis- 
tress her-ell, very wisely resolved to put up with her 
maids; t// IIhi/eAojt;/ ^^i^lh^uv /ii/ cvva/uvoi, 
rat^ ravryi t/iiyvvvTo <rtoa.-aivai$. — J'iularch, 
EUpi Ilatiwi' .A-)iu> i/i. 

« See a curious work, entitled "Reflections upon 
• Agnppa's "Dc 
Validate Scien iaruni,'' but much more huuesly aud 
skilfully executed. 

* This historian of the Irish rebellions has outrun 
even Ins predece sor m tl bB Tem- 

ple, for whose chaiacter with respect lo veiacit) the 
reader may consult Cart. 

Oneinal Pa|>ers. Dr. Nairn's ac- 

count of him, in the introduction to the second volume 
of his Historic. Collect. 

6 He defends Strafford's conduct as " innocent and 
even laudable.'' In 'he sat 
arbitra v sentences of the Star Chamber, I 
.i-ri v of the S ar (.lumber, v. 
generally ascribed to La . 
was, pcl'hi. - 

I hich the 
habits of 
thus pleaded I r bv Mr. f. x. in 

picture the historian ma) 

from himself. "One of tin • icatures 

in his cliarac'er seems to have I- 

and, as s m.e think, a cu j 

That such a di-; • 

dom than c nceil 
attentive . 
general c 
and may ia k i . 

• 
that hi. 
•• it ma] 

ZJpyoTl 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



129 



A r m.o whims revive beneath Descartes's * pen, 
Which now, assail'd by Locke's, expire again. 
And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic powers, 
We think the keys of Na ure's kingd ni outs, 
Some Davy's magic touch the dream unsettlts, 
And turns at once our alkalis to metals. 
Or, should we roam, in metaphysic ma/e, 
Through fair-built theories of former days. 
Some ])r— mm— d * from 'he north, more ably skill'd, 
Like other Goths, to ruin th;.n to build, 
Tramples triumphant through our fanes o'erthrown, 
Nor leaves one grace, one glory of his own. 

Oh, Learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp and boast, 
f/nletter'd minds have taught and charm'd men most. 
The rude, unread Columbus was our guide 
To worlds, which learn'd Lactantius had denied; 
And one wild Shakspeare, f llowing Nature's lights, 
Is worth whole planets, fill'd with Stagirites. 

See grave Theology, when once she strays 
Fmm Revelation's path, what tricks she plays; 
VVh^t v.iriou? heav'ns,— all fit f >r bards to sing, — 
Have churchmen dream'd, from Papias 3 down to 

King'.* 



> Descartes, who is considered as the parent of 
modern scepticism, says, that there is nothing in the 
whole range of philosophy which does not admit of 
two opposite opinions, and which is not involved in 
doubt and uncertainty. " In Philosophia nihil adhuc 
reperiri, de quo non in utramque partem disputatur, 
hoc est, quod non sit incertuni et dubium." Gassendi 
is likewise to be added to the list of modern Scep'ics, 
and Wedderk pff, in his Dissertation "De Scepticismo 
profano et sacro "' (Argentorat. 1666), has denouueed 
Erasmus also as a follower of Pyrrho, for his opinions 
upon the Trinity, and some other subjects. To these 
if we add the nlmes of Bayle, Mallebranclte, Dryden, 
Locke, &c. &c„ I think there is no one who need be 
ashamed of doubting in such company. 

4 See this gentleman's Academic Questions. 

3 Papias lived'about the time of the apostles, and is 
supposed to have given birth to the heresy of the 



While hell itself, in India nought but smoke,* 
In Spain 's a furnace, and in France — a joke. 

Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal and prize, 
Thou last, best knowledge of the simply wise! 
Hail, humble Doubt, when error's waves arc past, 
How sweet to reach thy sheltei'd port t at last, 
And, there, by changing skies nor lured nor awed, 
Smile at the battling winds that roar abroad. 
There gentle ChariTy, who knows how frail 
The bark of Vir:ue, even in summer's gale, 
Sits by the nightly fire, whose beacon glows 
For all who winder, wheher friends or foes. 
There Faith retirrs. and keeps her white sail furl'd, 
Till call'd to spread it for a better world ; 
While Patience, watching on the weedy shore, 
And, mutely waiting till the storm be o'er 
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her eye 
To some blue spot, just breaking in the sky! 

Such are the mild, the blest associates given 
To him who doubts, — and trusts in nought but 
Heaven ! 



Chiliastae, whose heaven was by no means of a spirit 
tual nature, but rather an anticipation of the Prophet 
of Hera's elysium. See Eusebius, Hi-t. Ecclesiast. 
lib. iii. cap. 33.. and Hieronym. de Scriptor. Eccle- 
siast. From all I can find in these authors concerning 
Papias, it seems hardly fair to impute to him those 
gross imaginations in which the believers of the sen- 
sual millennium indulged. 

•• King, in his Morsels of Criticism, yol i.. supposes 
the sun to be the receptacle of blessed spirits. 

s The Indians call hell '-the House of Smoke." ] 
See Picart upon the Religion of the Ban ans. The 
reader who is curious about infernal matters, may he 
edified by consulting Kusca de Inferno, particularly 
lib. ii. cap. 7, 8., where he will find ihe pecise sort 
of fire ascertained in which wicked spirits are to be 
burned hereafter, 

s « Chere Sceptique, douce pature de mon ame, et 
l'unique port de salut a un esprit qui aime le repose !" 
— LaMotlie le Vayer. 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 
BY THOMAS BROWN THE YOUNGER 



Elapsae manibus secidere tabellae. — Ovid. 



D EDICATION. 
TO STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESQ. 

My Dear Woolriche,— It is now about seven years 
since I promised (and I grieve to think it is almost as 
long since we met) to dedicate to you the very first 
Book, of whatever size or kind, I should publish. 
Who could have thought that so many years would 
elapse, without my giving the least signs of life upon 
the subject of this important promise? Who could 
have imagined that a volume of doggerel, after all. 
would be the first offering that Gratitude would lay 
upon tl.'e shrine of Friendship ? 

If you continue, however, to be as much interested 
abni|t me and my pursuits as formerly, you will be 
happy to hear that doggerel is not my only occupation ; 
but that I am preparing to throw my mine to the 
Swans of the Temple of Immortality, ~< leaving it. of 
'' course, to the said Swans to determine, whe'her they 
ever will take the trouble of picking it from the 



i Ariosto, canto 35. 



In the mean time, n. dear Woolriche, like an or- 
thodox Lutheran, you must judge of me rather by n.y 
faith than my winks; and however trilling the tri- 
bute which I here offer, never doubt the fidelity with 
which I am, and always shall be, 
Your sincere and 

attached friend, 

THE AUTHOR 

March 4, 1S13, 



PREFACE. 

The Bag, from which the following Letteie ire | 
•elecied, was dropped by a Twopenny Postman about 
two months since, and picked up by an emissary of i 
theSocie'y forthe Suppression of Vice, who, supposing 
it might materially assist the priiate researches of that 
Institution, immediately took it to his employers, and I 
was rewarded handsomely for his trouble. Such a | 
treasury of secrets was worth a whole host of inform- ; 
ers : and, accordingly, like the Cupids of Ihe poet fif 
I may use so profane a simile) who " fell at odds 



130 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



about the swee'-bag of a bee," ' those venerable Sup- j quence of this graceless little book, a certain distio- j 
pressors almost f ought with each other for the honour ! guished Personage prevailed upon another distingui«b- j 
and delight of first ransacki.g the Post-Bag. Lnlucki-y, ed Personage to withdraw from the author that notice ' 
however, ii turned out, upon examination, that the dis- I and kindness with which he had so long and so liber- i 
emeries of profligacy which it enabled them to make, ' allv honoured him. In this story there is not one ' 
lay chiefly in those upper regions of society, which syllable of truth. For the magnanimity of the former \ 
their well-bred regulations forbid lliem to molest or of these persons I would, indeed, in no case answer too , 
meddle with. — In consequence, they gained but ve y j rashly : but of the conduct of the latter towards my j 
few victims by their prize, and, after lying for a week ! frienj I have a proud giatitication in declaring, that 
or two under Mr. Hatchard's counter, the Bag, with it has never ceased 'o be such as he must remember 
its violated con ents, was sold for a trifle to a friend of with indelible gratitude ; — a gratiti.de the more cheer- ! 
mine. I fully and warmly paid, from its not being a debt in- i 

It happened tnat I had been just then seized with an curred solely on his own account, but for kindness | 
ambition (having never tried the s rei g h of my wing [ shared with those neatest at d dearest to him. 
but in a Newspaper) to publish sometbii g or o her in ' To the charge of being an Irishman, 
the shape of a Book ; and it occurred lo me that, the Brown pleads guilty ; and I believe it must also be 
present being such a letter-writing era, a few of the e acknowledged that he comes of a Roman Catholic ' 
Twopenny-Post Epistles, turned into easy verse, would : family : an avowal which I am aware is decisive of j 
be as light and popular a task as I could possibly select his utter reprobation, in the eyes of those exclusive 
fir a commencement. I did not, however, think it pa en tees of Christianity, s i worthy 'o have been the 
prudent lo give too in my Letters at firs', and, accord- j followers of a certain enlightened Bishop. I 
ingly, have bee i obliged (in order to eke out a sufii- who held " that God is in Africa atid tiot thevufurr ." 
cient number of pages) to reprint some of those trifle-, But from all this it does not necessarily follow that 
which h.d Iready appeared in the public journals, Mr. Brown is a Papist; and, indeed, I have the 
As in the battles of ancient times, the shades of the | strongest reasons for suspecting flat they, who siy so, 
departed "ere sometimes seen among the comba'ants, : are somewhat mistaken. Not that I presume to have 
so I thought I might manage to remedy the thinness of ascertained bis opinions upon such subjects. All I 
my ranks, by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten profess to know of his orth doxy is that he lias a Pn> 
ep'heineroiis to fill them. test int wife and two or three li'tle Protestant children, 

Such are the motives and accidents that led to the | and 'hat he has been seen at chuich ever} S 
present publication ; and as thia is the first time my j a whole year together, listening to the sermons of hit 

Muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart of a New- truly reverend "and amiable It ei J. Dr. . and 

paper, though 1 feel all a parent's delight at seeing ■ behaving there as well and as orderly as mw people. 
little Miss go alone, I am also not without a parent's | There are yet a few other mistake's and falsehood* 
anxiety, lest an unlucky fall should be the consequence j about Mr. Brown, to which I hal intended, with all 
of the experiment ; and I need not point out how j becoming gravity, to advert ; but 1 begin to think the 
many living in-tances might be found, of Muses that | task isqui'e as u-eless as I -represen- 

have suffered very -everelv in their he.<ds, from taking j tations and calumnie- of this s rt are. like the arpu- 
ra'her too early and rashly to their feet. Besides, a ] ments and statements of Dr. Daigrnan,— not at all the 
Bo. k is so very different a thing from a Newspaper! : less vivacious or lea serviceable o their fab ic. tors, 
— in the former, your doggerel, without either com- for having been lefuted and disproved a lb usaid 
pany or shelter, in'ust stand shivering in the middle of times over. Theyaieb .in. as good 

a bieik page by i'srlf; whereas, in the latter, it is as new, whenever nial.cr be in want 

comforably backed bv ad ertisements, and has some- of them; and a-e qui e as useful as the old broken 
times even a Speech of Mr. St— ph— nV or some- Untern, in Fielding's Amelia, winch the watchman 
thing equally warm, for a chauffcjntd — so that, in always keeps readv bv h m. to produce, in proof of 
general, the very reverse of '• laudatur el alget ■ is its r i< -ous conduct, - .1 shall therefore 

destiny. give up the f.uitless toil .f vndra'in, and would 

Ambition, however, must run sme risks, and I even draw my pen over what 1 have already written, 
shall be very well sati-fied if 'he reception of these had I not promised to furnish my publisher with a 
few Letters, should have the effe4"i of sending me to Preface, and know not how else I could e 



the Post-Bag for more. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FOURTEENTH EDITION. 

BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is at present on 

a tour through . I feel myself called upon, as 

his friend, to notice certain misconcep'ions and mis- 
representations to which this little volume of Trifles 
hns given rise. 

In the first place, i' is not true that Mr. Brown has 
had any accomplices in the work. A note, indeed, 
which Ins hitherto accompanied his Preface, n.av 
very naturally hive been the oririn of such a supposi- 
tion ; but ihat note, which was merelv the c ouetrvof 
an author, I have, in the present edition, taken upon 
myself to remove, an I Mr. Brown ir.us' therefore be 
considered (like the mother of that unique production, 
the Centaur, ixova Kat povov "») as alone responsible 
for the w hole contents of the volume. 

In the next place it has been said, that in ennse- 



I have added two or three more trifles to this edi- | 
tion, which I found in the Morning Chr. nicle, and 
knew to be from 'he pen of n.y f i iend. 'I he rest of 
the volume remains * in its origin*! state. 

MfrU 20, lsU. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS, ETC. 



FROM THE 
W — L— S 
ASH — Y- S 



LETTER I. 

PR — NC— SS ni-RL-E OF 
ro THE LADY B— RB— A 



i Herrick. 

* Pindir, Pyth. 2. — My friend certainly cannot add 
owt' «v «•.'<* pam yfpao-0opov. 



* Bishop of Casje Nierae. in the fourth c*r 

* A new reading has beer riginal 
of the Ode of Horace, freeh 

— n. page 1*9. In the line »«Si»l 

to read '• Surtccs." ii s'eid of •• Syit< 

: is sai !. more home to the 
and gives a peculiar force and apn ess 

- " I merely throw oui tr. 
the learned, being unable myself to decide upon it* 

» This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, bad 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



131 



My dear Lady Bab, you '11 be shock'd, I 'm afraid, 
When ynu hear the sad rumpus your Ponies have 

made 
Since Ihe tune of horse-consuls (now long out of dale), 
No nags ever made such a stir in Ihe stale. 
Lord Eld— n fiist heard — and as instantly pray'd he 
To "God and his Kins;"— tliat a Popish young Lady 
(Fo" though you've bright eyes and twelve thousand 

a year, 
It is still but too true you 're a Papist, my dear,) 
Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish gioom, 
Two pritst-riddeu Ponies, just landed from Rome, 
And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks, 
That the dome of St. Paul - s was scarce safe from their 

kicks. 

Off at once to Papa, in a flurry he flies — 
For Papa always does what these statesmen advise, 
On condition that they 'II be. in turn, so poiite 
As in no case whale'er to advise him too right — 
" Pretty doings are here, Sir (lie angrily cries, 
While bv dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look 

■ ise)- 
*• 'T is a scheme of the Romaoists, so help me God ! 
" To ride over your most Royal Highness rough- 
shod— 
"Excuse, Sir, my tears — they 're from loyalty's 

source— 
" Bid enough 't was for Troy to be sick'd by a Horse, 
" But for us 10 be ruiu'd by Ponies still worse !" 
Quick a Council is call'd — the whole Cabii.et sits — 
The Archbishoj s declare, frighlen'd out of their wits, 
That if once Popish fonies should eat at my manger, 
From that awful moment the Church is in danger I 
As, give them but s'abling, and shoitly no sails 
Will suit their proud siomachs but those at St. Paul's. 

The Doctor.i ai d he, ihe devout man of Leather,^ 
V — ns— It— t, now laying their Saint-he d« together, 
Declare that these skittish young a-bomiuatious 
Arecie.irli foretold in Chap vi. Revelations — 
Nay, they veriU think they cnulJ poini nut the one 
Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon. 

Lord H— rr— by, hoping that no one imputes 
To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes, 
Protes's. on ihe word of himself and his cronies, 
That had these said crealuies been Asses, not Ponies, 
The Court would have started no sort of objeciion, 
As Asses were, there, always sure of pro'ection. 

"If Ihe Pr— nc— ss loill keep them (lays Lord C— s- 
H-r-gh), 

" To make them quite hirmless, the only true way 
" Is (as certain Chief Justices do with their wives) 
" To fiog I hem within half an inch of their lives. 
" If they 've any bid Irish blood lurking about, 
"This (he knew by experience) would soon draw it 

out.'' 
Should this be thought cruel, his Lordship proposes 
" The new Veto snaffle 3 to bind down their noses — 
"A pret y contrivance, made out if old chains, 
" W hich appears to indulge, while it doubly restrains ; 
" Which, h wever high-mettled, their gamesoineness 

checks 
"(Adds his Lordship humanely), or else breaks their 

necks !" 

This proposal receiv'd pretly general applause 
From the Statesmen around — and ihe neck-breaking 
cause 



beautiful Ponies to the 

i Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 

* Alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather. 

3 The question whether a Veto wis to be allowed 
to the Crown in the appointment of Irish Catholic 
Bishops was, at this time, very generally and actively- 
agitated. 



Had a vigour about it, which sonn reconcil'd 
Even Eld— n himself to a measure so mild. 
So Ihe snaffles, my dear, were agreed to ?uro. con., 
And my Lord C— stl — r— gh, having so often shone 
In the fettering line, is to buckle them ou. 

I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day 
But, at present, adieu '. — I must huiry away 
To go see my Mamma, as 1 'in sutt'er'd to meet her 
For just half an hour by the Qu— n's best repeater. 
CH — RL — TIE. 



LETTER II. 

FROM COLONEL M'M — H — N TO G — LD 
FR — NC — S L — CKIE, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, I 've just had time to look 
Ino your very learned Book, 4 
Wherein — as plain as man can speak, 
Whose English is half modern Gieek — 
You prove thit we can ne'er intrench 
Our happy is'es against the French, 
Till Royalty in England's nude 
A much more independent trade ; — 
In short, until the House of Guelph 
La>s Lords and Commons on the shelf, 
And boldly sets up for itself. 

All, that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good ; 
And, as to what's incompieliensible, 
I dare be sworn 't is full as sensible. 

But, to your work 's immo tal credit. 
The Pr— n-e, goid Sir, Ihe Pr — n— e has read it 
(The only Book, him elf remarks, 
Which he ha- read since Mrs. Clarke's.) 
Last levee-mom he look'd ii through, 
During that awful hour or two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation, 
Which, to a fond, admiring nation, 
Sends forth, >nnounc'd by trump and drum, 
The best-wigg'd Pr— u — e in Chiislendoiu. 

He thinks with you, th' imagination 
Of partnership in legislation 
Could only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, 
Whose heads on firms are running so, 
They ev'n must have a King and Co., 
And hence, mo-t eloquently show forth 
On cficcks and balances, and so forth. 

But now, he trusts, we're coming near a 
Far more royal, loy.I era ; 
When England's monarch need but say, 
"Whip me Iho-e scoundrels. C — sil— r— gh !" 
Or, " Hang me up those Papists, Eld— n," 
And 't will be done — ay, faith, nud well done. 

With view to which, I 've his command 
To beg. Sir. from your Iravell'd hmd, 
(Round which the foreign giaces swarm 5 ) 
A Plan of radical Reform; 
Compil'd and chi s'n as hesl you Can, 
In Turkey or at Ispahan, 
And quite upturning, branch and root, 
Lords, Commons, aud Btrdett to boot 

But, pray, wha'e'er you may impart, write 
Somewhat more brief than Major C— rtwr— ght: 



* For an account of Ibis exlranrdinaiy work of Mr. 
Leckie, see the Edinbuigh Review, vol. xx. 

s " The truth indeed seems to oe, that having lived 
so long abroad as evidently to have lost, .n a great 
degree, the use of his native language, Mr. Leckie has 
gradually come, not only to speak, but to feel, like a 
foreigner." — Edinburgh Review. 



132 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG, 



Else. though the Pr e be long in rigging, 

>T would take, at least, a fortnights wigging,- 
Two wigs to every paragraph — 
Before he well could gef through half. 

You '11 send it also speedily — • 
As, truth to say, 'tw ixt you and me, 
His Highness, hea'ed by your work, 
Already ihinks him elf Grand Turk! 
And you 'd have laugh'd, had you seen how 
He scar'd the Ch— nc— 11— r just now, 
When (on his Lordship's en erir.g putf'd) he 
Slapp'd his back aud call' J him " Mufti ! " 

The tailors too have got commands, 
To put directly in'o hands 
AM sorts of I) u I mans and Pouches, 
With Sashes, Turbans, and Pabou ches, 
(While Y— rrn— th 's sketching out a plan 
Of new MovMachtt a I'Ottomane) 
And all things fitting and expedient 
To tu.rl.ify our gracious R— g— nt ! 

You, therefore, have no time to waste — 
So, send your System.— 

Yours, in haste. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Before I send this scrawl away, 

I seize a moment, just to say, 

There 's some parts of the Turkish system 

So vulear, ' were as well ynii miss'd'em. 

For instance— in Seraetio maters — 

Your lurk, whom sir.ih fondues! rlatters, 

Would fill his Haram (ta-lele-s fool!; 

With tittenns, red-cheek'd things from school. 

But here (as in that fairy land, 

Where Love and Aie went hand in hand ; 

Where lips, till lixiy, sheJ no honey, 

And Grandams »ere wor!h any money,) 

Our Sultan has much riper no'ious — 

So, let your lis; of »Ae-p.0iii >tions 

Include those only, plump and saje, 

Who've reach*d the reguiaJ ion-age; 

That is, (as near as one can fix 

From Peerage dates) full fifty MT, 

This rule 's for favorites — nothing more — 
For, as to unties, a Grand Signor, 
Though not decidedly without them, 
Meed never care one curse about them. 



LETTER III. 

FROM G— GE PR— CE R— G— T TO THE 
E OF Y TH.* 

We miss'd you last night at the " hoary old sinnert," 
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinners; 
His soups scientific — his S-hes quite prim* — 
His pates superb — and his cutlets sublime ! 



> The learned Colonel must allude here to a descrip 
tion of ihe Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla. 
Son of Hanif," where such inversions of the order of 
nature are said to have taken place. " A score of old 
somen and the same number of old men played here 
and theie in the cour , some at rhiiflr fiithilMt, others 
at tipcat or at cockles." And ajain. "There is 
nothing, believe me, more cadging 'ban ihose lovely, 
wrinkles," &c &c. See Talis of the East, vol. lii 
pp. 607, 60S. 

» This letter, as the reader will perceive, was 
written the day after a dinner given by the M— rq— $ 
Of H-d-t. 



In short, 't was the snug sort of dinner to stir a 
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord E — b — gh, 
Who set to, to be .sure/with miraculous force, 
And exclaim'd, between inouthfuls, " a He-Cook, of 

" Wbie you live — (what 's there under that cover? 

prav, look) — 
" While you live- (I '11 just taste it) — ne'er keep a 

She-Cook. 
"'Tis a sound Salic Law — ca small bit of that 

toast) — 
" Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the 

roast: 
" For Cookery's a secret— this turtle % uncommon) — 
" Like Masonry, never found out by a woman '" 

The dinner, you know, was in gay celebration 
Of my brilliant triumph and H — n - "s condemnation; 
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge 
For his Speech to the Jury — and zounds ! uho would 

grudge 
Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl, 
To reward such a loyal and c mplanant soul ? 
We were II in hi'h'scig — Roman Punch and Tokay 
Travell'd round, till our heads traveled just the same 

way ; 
And we car'd not for Juries or Libels — no — damme ! 

nor 
Ev'n for the threa's of last Sunday 's Examiner! 

More good things were eaten than said — but Tom 

T-rrh— t 
In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit; 
And, hearing the sturdy Jus iciary Chief 
Say — sa!ed wi h turtle — "I'll rmw try the beef — 
Tommv whisper'd him (giving his Lordship a sly 

hi') 
"I fear 1 will be Aung-beef, my Lord, if you try it V 

And C— md— n was there, who. that morning, had 
gone 
To fit his new Marquis's coronet on ; 
And the dish set belore him — oh dish well-devis'd ! — 
Was, what old Mother Gla>se calls, "a calf's head 

surpris'd !" 
The brains were near Sh — ry, and once had been fine. 
But, of late, they had lain so long soafcii g in wine, 
That, though we", from courtesy, still chose to c ■ II 
These brains very fine, they were no brains at all. 

When the dinner was over, we drank, erery one. 
In a bumper, " the venial deligh's • i 
At which H— df— t with wirm reminiscences gloated, 
And E— bY— b chuckled to hear himself sa 

Onr nexl round of toasts was a fancy quite new, 
For we drank— and you II own 't was benevolent too — 
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons or 

peers. 
Whom we've, any time, honour'd by courting their 

dears : 
This museum of wittols was comical rather ; 
Old H— df— t gave M— ss— y, and / gave your f— 

th-r. 



In short, not a s^ul till this morning wnu! ' 

We were all fun and frolic,— an.) e\en the J e 

Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion. 
And through the whole night wasn't once in a pas- 
sion ! 

I write this in bed. while my whiskers are airing, 
And M— c» has a - 
For poor T— mmv T— rr— 
As I feel 1 want something to rive bm 
And there's no'binz so gcod as old T— mmv, kept 

close 
To his Cornwall accounts, af fcr taking a dose. 



* Colonel M'Mah- u. 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



133 



LETTER IV. 

FROM THE RIGHT HON. P— TR — CK 
D— GEN— N TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR 
J— HN N— CH— L. 

Dublin.* 
Last week, dear N— ch— 1, making merry 
At dinner w i-h ou Secretary, 
When all were drunk, or pretty near 
(the time for doing busines* here,) 
Says lie lo me, "Sweet Hully Bottom ! 
'• these Papist dogs — hiccup — 'od rot 'em ! — 
'' Deserve to be bespatter'd — hiccup — 
" With all the dirt ev'n you can pick up. 
" But, as the Pr— ce (here 's tn him — rill — 
'• Hip, hip, hurra !) — is Tying still 
'•To humbug them with kind professions, 
" And, as you deal in strong expre-sions — 
"Rogue." — •■•tractor' 1 — hiccup — and all that — 
" You must be muzzled, D ctor Pat ! — 
" You must indeed — hiccup — that 's flat."— 

Ye- — " muzzled " was the word, Sir John — 
These fools hive clapp'd a muzzle on 
The boldest mouth tint e'er ran o'er 
With slaver of ihe time* of yore ! » — 
Was it for this that back I « ent 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 
To prove that they, who dimn'd us then, 
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd agaiu ? — 
The silent victim still to sit 
Of Gr— tt— n's fire and C— nn— g's wit, 
To hear ev'n noisy M — tb — w g'.bble on, 
Nor mention once the W— e of Babylon ! 
Oh ! 't is too much— who now will be 
The Nightman of No Popery? 
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 
Such learned filth will ever fish up? 
If there among our ranks be one 
To take my place, 't is thou, Sir John ; 
Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd Right Hon. 
Like me too, art a Lawyer Civil 
That wishes Papists at the devil. 

To whom then but to thee, my friend, 
Should Patrick 3 his Port-folio se'nd ? 
Take it — 't is thine — his learn'd Port-folio, 
With all its theologic olio 
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman — 
Of Doctrines, now believ'd by no man — 
Of Councils, held for men's salvation, 
Yet always ending in damnation — 
(Which shows th>t, since the world's creation, 
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming, 
Have always had a taste for damning,) 
And many more such pious scraps, 
To prove (what we've long prov'd, perhaps,) 
That, mad as Christians us'd to be 
About the Thirteenth Century, 
There still are Christians to be hid 
In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad! 

Farewell— I send with this, dear N— ch— 1, 
A rod or two I 've had in pickle 
Wherewih to trim oM Gr— tt— n's jacket.— 
The rest shall go by Monday's packet 

P. D. 



i This letter, which contained some very heavy 
enclosures, seems to have been sent to London by a 
private hand, and then put into the Twopenny Post- 
Office, to save trouble. See the Appendix. 

4 In sending this sheet to the Pre*s, however, I learn 
that the u muzzle " has been r aken off, and the Right 
Hon. Doctor again let loose ! 

* A bad name for poetry ; but D— gen— n is still 
worse. As Prudentius says upon a very different sub- 
ject - 

Torquetur Apollo 
Nomine percuss us. 



Among the Enclosures in the foregoing Letter was 
the following" Unanswerable Argument against 
the Papists." 

* # , * • 

We 're told the ancient Roman nation 
Made use of spittle in lasbMtion J * 
(Vide Lactantium ap. Gallaeum — 5 
t e. you need not read but see 'em ;) 
Now, Irish Papists, fact surprising, 
Make use of spittle in baptizing; 
Which proves them all, O'Finns, O'Fagans, 
Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pagans. 
This fact 's enough ; — let no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivous fellows. 
No, no — the man. baptiz'd with spittle, 
Hath no truth in bicn— not a tittle 1 



LETTER V. 

FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF C — RE 
TO LADY . 

My dear Lady 1 1 've been just sending out 

About five hundred cards for a snug little Rout — 
(By the bye, you 've seen Rokeby ? — this moment got 

mine — 
The Mail-Coach Edition 6 — prodigiously fine!) 
But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather, 
1 'm ever t i brn.g my five hundred toge'her; 
As, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, 
One can never get half of one's hundreds to meet. 
Apropos — you d have laugh 'd to see Townsend last 

night, 
Escort to their chairs, with his staff, so polite, 
The " three maide i Miseries," all in a fright ; 
Poor Townsend, like Mercury, rilling two posts, 
Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of ghosts ! 



But, my dear Lady 
notion, 



can't you hit on some 



At least for one night to set Loudon in motion ? — 
As to having the R— g — nt, that show is gone by — 
Besides, I've reniark'd that (between you and 1) 
The Marchesa and he, inconvenient in more ways, 
Have token much late'y to whispering in doorways; 
Which — considering, you know, dear, the size of the 

two — 
Makes a block that one's company cannot get through ; 
And a house such as mine is, with doorways so small, 
Has no room for such cumbersome love-work at ill. — 
(Apropos, though, of love-work — you 've heard it, 

hope, 
That Napoleon's old mother 's to marry the Pope, — 
What a comical pair !) — but, to stick to my Rout, 
*T will be hard if some novelty can't be struck out. 
Is there no Algerine. no Kamchatkan arriv'd ? 
No Pletiipo Pacha, three-tail'd and ten-wiv'd ? 
No Russian, whose dissonant consonant name 
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of fame ? 

I remember Ihe time, three or four winters back, 
When— provided their wigs were but decently black — 
A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, were a sight 
That would people one's house for one, night after 
night. 



4 Lustralibus ar e salivis 

Expiat. Pers. sat. 2. 

* I have taken the trouble of examining the Doc- 
tor's reference here, and find him, for once, correct. 
The following are Ihe words of his indignant referee 
Gallxus— " Asserere i on veremur sacrum baptismum 
a Papistis pr ofanari, et sputi usum in peccatorum ex- 
piatione a Paganis non a Christianis manasse." 

6 See Mr. Murray's Advertisement about the Mail- 
Coach copies of Rokeby. 



12 



134 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG 



But — whether (he Ministers pato'd them too much — 
(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they touch) 
Or, whether Lord G— rg'e (ihe young man about town) 
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written them down, 
One has certaiul. lost one's peninsular rage J 
And the only stray Patriot seen for an age 
Has been at such places (think, how tbe fit cools!) 
As old Mrs. V— gh— n's or Lord L— v— rp— Is. 

But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztschif 
stopschinzoudhoff 
Are the ouly things now make an ev'ning go smooth off : 
So, get me a Russian — till death I 'm your debtor — 
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so much the better. 
And — Lord '. if he would but, in character, sup 
Off his fish-oil and candles, he 'd quite set me up ! 

Au revoir, my sweet girl — I must leave you in 
haste — 
Little Gunter has brought me the Liqueurs to taste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

By the bye. have you found any friend that can con- 
strue 
That Latin account, t'other dav. of a Monster? I 
If we can't get a Russian, and that thing in Latin 
Be uot too improper, I think I '11 briug that in. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM ABDALLAH,* IN LONDON, TO MO- 
HASSAN, IN ISPAHAN. 

Whilst thou. M hissan. (happy thou !) 

Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 

Before our Km? — our Asia's treasure ! 

Nutmeg of Comfort ; Rose of Pleasure ! — 

And bear'st as many kicks and biuises 

As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses ; 

Thy heid still near the bowstring's borders, 

And but left on till further orders — 

Through London stieets, with turban fair, 

And caf an, fl a ing to the air, 

I saunter nn, 'he admiration 

Of this short-coated population — 

This sew'd-up r.ce — thi< buiton'd nation — 

Who, while they boast their laws so free, 

Leave not one limb at liberty, 

But live, with all their lordly speeches, 

Tbe slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 

Yet, thoush they thus their knee-pans fetter 
(They're Christians, and Ihey kuow no better)' 
In some things they 're a thinking nation; 
And, on Religious Toleration. 
I o»n I like their nations </uiie. 
They are so Peisian and so right ! 
You know our Sunuites.* — hateful dogs ! 
Whom every pious Shiite flogs 



i AlluJing, 1 suppose, to the Litin Advei 
of a Lusus Nature in the Newspapers lately. 

» I have made many inquiries about this Persian 
gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he 
is. From his notions of Religious Liberty, however, 
I conclude that he is an importation of ministers ; and 

he has arrived just in time to assist the P e and 

j Mr. L— ck — e in their new Oriental Plan of Reform. 
— See the second of these Letter*. —How Ahdall.h's 
epistle to Ispahan found i's way into the Twopenny 
Post-Bag is moie than I can pretend to account for. 

3 '• C'est un honuete homnie." said a Turkish go- 
vernor of De Ruyter ; '• c'est graud dommage qu'il 
soit Chretien." 

* Sunnitet and Shiite* are tbe two leading sects 
into which the Mahometan world is divided ; and 



Or lones to flog s — 1 is true, they pray 

To God, but in an ill-bred wav ;' 

With nei her arms, nor legs, nor faces 

Stuck in their righ', canonic places.s 

T is true, they worship Ali's name — '' 

Their Heav'n and ours are just the same — 

(A Persian's Heiv'n is eas'ly made, 

T is bu' black eyes and lemonade.) 

Yet, though we 've tried for cen uries back — 

We can't persuade this stubborn pack, 

By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers, 

To wear th' establish'd pei-greeu slippers.8 

Then, only think, the l.bertlnes ! 

They wash their toes — they comb their chins,' 

With many more such deadly sins ; 

And what ; s tbe worst, though last I rank it) 

Believe he Chapter of the Blanket ! 

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, 
(Which must, at bo'tom, be seditions; 
Since no man living would refuse 
Green slippers, but from treasonous views; 
Nor wash his toes, but with intent 
To overturn the government,)— 
Such is our mild »nd tolerant way, 
We only curse them twice a day 
(According to a Form tbmt's set,) 
And. far fn m totturing, only let 
All or'hodoz believers oea! 'em, 
And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 'em 

As to the rest, they 're free to do 
Whate'er their f .i.ey prompts them to, 
Provided they make no'bing of it 
Tow'rds ank or honour, power or proflt; 
Which things, we nai'rilly expect, 
Belong to us. the Establish'd sec', 
Who disbelieve (the Lord be ihanked !) 
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. 
The same n.ilJ views at Toleration 
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation, 
Whose Papists (full as giv'n to rogue, 
And only Sunnites with a brogue) 
Faie ju-t as welt, with all their fuss, 
As rascal Sunuites do with us. 

The tender Gazel I enclose 
Is for mv love, mv Syrian R"se — 
Take it 'when night begins to fall, 
And throw it o'er her mother's walL 



Rememberest thou the hour we past,— 
That hour the happiest and the last ? 



they have gone on cursing and persecu'ingeach other, 
without any intermission, for about eleven hundred 
1 he Sunn is ihe established sect in TLrfcry, 
and the Shia in Persia; and he differences between 
them turn chiefly upon those important penis, which 
our pious friend AMallah, in ihe true spirit of Shiite 
Ascendency, reprobates in this Le'cr. 

' u Les Sunuites. qui eloient comnie lesCatboliques 
de Musulmamsine." — D'HcrUlot. 

6 " In contradistinction to the Sounis, who in their 
prayers cross their hands on the lower part of the 
breast, the SchiaLs drop their arms in straight li es; 
and as the Sounis, at certain periods of ti.t- 
press their foreheads on the ground or carpet, the 
ic — Forster't Voyage. 

1 " Les Turcs ne dee-tent pas Ali reciproquement ; 
au coutraire, ils le leconnoissent,'' &c. ic — C hardin. 

8 "The Shiites wear green slippers, which the 
Sunnites consider as a great abomination." — 

9 For these points of difference, as well as f r the 
Chapter of the Blanket. I mu-t refer tbe reader (not 
tnvine the book by me) to Picart's Account of the 
Mahometan Sects. 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG 



135 



Oh ! not so sweet the Silia thorn 

To summer bees, at bre^k of morn, 

Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, 

To Camels' ears the tinkling bell, 

As is the soothing memory 

Of that one precious hour to me. 

How can we live, so far apart ? 
Oh! why not rather, heart 10 heart, 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet bird*, that fly together, 
With feather always touching feather, 

Liuk'd by a hook and eye ! i 



LETTER VII. 



FROM MESSRS. 
TO 



L — CK — GT— N AND 
, ESQ. a 



Per Post, Sir, we send your MS. — look'd it thro'— 
Very sorry — but can't undertake — 't would n't do. 
Clever work, Sir !— would gel up prodigiously well- 
Its only defect is — it never would sell. 
And tlkough Statesmen may glory in being unlought, 
In an Author 't is not so desirable thought. 
Hard times, Sir, — most books are too dear to be 
read — 
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small- 
change are fled, 
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead. 
Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think il) 
Not even such names as F — tzg — r— d's can sink it! 

However, Sir — if you 're for trying again, 
And at somewhat that 's vendible — we areyour men. 

Since the Chevalier C — rr 3 took to marrying lately, 
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly — 
No job, Sir, more easy — your Country once plann'd, 
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land 
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand. 

An Ea<t-India pamphlet 's a thing th it would tell— 
And a lick at the P pists is sure to sell well. 
Or — supposing you've nothing original in you — 
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame' it will win vou, 
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia ! * 
(Mind — not to her dinners — a second luind Muse 
Mus'n't think of aspiring to mess wiih the Blues.) 
Or — in case nothing else in this world you can do — 
The deuce is in 't, Sir, if you cannot review! 

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a Scheme to suggest — Mr. Sc — tt, you must 

know, 
(Who, we re sorry to say it, now works (orthe Row,*) 
Having quitted the Rord'ers, to seek new renown, 
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town ; 



And beginning with Rokeby ('he job 's sure to pay) 
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. 
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can 

beat him) 
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long 

coaches — 
May do a few Villas, before Sc— tt approaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, 
He'll re>ch, without found'ring, at least VVoburn- 

Abbey. 
Such, Sir, is our plan — if you 're up to the freak, 
'T is a match ! and we '11 put you in training 

week. 
At present, no more — in reply to this Letter, a 
Line will oblige very much 

Yours, et cetera. 
Temple of the Musts. 



next 



l This will appear strange to an English reader, but 
it is lite ally transla'ed from Abdallah's Persian, and 
the curious bird to which he alludes is the Juftak, of 
which I find the following account in Richardson: — 
' A sort of r ird, that s said to have but one wing ; on 
the opposite side to i hich the male has a hook and 
the female a ring, so tha', when they fly, they are 
fastened together." 

* From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow- 
feeling, 1 suppress the name of the Au'hor, whose 
rejected manuscript was enclosed in this letter. See 
the Appendix. 

3 Sir John Carr, the author of "Tours in Ireland, 
Holland, Sweden," &c. &c. 

* This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspon- 
dence, which is said to have passed lately between 
Alb — n — a, Countess of B — ck— gh — ms — e, and a cer- 
tain ingenious Parodist. 

* Paternoster Row. 



LETTER VIII. 

FROM COLONEL TH — M — S TO 

SK— FF— NGT— N, ESQ. 

Come to our Fete,s and bring with thee 
Thy newest, best embroidery. 
Come to our Fe'e, and show again 
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men, 
Which charm'd all eyes, that last survey'd it; 
When Br— mm— I'sself inquir'd " who made it?* 
When Cits came wond ring, from the East, 
And thought Ihee Poet Pye at least ! 

Oh ! come, (if haply t is thy week 
For looking pale,) with paly cheek ; 
Though more we love thy roseate days. 
When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze 
nd, ampl 



Full o'er thy face. 



imply spread, 



Tips ev'n thy whisker-tops with red • 
Like the last tints of dying Day 
That o'er some darkling grove delay. 

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander, 
(That lace, like H— try Al— x— nd— r, 
Too precious to be wa-h'd.) — 'hy rings, 
Thy ^eals — in short, thy pretiest things ! 
Put'all thy wardrobe's zlorles on, 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R — z — t's self alone ; 
Who — by particular desire — 
For that night wily, means to hire 
A dress f'om Romeo C — 'es, Esquire.* 
Hail, first of Actors ! « best of R— g— ts 1 
Born for each other's fond allegiance! 
Both gay Lotharios — both good dressers — 
Of serious Farce both learn'd Professors — 
Both circled round, fnr use or show, 
With cock's combs, wheresoe'er they go! 9 

Thou know'st thp time, thou man of lore' 
It takes to chalk a ball-room floor — 
Thou know'st the lime, too, well-a-day! 
It takes to dai ce that chalk away.'O 



6 This Letter enclosed a Card for the Grand Fete on 
the 5th of February. 

* An amateur actor of much risible renown. 

6 Quern tu, Melpomene, semel 
Nascentem placido lumine, videris, &c. Horat. 
The Man, upon whom thou hast deign'd to lock funny. 

Oh, Tragedy's Muse ! at the hour of his birth — 
Let them 8 y what they will, that 's the Man for my money, 

Give others Ihy tears, but let mc have rhy mirlh ! 

9 The crest of Mr. C— tes, the very amusing ama 
teur tragedian here alluded to, was a cock ; and most 
profusely were his liveries, harness, &c, coveied with 
this ornament. 

i° To those, ivho neither go to balls nor read the 
Morning Post, it may be necessary to n ention, that 



136 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 



The Ball-room opens — far and nigh 

Comets and suns beneath us lie; 

O'er snow-white moons and siars we walk, 

And tlie floor seems one sky of chalk ! 

But soon shall fade that bright deceit, 

When many a maid, with busy feet 

That 9parkle in the lustre's ray, 

O'er the while path shall b mud and play 

Like Nymphs along the Milky Way : — 

With every step a s ar hath tied, 

AuJ suns giow dim beneath their tread ! 

So passeth life— (thus Sc — It would write, 

And spins'er, read him with delight,)— 

Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, 

'i ime is not chalk, yet time 's soon gone ! * 

But, hang this long digressive flight ! — 
I meant to say, thou 'It see, that night, 
What falsehood rankles in their hearts, 

Who say the Pr e neglecls the arts — 

Neglects the arts ? — no, Str — hi— g, 2 no ; 
Thy Cupids answer '• t is not so ; " 
And every floor, that night, shall tell 
How ijuick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou may st in French vermilion, 
Thou 'rt best, beneath a French cotillion ; 
And still com'st oil. whate'er thy faults, 
With flying colours in a Waltz. 
Nor ueed'st tbou mourn the transient date 
To thy best works assign'd by fate. 
While some, chef-d'ceuvres live to weary one, 
Thine boast a short life and a merry one 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With " Molly put the kettle on 1 » 3 

But, bless my soul ! I 've scarce a leaf 
Of paper left — so, must be brief. 

This festive Fete, in fact, will be 
The former Fete 's facsimile ; * 
The same long Masquerade of Rooms, 
All ti ick'd up in such odd costumes, 
(These, P— rt— r,s are thy glorious works 
You 'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks, 
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice, 
Had clubb'd to raise a Pic-Nic Palace; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State-Rnom as a pre-ent. 
The same fautcuils and girondoles 
The same gold Asses,* pretty >ouls ! 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home. 
The same bright river 'niong the dishes, 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes - 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones 
So 'stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish oi that specie now-a-days) 
Some sprats have been by Y— rm— th'l wish, 
Promoted into Silver Fish, 



the floors of Ball-rooms, in general, are chalked, for 
safety and for ornament, with various fanciful devices. 

i Hearts are not flint, ye' flints are rent, 
Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent. 
After all, however, Mr. Sc— tt may well say to the 
Colonel, (and, indeed, to much better wags than the 
Colonel,) (laov utofiuGdai 17 liiiiiktQo.1. 

3 A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince 
Regent. 

3 The name of a popular country dance. 

4 " C— rl — t — n H e will exhibit a complete fac- 
simile, in respect to interior ornament, to what it did 
at the last Fete. The jame splendid draperies," ic. 
&c. — Morning Post. 

i Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the 
furnishing of the rooms of Carlton House. 

6 The salt-cellars on the Pr e's own table were 

in the form of an Ass with Panniers. 



And Gudgeons (so V— ns— tt— t told 
The R— g— t j are as good as Gold ! 

So, prithee, come — our Fete will be 
But half a Fete if wanting thee. 



APPENDIX. 

LETTER IV. Page 133. 

Among the papers, enclosed in Dr. D — g— n — n's 
Letter, was found an Heroic Epistle in Latin verse, 
fiom Pope Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is rather 
a cu ious document, 1 shall venture to give some ac- 
count. This female Pontiff was a native of England, 
(or, according to others, of Germany), who, at an 
early age, disguised herself in male attire, and fol- 
lowed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to Athens, 
where she studied with such eltect, that upon her 
arrival at Rome, she was thought worthy of being 
raised to the Pontificate. This Epistle is addressed 
to her Lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity 
of Cardinal), soon after the fatal accouchement, by 
which her Fallibility was betrayed. 

She begins by reminding him tenderly of the time, 
when tbey were together at Athens — when, as she 
says, 

" by Ilissus' stream 

" We whispering walk'd along, and learn 'd to speak 
" The teuderest feelings in the purest Greek j — 
•'Ah, then how little did we think or hope, 
• Dearest of men, that 1 should e'er be Pope ! i 
'• That I, the humble Joan, whose housewife art 
" Seem'd just enough to keep thy house and heart, 
" (And those, alas, at sixes and at sevens), 
" Should soon keep all the keys of all the heavens !" 

Still less (she continues to say) could they have fore- 
seen, that such a catastrophe as had happened in 
Council would befall tbem— that she 



" Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave 
" And let a little Pope pop out before 'em — 
" Pope Innocent ! alas, the only one 
" That name could e'er be justly fix'd upon." 

She then very pathetically laments the downfall of 
her greatness, and enumerates ibe various treasures to 
which she is doomed to bid farewell for ever : — 

" But oh, more dear, more precious ten times over — 
" Farewell my Lord, my Cardinal, my Lover ! 
'■ I m >de thee Cardinal — tbou mad'st me — ah ! 
''Thou mad'st the Papa of the worid Mamma ! 

I have not time at present !o translate any more of 
this Epistle ; but I presume the argument which the 
Right Hon. Doctor and his friends mean to deduce 
from it. is (in their usual convincing strain) hat Ro- 
manists must be unworthy of Emancipation now, 
because they had a Peticoat Pope in the Ninth Cen- 
tury. No'hing can be more logically clear, and 1 nud 
that Horace bad exactly the same views upon the 
subject 

Romanus (fhfu pnsteri ErgabitUt) 

Emanctpalui F^tnliiil 
Fcrt vallum ! 



LETTER VII. Page 13b. 

The Manuscript, found enclosed in the Bookseller's 
Letter, turns out to be a Melo-Drama, in two Acts, 

i Spanheim attributes the unanimity, with which 
Joan was elected, to that innate and irresistible charm, 
by which her sex, though latent, operated upon the 
instinct of the Cardinals— -'Nod vi alnjua, sed con- 
cordi'er. omnium in se converse desiderio. quae sunt 
blandientis sexus artes, latentes in hac 



TWOPENNY POST-BAG, 



137 



I entitled "The Book," » of which the Theatres, of 
' course, had had the refusal, before it was presented to 
Messrs. L— ck— ngf— n & Co. This rejected Drama, 
h (wearer, possesses considerable merit, and I shall 
take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before my 
Readers. 

The first Act opens in a very awful manner— Time, 
three o'c'nck in tie morning — Scene, the Bourbon 

Chamber ^ in C — rl — t — •■ House — Enter :he P e 

R— z— t s<>lus— After a few broken sentences, he thus 
exclaims : — 

Away — Away — 
Thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish Book, 
I meet thee — irace thee, wheresoe'er I look. 
I see thy damned ink in Eld— n's brows — 
1 see thy foo'scap on my H — rtf — d's Spouse — 
V — us — K— s dead recalls thy leathern case, 
And all thy blank-leaves stare from R— d— r's face! 
While, turning here (laying his hand on his heart), 

I find, ah wretched elf, 
Thy List of dire Errata in myself. 

(Walks the stage in considerable agitation.) 
Oh Roman Punch ! oh potent Curacoa! 
Oh Mareschino 1 Mare-chino oh ! 
Delicious drams ! why have you not the art 
To kill this gnawing Book-worm iu my heart? 

He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by perceiving 
on the ground some scribbled fragment of paper, 
which he instantly collects, and •' by ihe light of two 
magnificent ctndelahras" discovers the following un- 
connected words, " Wife neglected" — '• the Sook" — 
" Wrong Measures"—" the Queen''—'' Mr. Lambert 1 ' 
— " the R— g-t 

Ha ! treason in my house ! — Curst words, that wither 
My princely soul, (shaking the papers violently) 

what' Demon brought you hither? 
" My Wife ;" — " the Book" too ! — stay — a nearer 

look — 
(holding the fragments closer to the Candelabra)) 
Alas ! loo~plain, B, double 0, K, Book- 
Death and destruction ! 

He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of 
valets enter. A scene of cursing and swearing (very 
much in the German style) ensues, in the course of 
which messengers are despatched, in different direc- 
tions, for the L— rd Ch— nc— II— r, the D-e of C— 
b— I— d, &c. &c. The intermediate time is filled up 
by another Soliloquy, at the conclusion of which the 
aforesaid Personages rush on alarmed ; the D — ke 
with his stays only half-laced, and the Ch— nc— II— r 
" ith his » ig thrown has'ily over an old red night-cap, 
" to maintain the becoming splendour of his office." 3 
The R — g — t produces the appalling fragments, upon 
which the Ch— nc — II — r breaks out into exclamations 
of loyalty and tenderness, and relates the following 
portentous dream. 



i There was, in like manner, a mysterious Book, in 
the 16th Cen'ury. which employed all the anxious 
curiosity of the'Learned of that time. Every one 
spoke of it ; many wrote against it ; though it does 
not appear that anybody had ever seen it ; and Grotius 
is of opinion that no such Book ever existed. It was 
entitled " Liber de tribus impostoribus." (See Mor- 
hof. Cap. de Libris damnatis.) — Our more modern 
mystery of " the Book" resembles this in many par- 
ticulars ; and, if he number of Lawyers employed in 
drawing it up be stated correctly, a slight alteration 
of the title into "a tribus impostoribus" would pro- 
duce a coincidence altogether very remark >ble. 

a The same Chamber, doubtless, that was prepared 
for the reception of the Bourbons at tht first Grand 
Fete, and which was ornamented (all " for the Delive- 
rance of Europe") with fit urs-de-lys. 

3 " To enable the individual, who holds the office 
of Chancellor, to maintain it in becoming splendour." 
(A Umd laugh.) Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon 
the rice-Chancellor's Bill. 

12 *~ 



T is scarcely two hours since 

I had a fearful dream of thee, my P e . — 

Methought I heard thee, midst a courtly crowd, 

Say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud, 

" Worship my whiskers !" — (weeps) not a knee was 

there 
But bent and worshipp'd the Illustrious Pair, 
Which curl'd in conscious majesty ! (pulls out his 

handkerchief) — while cries 
Of ''Whiskers, whiskers 1" shook the echoing skies. — 
Just in that glorious h' ur, methought, there came, 
With looks of injur'd pride, a Princely Dame, 
And a young maiden, clinging by her side, 
As if she fear'd some tyrant would divide 
Two hearts that nature and affection tied ! 
The Matron came — within her right hand glow'd 
A radiant torch ; while from her left a load 
Of Papers hung — (wipes his eyes) collecled in her 

veil — 
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, 
The wounding hint, the current lies that pass 
F om Post to Courier, form'd the motley mass ; 
Which, with disdain, before the I hrone* she throws, 
And lights the Pile beneath thy princelv nose. 

( Weeps.) 
Heav'ns, how it blaz'd ! — I 'd ask no livelier fire, 
(With animation) To roast a Papist by, my gracious 

Sire! — 
But ah ! the Evidence — (weeps again) I mourn'd to 

see — 
Cast, as it burn'd, a deadly light on thee: 
And Tales and Hin's their random sparkles flung, 
And hiss'd an J crackled, like an old maid's tongue; 
While Post and Courier, faithful to their fame 
Made up in stink for what they lack'd in flame. 
When, lo, ye Gods ! the fire ascending brisker, 
Now singes' one, now lights the oUter whisker. 
Ah! where was then the Sylphid, that unfurls 
Her fairy standard in defence of curls? 
Throne, Whiskers, Wis soon vanish'd into smoke, 
The watchman cried "Past One," and — I awoke. 

Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than ever, 
and Ihe R— g— t (who has been very much agitated 
during the recital of the Dream) by a ni'-vcmeut as 
chaae'eristic as that of Charles XII. when he was 
shot, clasps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be 
; really safe. A Privy Council is held — all the Ser- 
; vants, &c. are examined, and it appears that a Tailor, 
i who had come to measure the R — g— t for a Dress 
(which takes 'hree whole pages of the best superfine 
, clinquant in describing) was the only person who had 
j been in the Bourbon Chamber during the day. It is, 
accordingly, determined to seize the Tailor, and the 
I Council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be 
I vigorous. 

I The commencement of the Second Act turns chiefly 
upon the Trial and Imprisonment of two Bi others *— 
1 but as this forms the under plot of the Drama, I shall 
content myself with extracting from it the following 
speech, which is addressed to the two Brothers, as 
they "exeunt severally" to Prison: — 

Go to your prisons —though ihe air of Spring 
No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring ; 
Though Summer tloweis sh ill pass unseen away, 
And all your portion of the glorious day 
May be some solitary beam that falls, 
At morn or eve, upon your dreary walls — 
Some beam that en'ers", trembling as if aw'd, 
To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad ! 

I Yet go — for thoughts as blessed as the air 

j Of Spring or Summer flowers await you there; 
Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his courtly crew 

I In rich conservatories, never knew ; 
Pure self-esteem— the smiles that light within — 

j The Zeal, whose circling charities begin 
With the few lov'd-ones Heaven has plac'd it near, 

, And spread, till all Mankind are in its sphere; 



* Mr. Leigh Hunt and his brother. 



138 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or plea, 
And the fiesh Spirit, that can warble free, 
Through prison-bars, its hymn to Liberty! 

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Work -shop, and 
a fancifully-arranged group of these Artis's is discover- 
ed upon t tie Shop-board — Their task evidently of a 
royal nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, 
&c. that lie about — They all rise and come forward, 
while one of them sings the following Stanzas to the 
tune of " Deny Down." 

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees, 
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease, 

While 1 sing of our F e (and a fig for his railers) 

The Shop-board's delight ! the Maecenas of Tailors ! 
Kerry down, down, down derry down. 

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note, 
While His short cut to fame is — the cut of his coat; 
Philip's Son thought the World was too small for his 

Soul, 
But our H— g— t's finds room in a lac'd button-hole. 
Derry down, &c 

Look through all Europe's Kings — those, at least 

who go loose — 
Not a King of them all 's such a friend to the Goose. 
So, God keep him increasing in size and renown, 

Still the fattest and best fitted P e about town ! 

Derry down, &c 



During the "Derry down" of this last verse, a mes- 
senger fiom the S— c— t— y of S e's Office rushes 

on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the 
scene, is the very Tailor suspecied of the mysterious 
fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory i 
exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise 
and consternation of his comrades. The Plot now 
hastens rapidly in its development — the manage- 
ment of Ihe Tailor's examination is highly skilful, and ' 
the alarm, which he is made to betray, is natuial 
without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, 
which he finally gives is not more simple than satis- 
factory. It appears that the said fragments formed 
part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intend- 
ed to send to Colonel M'M o upon subjects purely i 

professional, and the corresponding bits (which still 
lie luckily in his pocket; being produced, and skilfully ! 
laid beside the others, the following billet-doux is the 
satisfactory result of their juxta-position. 
' Honour'd Colonel— my Wife, who 's the Queen of all 

slatterns, 
Neglec'ed to put up the Book of new Patterns 
She sent ihe wrong Measures too— shamefully 
They 're the same us'd for poor Mr. Lambert, when 

young ; 
But, bless you ! they wouldn't go half round the 

K— 2— t— 
So, hope you '11 excuse yours till death, most obedient 
This fully explains Ihe whole mystery — the R — g — t 
resumes his wonted smiles, and the Drama terminates, 
as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

IIOAAZOJiTOI ASXOAIA. 



THE INSURRECTION OF THE PAPERS. 



A D R E \ M . 

« It would be impossible for his royal highness to disen- 
gage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that 
;iieoni passed it.— Lurd Conlereapk'i Speech upon Colo- 
nel M'Mahon's Appointment, April 14, If 12. 

Last night I toss'd and turn'd in bed. 
But coulJ not sleep — at lengih I said, 
" I 'II think of Viscount C— sll— r— eh, 
"And of his speeches— that 's the way." 
And so it was, for ins anlly 
I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then 1 dreamt — so dread a dream 
Fusel i has no such theme; 
Lewis never wrote or borrow'd 
Any horror, half so horrid ! 

Methoueht the Pr e. in whisker'd state 

Before me at his breakfast sate ; 

On one side lay un ead Petitions, 

On t'other. Hints from five Physicians; 

Here tradesmen's bills,— official papers, 

Notes from my Lady, drams for vapours — 

There plans of siddles, tea and toas', 

Death-warrants and the Morning Post. 

When lo ! Ihe Papers, one and all, 
As if at some magician's call, 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shelves, 
And, curing each s< me differeni capers, 
Advanc'd, on Jacobinic papers! 
As though thev said, " Our sole design is 
"To suffoote'his Royal Highness!" 
The Leader of this vile sedition 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 



With grievances so full and heavy, 

It Ihreaten'd worst of all the bevy. 

Then Common-Hall Addresses came 

In swaggering sheets, and took their aim 

Right at" the R— g— t's uell-dress'd head. 

As if dctermin'd to be read. 

Next Tradesmen's Bills began to fly, 

And Tradesmen's Bills we know, mount high ; 

Nay ev'n Death-warrants thought they 'd best 

Be lively too, and join the rest. 

But, oh the basest of defections! 
Hi- Let'er about -'piedilec 
His own dear Letter, void of grace, 
Now rlew up in its paient's face ! 
Shock'd » i h this beach of filial duty. 
He just could murmur •' et Tu Bruit?* 
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox's bust, io rise no mure ! 

I wak'd — and pny'd. with lifted hand, 
"Oh ! never may this Dream prove true 

"Though paper overwhelms the land, 
" Let it not crush the Sovereign too !* 



PARODY OF A CELEBRATED LETTERS 

At length, dearest Freddy, the moment is nigh, 
When," wi'h P— re— v— l's leave, I may throw my 

chains bv ; 
And, as time now is precious, the first thing I do, 
Is to sit down and write a wise letter to you. 



> Letter from his Roval Highness the Prince Regent 
to the Duke of York, Feb. 13, 1812, 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



139 



I meant before now to have fent you this Letter, 
But Y — rm— th and I thought perhaps 'twould be 

better 
To wait till the Irish affairs were decided — 
(Thai is, till both Houses had prosed and divided, 
VViih all due appearance of thought and digestion) — 
For, though H— rt! — id House h.id long sealed the 

question, 
I thought it but decent, between me and you, 
That the two otlter Houses should settle it too. 

I need not remind you how cursedly b^d 
Our atl'airs were all looking, when Father went mad ;i 
A stiait-waistcoat on him and restrictions on me, 
A nmre limited Monarchy could not well he. 
I was call'd upon then, in that moment of puzzle, 
To choose my own .Minister — just as they muzzle 
A playful young bear, and then mock his disas er, 
By bidding him choose out his own dancing-master. 

1 thought the best way, as a dutiful son, 
Was to do as Old Royal "y's self would have done. 2 
So I sent word to say, I would keep the whole batch in, 

The same chest of tools, without c.eansing or patching; 
For tools of this kind, like Martinus's conce,3 
Would lose all their be.iutv, if purified once; 
And think — only think — if our Father should find, 
Upon graciously coming again to his mind,* 

That improvement had spoil'd any favourile adviser — 
That R— se was grown honest, or W — sini— rel — nd 

wiser — 
That R— d — r was, ev'n by one twinkle, the brighter — 
Or L— v — rp — |'s speeches but half a pound lighter — 

What a shock to his old royal heart it would be ! 

No ! — far were such dreams of improvement from me : 

And it pleased me to hud, at the House, where, you 

kuow.s 
There 'ssuch good mutton cutlets, and strong curac'a,6 
That the Marchioness call'd me a duteous old boy, 
And my Y — rm — th's red whiskers grew redder for joy. 

You know, my dear Freddy, how off, if I would, 
By Ihe law of last Sessions 1 might have done good. 
I might have withheld these political noodles 
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee 

Doodles; 
I might have told Ireland I pitied her lot, 
Might have sooth'd her with hope — but you know I 

did not. 
And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows 
Should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous, 
But find tha', while he has been laid on the shelf, 
We 've been all of us nearly as mad as himself. 
You smile ai my hopes — but the Doctors and I, 
Are the last that can think the K — ng euer will die.i 



i " I think it hardly necessary to call your recollec- 
tion to the recent circumstances under which I as- 
sumed the authority delegated to me by Parliament." 
— Prince's Letter. 

4 '• My sense of duty to our Royal father solely de- 
cided that choice." — Ibid. 

3 The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, which, 
upon scouring, turned out to be only an old sconce. 

* " I waived any personal gratification, in order that 
his Majesty might resume, on his restoration to health, 
every power and pierogative," &c. — Ibid. 

*"And I have the satisfaction of knowing that 
such was the opinion of persons for whose judg- 
ment," &c. &c. — Ibid. 

6 The letter-writer's favourite luncheon. 

" "I certainly am the last person in the kingdom to 



A new era 's arriv'd 8— though you 'd hardly believe 

And all things, of course, must be new to receive it. 

New villas, new fetes (which ev'n Waithman at- 
tends)— 

New suldies, new helmets, and — why not new 
friends ? 

* * * * 



I repeat it, " New Friends" — for I cannot describe 
The delight I am in with this P— re— v— 1 tribe. 
Such capering! — Such vapouring! — Such rigour! 

— Such vigour ! 
North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a 

figure, 
That soon they will bring the whole world round our 

ears, 
And leave us no friends— but Old Nick and Algiers. 

When I think of the glory they 've beam'd on my 

chains, 
'T is enough quite to turn my illustrious brains. 
It is true we .ire bankrupts in commerce and riches, 
But think how we find our Allies in new breeches! 
We 've lost the warm hearts ot the Irish, 'I is granted, 
But then we 've got Java, an island much wauted, 
To put the last lingeiing few who remain, 
Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain. 
Then how Wellington fights! and how squabbles his 

brother ! 
For Papists the one, and with Papists the other; 
One crushing Napoleon by taking a City, 
While t'oiher lays waste a whole Cath'lic Committee. 
Oh, deeds of renown ! —shall 1 boggle or flinch, 
With such prrspects before me? by Jove, nut an inch. 
No — let England's affairs go to rack, if they will, 
We 'II look afier th' afiaiis of the Continent still ; 
And, wi h nothing ai home bui starvation and riot, 
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet. 

I am proud to declare I have no predilections, 9 
My heart is a sieve, wheie some scatter'd affections 
Are just dane'd about for a moment or two, 
And the ./bier they are, Ihe more suie lo run through : 
Neither feel I resentments, nor wish theie should 

come ill 
To moital — except (now I think on't) Beau 

Br— mm— I, 
Who threaten'd last year, in a superfine passion, 
To cut me, and bring the old K — ng into fashion. 
This is all I can lay to ray conscience at present ; 
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant, 
So royally free from all troublesome feelings, 
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings, 
(And that I 'm consistent the world will allow, 
What I was at Newmarket the same I am now.) 
When such are my merits (you know I hale cracking,) 
I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent Blacking, 
"To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation 
" Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation." 

By the bye, ere I do e this magnificent Letter, 
(No man, except Pole, could have writ you a better,) 
'T would please me if those, whom I 've humbug'd so 

long io 
With the notion (good men !) that I knew right from 

wrong. 
Would a few of them join me — mind, only a few — 
To let too much light in on me never would do ; 



whom it can be permitted to despair of our royal 
father's recovery." — Prince's Letter. 

8 " A new era is now arrived, and I cannot but re- 
flect with satisfaction," &c. — Ibid. 

f " I have no predilections to indulge, — no resent- 
ments to gratify." — Ibid. 

it' " I cannot conclude without expressing the grati- 
fica'ion I should feel if some of ihose persons with 
whom the early habits of my public life were formed 
would strengthen my hands, and constilute a part of 
my government." — Ibid. 



140 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS) 



But even Grey's brightness shan't make me afraid, 
While I >ve C— n.d— u aud Kid— n to fly to for shade ; 
Nor will Hollands clear intellect do us much harm, 
While there's W— stm — rel— nd near him to weaken 

the charm. 
As for Moita's high spirit, if aught can subdue it, 
Sure joining with H— rlf— rd and Y— rm — th will 

do it ! 
Between R— d— r and Wh— rt— n let Sheridan sit, 
And the fogs will s'ion quench even Sheridan's wit: 
And against all the pure public feeling that glows 
Ev'ii in Whilbiead himself we've a H si lu G— rge 

R— se! 
So, in short, if they wish to have Places, they may, 
And I II thank you lo tell all these matteis to Grey,* 
Who, 1 doubt not, will write (as there 's no time to 

lose} 
By the twopenny post to tell Gienville the news ; 
And now, deirest Fred (though I've uo predilection), 
Believe me yours always with truest affection. 

P. S. A copy of this is to P— re— I going — 2 
Good Lord, how St. Stephen's will ring with his 
crowing ! 



ANACREONTIC TO A PLTJMASSIER 

Fine and feathery artisan, 
Best of Plumists (if you can 
With your art so far presume) 
Make for me a Pr— ce's Plume 
Feathers soft and feathers rate, 
Such as suits a Prince to wear. 

Firs!, thou downiest of men, 
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen ; 
Such a Hen, so tall and grand, 
As by Juno's side might stand. 
If there were no ci cks at hand. 
Seek her feathers, soft as down, 
Fit to shine on Pr— ce's crown; 
If thou canst not hud them, stupid ! 
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.3 

Ranging; these in order due. 
Pluck me" next an old Cuckoo; 
Emblem of the happy fates 
Of easy, kind, coruuted males. 
Pluck him well — be sure you do 
Who wnuld'nt be an old Cuckoo, 
Thus to have his plumage blest, 
Beaming on a R— y— 1 crest ? 

Bravo, Plumist ! — now what bird 
Shall we find for Plume the third I 
You must get a leimed l)w 1, 
Bleakest of black-letter fowl — 
Bigot bird, that hales the light,* 
Foe to all that 's fair and bright. 
Seize his quills, (so form'd to pen 
Books,* (hat shun the starch of men; 
Books, that, far from every eye, 
In "swelter'd venom sleeping" lie,) 
Stick them in between the two, 
Proud Pea-hen and Old Cuckoo. 
Now you have the triple feather, 
Bind the kindred stems together 



With a silken tie, who-e hue 
Once was brilliant Buff and Blue; 
Sullied now — alas, how much 1 
Only fit for Y— rm— th's touch. 

There — enough — thy task is done; 

Present, worthy G ge's Son : 

Now, beneath, i;i letters nea', 
Write " I serve," and all 's complete, 



l '«You are authorized to communicate these senti- 
ments to Lord Grey, who, I have no doubt, will make 
them known to Lord Grenville. — Prince's Letter. 

3 " I shall -end a copy of this letter immediately to 
Mr. Peres val.» — /oi'd. 

» See Prior's poem, entitled " The Dove." 

« P— re— 7—1. 

* In allusion to " the Book" which created such a 
sensation at that pei iod. 



EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A 
POLITICIAN. 

Wednesday. 
Through M— nch— st— r Square took a canter just 

Met the old yellow chariot,* and made a low bow. 
This I did, of course, thinking, 't was loyal and 

civil. 
But got such a look — oh 't was black as the devil ! 
How unlucky ! — incog, he was traveling about, 
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out. 

Mem. — when nex» by 'he old yellow chariot I ride, 
To remember there is nothing princely inside. 

Thursday. 
At Levee to day made another sad blunder — 
What can be come over me lately, I wonder ? 
The Pr— ce was as cheerful, as if, .11 his life. 
He bad never been troubled with Friends or a 

Wife — 
"Fine we.ther," says he — to which I, who must 

prate, 
Answered, '• Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late.'' 
He took it, I fear, for he look'd" somewhat gruff, 
And haDdled his new pair of whiskers so rough. 
That before all the courtiers 1 fear'd they'd come 

off, 
And then, Lord, how Geramb i would triumphantly 

scoff! 

Mem — to buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion 
To nourish his whiskers — sure road to promotion ! 8 

Saturday. 
Last night a Concert — vastly gay — 
Given by Lady C— s'l— r— eh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know, 
Has ••two strings al-»a\stohis bow." 9 
In choosins sonjs, the R — g — t rram'd 
" Had I a heart for falsehood f ram d. n 
While genile H — HI— d begg'd and praytt 
For " Young I am and sore afraid." 



EPIGRAM. 

What news to-dav ? — " Oh ! worse and 
" Mac i° is the Pr— ce"» Privy Purse :"- 
The Pr — ceS Purse ! no, no. you fool, 
You mem the Pr— ce's Ridicule. 



s The incog, vehicle of the Pr— ce. 

t Baron Geramb, the rival of his R. H. in whiskers. 

8 England is not the only country where merit of 
this kind is noticed and rewarded. " I remember," 
says Tavernier, "To have seen one of >he King of 
Persia's porters, whose mustaches were so long that 
be could tie them behind his neck, for which reason 
he had a double pension." 

s A rhetorical figure used by Lord C — sti— r— gh, 
in one of his speeches. 

»o Colonel M— cm— h— n. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



141 



KING CRACK '- AND HIS IDOLS. 

WRITTEN AFTER THE LATS NEGOTIATION 
FOR A NEW M — N — STRY. 

King Crack was the best of all possible Kings, 
(At least, so his Courtiers would swear to you 
gladly,) 

But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, 
And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. 

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been plac'd 
lu his father's old Cabinet, pleas'd him so much, 

That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though — such 
was his taste ! — 
They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch. 

And these were the beautiful Gods of King Crack ! — 

But his People, disdaining to worship such things, 
Cried aloud, one and all, " Come, your Godships must 
pack — 
" You 'II not do for us, though you may do for 
Kings." 

Then, trampling these images uDder their feet, 
They sent Crack a petition, beginning " Great 
Ca?sar! 
" We 're willing to worship ; but only entreat 
" That you Ml find us some dtcenter Godheads than 
these are." 

"I'll try," says King Crack — so they furnish'd him 

models' 

Of better-shap'd Gods, but he sent them all back ; 

Some were chisell'd too fine, some had beads 'stead 

of noddles, 

In short, they were all much too godlike for Crack. 

So he-took to his darling old Idols again, 
And, just mending their legs and new bronzing 
their faces, 
In open defiance of Gods and of man, 
Set the monsters up grinning once more in their 
places. 



WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? 

Quest. Why is a Pump like V— sc— nt C— stl— r— gh ? 

Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood, 
That up and down its awkward arm doth sway, 
And coolly spout and spout and spout away 

In one weak, washy, everlasting flood ! 



EPIGRAM 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELE- 
GATE AND HIS R— Y— L H— GHN— SS 
THE D — E OF C — B — L— D. 

Said his Highness to Ned,'- with that grim face of his, 
" Why refuse us the Vito, dear Catholic Neddy ?" 

" Because, Sir," said Ned. looking full in his phiz, 
" You 're f'/rbidding enough, in all conscience, 
alreajy !" 



l One of those antediluvian Princes, with whom 
Manelho and Whistnn seem so intimately acquainted. 
If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Mane- 
tho compiled his Historv, we should find, I dare say, 
that Crack wa< only a Resent, and tf at he, perhaps. 
succeeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was (he 
last King of the Antediluvian Dynasty. 

* Edward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of the 
Irish Catholics. 



WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS. 
AN ANACREONTIC. 

Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Haste thee from Old Bromp on's tower* — 
Or, iji swee'er i hat ab de; 
From the King's well-odour'd Run., 
Where each finle nursery bud 
Breathes the dust and quaffs the mud. 
Hither come and gaily twine 
Brightes' herbs and flowers of thine 
Into wreaths for those, who rule us, 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us — 
Flora, sure, will love to please 
England's Household Deities! 3 

First you must then, willy-nilly, 
Fe^ch me many an orange lily — 
Orange of the darkest dye 
Irish G—ff—rd can supply; — 
Choose me out the )• ngest eprig, 
And stick it in old Eld— n's wig. 

Find me next a poppy posy, 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Gai land gaudy, dull and cool, 
To crown the head of L— v— rp — L 
'T will console his brilliant bro«s 
For that loss of laurel boughs, 
Which they suitVr'd (what a pity!) 
On the road to Paris City. 

Next, our C— stl— r — ah to crown, 
Bring me from the County Down, 
Wither'd Shamrocks, which have been 
Gilded o'er, to hide the green — 
(Such as H — df— t brought away 
From Pali-Mall last Patrick's Day*) — 
Si itch the girland through and through 
With shabby threads of every hue; — 
And as, Goddess ! — eiitre 7ious — 
His Lordship loves (though best of men) 
A little torture, now and (hen, 
Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens, 
Crimp them with thy curling irons. 

Tha' 's enough — away, away — 
Had 1 leisure. I could say 
H>w the oldest rose that grows 
Must be pluck'd to deck Old Rose — 
How (he Doctor's ' brow should smila 
Crown'd with wreaths of camomile. 
But time presses — to thy taste 
I leave (he rest, so, prithee, haste ! 



EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND 
HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF LORD 
Y — RK-TH'S FETE. _ 

"I want the Court Guide,'' 'aid mv lady, "to look 

" If the House. Seymour Place, be al'30 or 20." — 
u vv e ^g | riS , tne Q our i Guide, Ma'am, but heie 's the 
Red Booh, 
" Where you 'il find, I dare say, Seymour Places in 
plenty!" 



3 The ancients, in like manner c owned their 
Lares, or Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. 9 v. 
13S. — Plularch, too, tells us that Household Gods 
were then, as they are now, "much given to War 
atid penal Statutes." — tpti/viiuic'tic k<h noivifiovs 
datuovas. 

* Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock which 

are distribu'ed by (he Servants of C u House 

every Patrick's Day. 

s The sobriquet given to Lord Sidmouth. 



142 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. II. 

FREELY TRANSLATED BY THE PR — CE 
R— G— T. 1 

"■■ Corne, Y— rra— th, my boy, never trouble your 
brains, 
Ab ut wh it your old crony, 
The Emperor Boney, 
Is doing or brewing on Muscovy's plains; 

3 Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries : 
Should there come famine, 
Still plenly to cram in 
You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stan- 
naries. 

Brisk let us re?el, while revel we may ; 
< For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away, 
And then pe >ple get fat, 
And infirm, and— all that, 
i And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits, 
That it frightens the little Love! out of their wits ; 

6 Thy whi-kers, too, Y— rm— th 1 — alas, even they, 
Though so rosy they burn, 
Too quickly must turu 
(What a heart-breaking change for Ihy whiskers!) 
to Grey. 

i Then why, my Lord Warden, oh ! why should you 

fidget 

Your mind about matters you don't understand ? 

Or why should you write yourself down for an idiot. 

Because " you," forsooth, "have the pen in your 

hand .' " 

Think, think how much better 
Thau scribbling a letter, 
(Which both you and I 
Should avoid by the bye,) 
8 How much pteisanter t is to sit under the bust 
Of old Charley, 3 my friend here, and drink like 
a new one ; 
While Charley looks sulky and frowns at me. just 
As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at Don 

Juan. 
io To crown us, Lord Warden, 
In C — mb — rl — nd's garden 
Grows pien y of monk's hood in venomous sprigs : 
While Otto of Roses 
Refreshing all noses 
Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and wigs. 



• This and the following are er'racted fn>m a 
Work, which may, some time or other, meet he eye 
of the Public — e'.tiileJ '• Odes ot Horace, done into 
English by several Persons of Fashion." 

2 Quid bcllic isus Cantaber, et Scythes, 
Hirpine Quincti. cogitet, Hadr'ia 

Divisus objecto, lemitlas 
Quserere. 

3 Mee trepides in usum 
Tosceii is a:vi pauca. 

* Fugit retro 
Levis juventas et decor. 

J Pellente lascivos amores 

Cauitie. 
6 Neque uno Luna rubens nitet 

Vultu. 
l Quid seternis minorem 

Consiliis animum fatigas? 

8 Cur non sub alta vel platano, vel bac 
Pinu jaceutes sic temere. 

9 Charles Fox. 
io Rosa 

Canos odora'i capillos, 

Duin licet, Assyriaque nardo 
Potamns uncti. 



"What youth of the Household will cool our Noyu 
In that streamlet delicious, 
That down 'midst the dishes, 
All full of gold fishes, 
Romantic doth flow? — 

12 Or who will repair 

Unto M ch r Sq e, 

And see if the gentle Marchesa be there ? 

Go — bid her haste hi'her, 

13 And let her bring with her 

The newest No-Popery Sermon that 's going — 
i*Oh ! let her come, with her dark tresses flowing, 
All gentle and juvenile, curly and say, 
In the manner of— Ackermaun's Dresses for May I 



HORACE, ODE XXIL LIB. I. 

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD N. 

1'The man who keeps a conscience pure, 
(If not his own, at least his Prince's,) 
Through toil and danger walk? secure, 
Looks big and black, and never w inces. 

i6No want has he of sword or dagger, 
Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geraoib ; 
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger, 
He doesn't care one su.gle d-mu. 

"Whether midst Iri-h chairmen going, 
Or hnugh St. Giles's alley- din , 
'Mid drunken Sheelahs. blasting, blowing, 
No matter, 't is all one to him. 

iSFor instance. I, one evening late, 
Upon a gay vacation sally. 
Singing the praie of Cliurch and Sta'e, 
Got {God knows how) to Craubnurne Alley. 



11 Quis puer ocius 
Restinguet ardeutis Falerni 

Pocula prxUreuntt lympha 

12 Quis eliciet domo 

Lyden? 

13 Eburna, die age, cum lyra (qu. liar-a) 
MatureL 

i« Inc>mtam Lacse- ae 

More comam religata i.odo. 
l* Integer vitae scelerisque purus. 

16 Non eget Mauri j.culis neque arcu, 

Nee \euenatis gravida - 

Fu-ce. pharetra. 
" Sive per S rte- iter a 

Nv- fie ur.- |.er inhi-.s; ilalem 
Caucasum, vel quae l"ca fabulous 
LamLi; llyd 
The Noble Transla'or had. a' first, laid the scene 
of these imagined dangers f his Mm of Conscience 
anion; the Papis s of Spain, and had translated ihe 
words ''qua? loca fabulout* larttlit Hvda : 
— •• The jaLliiie Spaniard UckM Hie French;'* tut. 
recollectine that it is our interest just now 
spectful to Spanish Catholics .th Uih here is certain- 
ly no ear lily reason f .r mr being even c 
civil 'o Irish ones), he altered the | a sage as it slai.ds 
at present. 

18 Namque me silva lupus in Sabna, 
Dum i:ie<m ciutn Lalagrii. et ultra 
Terminuiu curi 

Fu^it iuennern. 
I cannot help calling ihe reaicr's attention to the 
peculiir ingenuity with which thc^e lies are nara- 
p'oa-ed. Net to mei.tinn tlie happy c inversion of the 
Wolf in'0 a Pa| ist iseeini 'hit R uiiulu- was suckled 
by a wolf, that Rime was founded by R mulus, and 
that the Pope h'S always there is 

something particularly neat in supposing ••idtra 






SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



143 



When lo ! an Irish Papist darted 
Acr ss my path, gaunt, grim, and big — 

I did but frown, and off he started, 
Scar'd at me, even without my wig. 

i Yet a more fierce an 1 raw-bon'd dog 
Goes not to Mass in Dublin City, 
Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog, 
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee. 

* Oh ! place me midst O'Rourkes. O'Tooles, 

The ragged royal-blood of Tara ; 

Or place me where Dick M— rt— n rule3 

'J he lr useless wilds of Connemara ; 

3 Of Church and State I '11 warb'e st 11, 

Though ev'n Dick M— rt — n's self should grumble; 
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and Jill, 

* So lovingly upon a hill — 

Ah ! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble ! 



THE NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS. 



i. v. 437. 

Having sent off the troops of brave Major Camac, 
Wiih a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back, 
| And snch helme's, God bless us : as never deck"d any 
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni — 
•■ Let 's *ee." said the R — g — t (like Titus, perplex'd 
With the doties of empire.) -'whom shall I dress 
next?" 
He looks in the gla«s — but perfection is there, 
Wig, whiskeis, and chin-tufis .ill right to a hair ; s 

(erminum * to mean vacation-time ; and then the 
modest consciousness with which the Noble and 
Learned Translator has avoided touching upon the 
words •' curis exptditis," (or, as it has been otherwise 
read. •<■ causis txpeditis") and the felicitous idea of 
his being ''inermis" when "without his wig," are 
altogether the most delectable s, ecimeus of para- 
phrase in our language. 
I Quale portentum neque militant 

Daunias la is alii assculetis, 
Nee Jubae lellus genera leunum 
Adda nutru. 
a Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis 

Arbor aestiva recreitur aua : 
Quod latus mundi, nebula;, malusque 
Jupier urget. 
I must here remark, that the said Dick M— rt — n 
being a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to 
make a " nulus Jupiter " of him. 

3 Dulce riden'em La'agen amabn, 

Dulce loquentem. 

* There cannot be imagined a more happy illus- 
tration of the inseparability of Church and State, and 
their (what is called) '• standing and falling together," 
than this ancient apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of 
course, represents the Siate in this ingenious li tie 
Allegory. 

Jack fell down. 
And brofe: hi« Crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after. 

* That model of Princes, the Emperor Commodus, 
was particularly luxurious in the dressing and orna- 
menting of his hair. His conscience, however, would 
not suffer him to trust himself with a barber, and he 
used, accordingly, to b rn off his beard— " limore 
tonsoris," says Lampridlus. (Hist. August. Scrip- 
tor.) The dissolute JElius Verus, too, was equally 
attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See Jul. 
Capitolin.) Indeed, this was not the only princely 
trait in the character of Verus, as be had likewise a 
most hearty and dignified contempt for his Wife. See 
bis insulting answer to ber in Spartianus. 



Not a single ex-curl on his forehead he traces — 
For cuils'are like Ministers, strange as the case is, 
The falser they aie, the more firm in their places. 
His coat he next views — but the coat who could 

doubt ? 
For hisY — rm— th's own Frenchified hand cut it out; 
Eve:y pucker and seam were male matters of state, 
And a Grand Household Council v. as held on each 

plait. 

Then whom shall he dress ? shall he new-rig bis 
brother, 
Great C — mb— rl — d's Duke, wiih some kickshaw or 

other? 
And kindly invent him more Christian-like shapes 
For his featherbed neckcloths and pillory c<! es. 
■ Ah ! no— here his ardour would meet with delays, 
I For the Duke bad been lately | ack'd up in new st avs . 
So complete for the winter, be saw very plain 
T would be devilish hard work to ujipack him again. 

So, what's to be done? — there 's the Ministers, 

b'ess 'em ! — 

As he mnde the puppets, why shouldn't he dress 'em ? 

•' An excellent thought ! — call the tailors — be nimble— 

, " Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and H— rtf— d her 

thimble; 
I " While Y— rm— th shall give us, in spite of all 

quizzers, 
" The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissors." 

I So saying, he calls C— stl— r— gh, and the rest 
Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be drest. 
While Y— rm— th, with snip-like and brisk expe- 



dition. 

Cuts up, all at once, a large Cath'lic Petition 
In long tailors' measures, (the P e crying " Well- 
done !") 
And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



COR R ESPONDENCE 

BETWEEN A LADY AND GENTLEMAN, 

UPON THE ADVANTAGE OF (WHAT IS 
CALLED) " HAVING LAW 6 ON ONE'S 
SIDE." 

The Gentleman's Proposal. 



Come, fly to these arms, nor let beauties so bloomy 

To one frigid owner be tied ; 
Your piuJes may revile, and your old ones look 

gloomy, 
j But, dearest, we 've Law on our side. 

Oh ! think the delight of two lovers congenial, 
I Whom no dull decorums divide; 
' Their error how sweet, and iheii raptures how venial, 
I When once they ; ve go Law on their side. 

T is a thing, that in every King's reign has been 
done, too: 
Then why should it now be decied ? 
If the Father has done it, why shouldn't the Son, too? 
; For so argues Law on our side. 

And, ev'n should our sweet violation of duty 

By cold-blooded jurors be tried. 
They can but bring it in •' a misfortune," my beauty, 

As long as we 've Law on our side. 



In allusion to Lord Ell— nb— gh. 



144 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The Lady's Answer. 

Hold, hold, my good Sir, go a little more slowly: 

For, erant me so faithless a bride, 
Such sinners as we, are a little too lowly, 

To hope to have Law on our side. 

Had you been a great Prince, to whose star shining 
o'er 'em 
The people should look for their guide, 
Then your Highness (aud welcome !) might kick 
down decorum — 
You 'd always have Law on your side. 

Were you ev'n an old Marquis, in mischief grown 
hoary, 

Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To the pleasures of vice, is alive to its glory — 

You still would have Law on your side. 

But for you, Sir, Crim. Con. is a path full of trouble! ; 

By my advice therefore abide, 
And leave the pursuit to those Princes and Noble* 

Who have such a Law on their side. 



OCCASIONAL ADDRESS 

FOR THE OPENING OF THE NEW THEATRE 
OF ST ST-PH-N, 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY 
THE PROPRIETOR IN FULL COSTUME, 
ON THE 24TH OF NOVEMBER, ]cl2. 

This day a New House, for your edification, 
We open, most thinking and right-headed nation ! 
Excuse the materials — though rotten and bad, 
They 're the best that for money just now could oe had ; 
And, if tcho the charm of such houses should be, 
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T. 

As for actor?, we've got the old Company yet, 
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set; 
And consid'ring they all weie but clerks t'other day, 
It is truly surprising how well they can play. 
Our Manager,' (he, who in Uls'er was nurs', 
And sung Erin go Erah for the galle ies first, 
But, on finding /•ilf-imerest a much better thine:, 
Chansr'd his note of a sudden, to God save the King,) 
Still wise as lie's blooming, and fat as he's clever, 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever. 
Here oilers ynu still the lull use of his breath, 
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death. 

You remember last season, when things went per- 
verse on, 
We had t > engage (as a block to rehearse on) 
One Mr. V— lis — ti — t, a good sort of person, 
Who's also employ d lor this season to play, 
In "Raisin* the Wind." and "the Devil to Pay."* 
We expect too — at least we've been plotting and 

planning — 
To get that grea' actor from Liverpool, C — nn— g; 
And, as at the Circus there 's nothing attracts 
Like a good single combat brought in 'twixt the acts 
If the Manager s r h >uld, n ith 'he help of Sir P— ph— m. 
Get up new diveniont, and C — nn— g should stop "em, 
Who knows but we 'II have to announce in the papers. 
"Grand fight — -econd time— with addiiional capers." 

Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or sad, 
There is plenty of each in this House to be had. 
Where our Manager ruleh. there weeping will be, 
For a dtad hand at tragedy always was he ; 



And there never was dealer in dagger and cup, 

Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up. 

His powers poor Irelaud will never forget. 

And the widows of Walcheren weep o'er them yet. 

So much for the actors; — for secret machinery, 
Traps, and deceptions, and shifting of scenery, 
Y — rm — th and Cum are the best we can find, 
To transact all that trickery business behind. 
The former's employ 'd too to teach us French jigs, 
Keep the whiskers in curl, and look after the wigs. 

In taking my leave now, I 've only to say, 
A few Heats in tfte /louse, not as yet sold away, 
May be had of the Manager, Pat C— stl— r— gh. 



THE SALE OF THE TOOLS 
Instruments regni. — Tacilut. 

Here 's a choice set of Tools for you, Ge'mmen and 

Ladies, 
They 'II fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is; 
(Except it be Cabinet-making ; — no doubt, 
In that delicate service they Ye lather worn out ; 
Though their owner, bright youth ! if he 'd had bis 

own will, 
Would have bungled away with them joyously still.) 
You can see thev 've been pretty well hack'd — and 

alack ! 
Wha 1 tool is there job af'er job will not hack? 
Their edge is but dullish, it must be CO 
And their temper, like E nb'r h's, uone of the 

best; 
But you 'II find them good hard-working Tools, upon 

trying, 
Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth the 

buying; 
They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and rcreent, 
And are, some of ihem, excellent turning machines. 

The first Tool 1 11 put up (they call it a Chancellor) 
Heavy concern 'o b th puichiser and seller. 
Though made of pig iron, yet w orlhy <,( note t is, 
T is ready to melt at a half minute's notice.' 
Whobrds? Gentle buyer ! 't will mm a- thou shapest ; 
'T will make a god thumb-crew lo tor ure a Papist ; 
Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall 
Of some church that old women are tearful will fall ; 
Or better, perhaps, (for I 'm guessing at random,) 
A heavy drag-chain tor s. me Lawyer's "Id Tandem. 
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir — 
Once, twice. — going, going,— thrice, gone!— it is 

yurs. Sir. 
To pay' ready money you sha'n't be distres'. 
As a bill a,\'lvng date suits the Chancellor best. 

Come, where 's the next Tool ? — Oh ! 't is here in 
a trice — 
This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was i Vice; 
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let . 
Nothing; out of its grasp it once happens to get ;) 
But it since has received a new c<u ing of Tin, 
Bright enough for a Prii ce to behold himself in. 
Come, whaf shall we say for it ? briskly ! bid on, 
I We "II the sooner get rid" of it — going — quite gone. 
God be with it. such tools, if not quickly km ck'ddown, 
Might at last cost their owner— how' much ? why, a 



C'roicm J 



The next Tool I "II set up has hardly hid 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor- 
Such duli things as these should be sold by the gross 
Yet. dull a- it is. 't will be (bund to shave dote. 
And like other close shavers, some courage 'o gather, 
This blade first began by a flourish on leather.* 



> Lord C — stl — r — gh. 

* He had recently been appointed Chancellor of the 
Exchequer. 



3 An allusion to Lord Eld — n's lachrymose tenden- 
cies. 

« ■ Of the tuxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, that 
principally opposed in Parliament was the 
duly on leather." — .Inn. Register. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



145 



You shall have it for nothing— then, marvel with me 
At the teiritile tinkering work there must be, 
Where >■ Tool such as this is (1 'II leave you to judge it) 
Is placed by ill luck a. the top of tlie Budget ! 



LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL. 

A BALLAD. 

To Hie tune of " There was a little man, and he 
vooo'd a little maid." 

DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CH — RL — S 
ABB — T. 

Arcades ambo 
Et ctnf-are pares. 

1813. 
There was a little Man, and he had a little Soul, 
And he said, •' Little Soul, let us try, try, try, 
"Whether it's within our reach 
"To make up a little Speech, 
"Just between little you and little I, I, I, 
" Just between little you and little I IP- 
Then said his little Soul, 
Peeping from her little hole, 
"I protes', |,itle Man, you are sout, stout, stout, 
" But, if it 's no* uncivil, 
" Pray tell me what the devil 
" Must our little, little speech be about, bout, bout, 
" Must our little, little speech be about ?" 

The little Man look'd big, 
With th' assistance of his wig, 
And he call'd his liltle Soul to order, order, order, 
Till she fear'd he'd make her jog in 
To gaol, like Thomas Croggan, 
(As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward her, 'ward 
her, 'ward her, 
As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her. 

The little Man then spoke, 

'• Little sou!, it is no joke. 
«• For as sure as J— cky F— 11— r loves a sup, sup, sup, 

" I will tell tiie Prince and People 

" What I think of Church and Steeple, 
"And my little patent plan to prop them up, up, up, 
"And my liltle patent plan to prop them up." 

Away then, cheek by jowl, 
Little Man and little Soul 
Went and spoke their little speech to a tittle, tittle, 
tittle, 
And the world all declare 
That this pri^ish little pair 
Never vet in .11 their live- look'd so little, little, little, 
Never vet in all their lives look'd so little ! 



REINFORCEMENTS FOR LORD 
WELLINGTON. 



Suosque ti!>i commendat Troja Penates 
Hos cspe fatorum comites. Virfil. 



As recruits in these times are not easily got. 

And the Marshal must have them— pray, why should 

we not, 
As the last and, I grant it, the worst of our loans to 

him, 
Shir off the Ministry, body and bones to him ? 
The.e 's not in all Enjland, I 'd venture to swear, 
Any men we could half so conveniently spare; 
And, though they 've been helping the French for 

years past. 
We mav thus make them useful to England at last. 



C— stl— r— gh in oursieges might save some disgraces, 
Being us'd to the taking and keeping of places; 
And Volunteer C— m— g, still ready for joining, 
Might show off his talent for sly undermining. 
Could the Household but spare us its glory and pride, 
Old H— df— t at horn-works again might be tried, 
And the C— f J— st— e make aio/d cliarge at his side : 
While V — ns— tl— t cou'd victual the troops upon tick, 
And the Doctor look after the baggage and sick. 

Nay. I do not see why the great R — g— t himself 
Should, in times such as these, stay at home on the 
shelf: 



Yet who could resist, if he bare down en masse 
And though oft, of an evening, perhaps he might prove, 
Like our Spanish confed'r.ttes, " unable lo move," i 
Yet there's one thing in war of advantage unbounded, 
Which is. that he could not with ease be surrounded. 

In my next I shall sing of their arms and equipment; 
At present uo more, but — good luck to the sbipmeut ! 



HORACE, ODE I. LIB. III. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Odi profanum valgus et arceo : 
Faveie linguis: carmina non prim 
Audita Musarum sacerdos 
Virginibua pnerisque canto. 
Regum timendorum in proprioe greges, 
Reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis. 

ISIS. 

I hate thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady hates delf ; 

To Sir Francis I 'II give up thv claps and thy hisses, 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself, 
And, like G— d»— n, write books for young mas- 
ters and misses. 
Oh ! it is not high rank that can make the heart merry, 
Even monarchs themselves are not free from mis- 
hap : 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must quake before 
Jerry, 
Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap. 
******* 



HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB. I. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Persicoa odi, pner, adparatus ; 
Displicent nexae philyra enrouae ; 
Milte ttctari, Rosa quo Ucorum 
Sera moretur. 

TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, 
WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE 
RIGHT HON. G— RGE R — SE. 

Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick-nackeries, 
Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and gim-crackeries — 
Six by the Horse-Guirds ! — old Georgv is late — 
But come— lay the table-cloth — zounds! do not wait, 
Nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying, 
At which of his places Old R — e is delaying !* 



« The character ziven to the Spanish soldier, in Sir 
John Murray's memorable despatch. 

* The literal closeness of the version here cannot 
but be admired. The Transla'or has added a long, 
erudite, and flowery note upon ijoscs, of which I can 
merely give a specimen a' present. In the first place, 
he ransacks the Rosarium Polilicum of the Persian 
poet Sadi, with the hope of finding some Political 
Roses, to match the gentleman in the text — but in 
vain: he then tells us that Cicero accused Yerres of 



13 



146 



IRISH MELODIES. 



IMPROMPTU. 

UPON EEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEA- 
SANT PARTY, FROM THE WANT OF A 
PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS FOR DIN- 
NER IN. 

1810. 
Eetween Adam and me the great difference is. 

Though a paradise eich has been forc'd to resign, 
That he never wore breeches, till turn'd out of his, 
While, for want of my breeches, I 'm banish'd from 
mine. 



reposing upon a cushion " Melitensi rosa farlum," 
which, from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to 
be a kind of Irish Bed of Roses, like Lord Castle- 
reagh's. The learned Clerk next favours us with 
some remarks upon a well-known punning epitaph on 
fair Rosamond, and expresses a most loyal hope, that, 
if " Rosa munda" mean •' a Rose with clean hands " 
it may be found applicable to the Right Honourable 



LORD WELLINGTON AND THE MINISTERS. I 

1813. 

So gently in peace Alcibiade* smil'd, 

Whiie in battle be shone forth so terribly grand, ' 
That the emblem Ihey grav'd on bis seal, was a chiM 

With a thunderbolt plac'd in its innocent hand. 

Oh, Wellington, long as such Ministers wield 
Your magnificent arm, the same emblem will do; ' 

for while they 're in the Council and you in Ihe Field, 
We 've the babies in them, and the thunder in you ! 



Rose in question. He then dwells at some length 
upon the "'Rosa aurea," which, though descriptive, 

: in one sense, of the old Treasury Statesman, yet, as 
being consecrated and worn by the Pope, must, of 

j course, not be brought into the same atmosphere with 
him. Lastly, in reference to the words •'■old Rose," 
he winds up with the pathetic lamentation of the Poet 
" consenuisse Rosas." The whole note indeed shows 
a knowledge of Roses, that is quite edifying. 



IRISH MELODIES 



DEDICATION. 

TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER 
OF DONEGAL. 

It is now many years since, in a Letter prefixed to 
the Third Number of the Irish Melodies, I had the 
pleasure of inscribing the Poems of that work to your 
Ladyship, as to one whose character reflected honour 
on the country to which they relate, and whose friend- 
ship had long been the pride and happiness of their 
Author. Willi the same feelings of affection and 
respect, confirmed if not increased by the experience 
of every succeeding year, I now place those Poems in 
their present new form under your protection, and 
am, 

With perfect sincerity, 

Your Ladyship's ever attached friend, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



PREFACE. 

Thoueh an edition of the Poetry of the Irish Melo- 
dies, separate from the Mu»ic. has long been called 
for, yet, having, for many reasons, a strong objection 
lo this sort of'divorce, I should with difficulty have 
consented to a disunion of the words from the airs, 
had it depended solely upon me to keep them quietly 
and indissolubly together. But, besides Ihe various 
shapes in which these, as well as my other lyrical 
writings, have been published throughout America, 
they are included, of course, in all the editions of my 
wo'ks prined on the Continent, and have also ap- 
pealed, in a volume full of typographical errors, in 
Dublin. I have therefore readily acceded to the wish 
expressed by the Proprietor of trie Irish Melodies, for 
a revised and complete edition of the poetry of the 
Work, though well aware that my verses must lose 
even more than the " anuas rfimi'c'ium" in being 
de*ached from the beautiful airs to which it was their 
good fortune to be associated. 

The Advertisements which were prefixed to the 
|l different numbers 'he Prefatory LeHer upon Music, 
[ &c. will be found in an Appendix at the end of the 
j| Volume. 



IRISH MELODIES, 



GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 

Go where glory wai's thee. 
But while fame elates thte, 

Oh ! still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee, 

Sweeter far may be ; 
Bnt when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

Oh ! then remember me ! 

When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the sar the: 

Oh ! then remember me. 
Think, when h <nie re'uruing, 
Bright we "ve seen it burning, 

Oh ! thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 
When thine eye reposes 
On its ling'ring roses, 

Once so" lov'd by thee, 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them, 

Oh ! then remember me. 



When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leave* are lying, 

Oh ! then rememter me. 
And. at night, when gating 
On the gay hearth 

Oh ! still remember me. 
Then should music, s'ealing 
All the soul of fa 
To thy heart ar ; 

Dra w 
Then le! memory ' 
Strains I us'd to sine thee. — 

Oh ! then remember me. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



147 



•WAR SONG. 

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE 
BRAVE.i 

Remember the 'lories of Brien the brave, 

Thn' the days of the hero are o'er ; 
Tho' lost to Mononiai and cold in the grave, 

He returns to KinkoraS no more. 
The star of the lieid. which so often hath pour'd 

Its beam on the battle, is set ; 
But enough of its glory remains on each sword, 

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononia ! when Nature embellish'd the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair. 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print 

The footstep of -lavery there? 
No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, 

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 
That 't is sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, 

Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood* 

In the day of distress by our side ; 
While the moss of i he valley grew i ed with their blood, 

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died. 
That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, 

S i w them fall upon Ossory's plain ; — 
Oh I let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, 

To find that they fell there in vain. 



ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE IN 
THINE EYES. 

Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! 
Shining through sorrow's stream, 
Saddening through pleasure's beam, 
Thy sui.s with doubtful gleam, 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, 

Till, like Hie rainbow's light, 

Thy various tints unite. 

And form in heaven's sight 
One arch of peace ! 



OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears 'hat we shed. 
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. 



i Brien Bornmhe, the great monarch of Ireland, 
who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the be- 
ginning of the 11th century, after having defeated Ihe 
Danes in twenty-five engagements. 

3 Munster. 3 The palace of Brien. 

4 This alludes to an interesting circumstance related 
of the Dalgais the favourite troops of Biien, when 
they were "interrupted in their return fiom the battle 
of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The 
wounded men entrea'ed that they might be allowed to 
fight with the rest. — Let stakes (they said) be stuck 
in the ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and sup- 
ported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank 
by the side of a sound man." " Between seven and 
eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran) pale, 
emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared 
mixed with the foremost of the Iroops ; — never was 
such another sight exhibited."— History of Ireland, 

| book xii chap. i. 



But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeja, 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleepy 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 



WHEN HE, WHO ADCRES THEE. 

When he, who adores thee, has left but the name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh ! say wilt thou weep when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign : d ? 

a, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree'; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

1 have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love j 

Every thought of my reason was Ihine ; 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above, 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh ! blesl are the lovers and friends who shall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S 
HALLS. 

The harp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled.— 
So sleeps the pride of founerdays, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No mere to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The choid alone, that breaks at night, 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives, 
Is when some heirt indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 



FLY NOT YET. 

Fly not yet, 't is just the hour, 
When pleasure, like Ihe midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

And maids who love the m)on. 
'T was but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and Ihe moon were made; 
'T is then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

Oh ! stay,— Oh ! stay,— 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-nigh 1 , that oh, 't is pain 

To break its links so soon. 

Fly not yet, the fount that play'd 

In times of old through Amnion's shade, 5 

Though icy cold by day it ran, 

Yet siill, like soul's of 'mirth, began 

To burn when night was near" 
And thus, should woman's heart and looks 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 



* Sol is Fons, near the Temple of Amnion. 



148 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Nor kindle till the night, returning, 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 

Oh I stay, — Oh ! stay, — 
When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 
• As those that spaikle here ? 



OH ! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS 
AS LIGHT. 

Oh ! think not my spirits are always as light, 

And as tree from a pang as they seem to you now; 
Nor expect t fiat the heart-beaming smile of to-night 

Will return with to-morrow tobrighten my brow. 
No : — life is a waste ol wearisome hours. 

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 

Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. 
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile — 

May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, 
Than the tear thai enjoyment may gild with a smile, 

And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. 

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows ! 

If it were not wilh friendship and love inlertw in 'd ; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 

When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my 
mind. 
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest, 

Toe often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd ; 
AnJ the heait that has sluuiber'd in friendship se 
curest, 

Is happy indeed if 't was never deceiv'd. 
But send round the bowl ; while a relic of truth 

Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine, — 
That the sunshine of love may illumine our y u'h, 

And the moonlight of friendship console our de- 
cline. 



THO' THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH 
SORROW I SEE. 

Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 
Yet wherever" thou art shall seem Erin to me; 
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, 
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam. 

To the gloom of some desert or cold rrcky shore, 
Where the eve of the s 1 ranger can haunt us no more, 
I will fly with my Coulin. and think the ro.,gh wind, 
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. 

And I 'II gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes, 
And hang o'er thy son harp, as wildly it breathes; 
Nor dread that the cokl-heaited Saxon will tear 
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that bair.i 



i " In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry 
VIII., an Act was made respecting the habits, and 
dress in general, of the Irish, whereby all | ersons 
were restrained from beingsh >m or shaven above the 
t.vs, or from wearing tilibbes, or Coulins (long 
locks), on their heads, or hiir on their upper lip, 
called Crommeal. On this occasion a song was writ- 
ten by one of our bards, in which an liish virgin is 
made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or 
the you'h with the flowing locks) to all strangers (by 
which the English were meant), or those who wore 
their habits. Of this song, the air alone has reached 
us, and is universally admired."— Walkers Histori- 
cal Memoirs of Irish Bards, p. 134. Mr. Walker 
infoims us also, that, about the same period, there 
were some harsh measures taken against the Irish 
Minstrels. 



RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE 
WORE.* 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; 

But oh ! her beauty was far beyond 

Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. 

" Lady ! dost thou not fear to s'ray, 

" So lone and lovely through this bleak way ? 

"Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

" As not to be tempted by woman or gold ? » 

"Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, 

" No son of Erin will otter me harm : — 

*■ For though they love woman and golden store, 

'' Sir Knight ! they love houcur and virtue more 1 " 

On she went, and her maiden smile 

In safety lighted her round the green isle; 

And blest for ever is she who relied 

Upon Erin's honour, and Erin's pride. 



AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE 
WATERS MAY GLOW. 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, 
So the cheek may be tiug'd with a warm sunny smile, 
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. 
One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o'er our jnys and our woes, 
To which life nohing darker or brighter can bring 
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting — 

Oh ! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay. 
Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright 

ray; 
The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, 
It may smile in bis light, but it blooms not again. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.s 

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright' waters meet;* 
Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart. 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart 
Yet it teas not that nature had shed o'er the scene 
Her pures' of crystal and brighte-t of green ; 
T was not I -treamlet or hill, 

Oh! no, — it was something more exquisite still. 

T was that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were 

near, 
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more 

dear. 



* This ballad is founded upon the following anec- 
dote s— "The people were inspired with -uch a spirit 
of honour, virtue, and relig example 

of Brien, and by bid excellent administration, that, as 
a proof of it, we are informed thai 
great beauty, adorned with jewels and "a c< I 
undertook a journey alone, from one end of the king- 
dom to the other, with a wand only in hrr hand, at 
the top of which * 

and such an impression h»d the laws ai d government 
of this Monarch made on tl 

that no attempt was made upon her honour, nor was 
she robbed of her clothes o- jewels." — If'arner'i Hi*. 
tnry of Inland, vol. i. book x. 

3 "The Meeting of the Waters'' forms a part of 
that beautiful scenery which lies between RathJrum 
and Arklow, in the* county of Wick low, and these 
lines were St - il to this 

in the summer of the year ; 

< The rivers Avon and -A \ 



IRISH MELODIES. 



149 



And who felt how the best charms of m'.ure improve, 
When we see them reflected from looks thai we love. 

Sweel vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest 

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world 

should cease. 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. 



HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. 

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, 
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea, 

For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. 

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays 

Along the smooth wave low'rd the burning west, 

2 long to tread that golden path of rays, 
Aud think 't would lead to some bright isle of rest. 



TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 
WRITTEN ON RETURNING A. BLANK BOOK. 

Take back the virgin page, 

White and unwritten still; 
Some hand moie calm and sage, 

The leaf musl fill. 
Thoughts come, as pure as light, 

Pure as even you require : 
But, oh ! e<ch woid I write 

Love turns to fire. 

Yet let me keep the book : 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
When on its leaves I look, 

Dear thoughts of you. 
Like you, 'I is fair and bright ; 

Like vou, too bright and fair 
To lei wild passion write 

One wioug wish there. 

Haply, when from those eyes 

Far, far away 1 roam, 
Should calmer thoughts arise 

Tow'rds you and home; 
Fancy may trace some line, 

Worthy those eyes to meet, 
Thoughts that not bum, but shine, 

Pure, calm, and sweet. 

And as, o'er ocean far, 

Seamen their records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 

Through the cold deep ; 
So may The words I write 

Tell thro' what storms I stray — 
You still the unseen light, 

Guiding my way. 



THE LEGACY. 

When in death I shall calmly recline, 

O bear my heart to my mistress dear; 
Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine 

Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd he* 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 

To sully a heait so brilliant and light ; 
But balmv drops of the red grape borrow, 

To bathe the relic from mo n till night. 



When the light of my song is o'er, 

Then take my harp to your ancient hall : 
Hang it up at that friendly door, 

Where weary travellers love to call. 1 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 

Revive its soft note in passing along, 
Oh ! let one thought of its master waken 

Your warmest smile for the child of song. 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 

To grace your revel, when I 'm at rest ; 
Never, oh ! never its balm bestowing 

On lips that beauty hath seldom blest. 
But when some warm devoted lover 

To her he adores shall ba'he its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 

And hallow each drop that foams for him. 



HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED 

How oft has the Benshee cried, 
How oft has death untied 
Bright links that Glory wove, 
Sweet bonds entwin'd by Love ! 

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ; 

Rest (o each faithful eye that weepeth; 
Long may the fair and brave 
Sigh o'er the hero's grave. 

We're fall'n upon gloomy days! a 

Star after s'ar decays, 

Every bright name, that shed 

Light o'er the land, is tied. 
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returnelh ; 

But brightly flows the tear, 

Wept o'er a hero's bier. 

Quench'd are our beacon lights — 
Thou, of the Hundred Fights ! 3 
Th u, on whose burning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung! * 

Both mute,— but long as valour shineth, 

Or mercy's soul at war repineth, 
So long shall Erin's pride 
Tell how they liv'd aud died. 



WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD. 

We may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast, 

Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest \ 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, 

We may order our wings and be ofl" to the west ; 
But if hearts tint feel, and eyes that smile, 

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, 
We never need leave our own green isle, 

For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. 



l " In every house was one or two harps, free ru all 
travellers, "ho were the more caressed, the more 
they excelled in music." — O'fJalloran. 

3 I have endeavoured here, without losing that 
Irish character, which it is my object to preserve 
throughout this work, to allude' to the sad and omi- 
nous faiaiily, by which England has been deprived of 
so many great and good men. at a moment when she 
most requires all the aids ot talent and integrity. 

3 This designation, which has been before applied 
to Lord Nelson, is the title given to a celebrated Irish 
Hero, in a Poem In O'Guive, the bard of O'Niel, 
which is quoted in the " Philosophical Survey of the 
South of Ireland," p. 433. "Con, of the hundred 
Fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, aud upbraid 
not our defeats witli thy victories." 

* Fox, " Romanorum ultimus." 



13 



150 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 
Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, 

When a cup to ihe smile of dear woman goes round, 
Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at home. 

In England, the garden of Beauty is kept 

By a dragon of prudery placed within call ; 
But so oft this unamiablf dragon has slept, 

That the garden 's but carelessly watch 'd after all. 
Oh! they want Ihe wild sweet-briery fence, 

Which round the flowers of Erin dwells; 
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, 

Nor charms us least when it most repels. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh ! remember Ihe smile that adorns her at home. 

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, 

On the ocean of wedlock its forune lo try, 
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 

But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye. 
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
Through billows of woe, and beams of joy, 

The same as he look'd when he left Ihe shore. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
you roam, a 

When "a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh ! remember Ihe smile that adorns her at home. 



EVELEEN'S BOWER. 

Oh ! weep for the hour, 

When to En-teen's bower 
The Lord of Ihe Valley with false vows came; 

The moon hid her light 

From Ihe heaven* 'hat night. 
And wept behind ber clouds o'er the maiden's shame. 

The clouds pass'd soon 

From the chiste cold moon, 
And heaven smil'd 'gain with her vestal flame; 

But none will see the day, 

When the clouds shall pass away. 
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. 

The white snow lay 

On the narrow path-way, 

When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor ; 

And manv a deep priiit 

On the white wow* tint 
Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. 

The next sun's ray 

Soon melted away 
Every trace on Ihe path where the false Lord came; 

But there 's a light above, 

Which alone can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 



LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DATS OF OLD. 

Let Erin remember the days of old. 

Ere her faithless s>ns betrav'd her; 
When Malachi wore 'he collar of gold.t 
Which he won from her proud invader. 



When her kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, 

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger ; — » 
Ere Ihe emerald gem of the western world 

Was set in Ihe crown of a s'ranzer. 
On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, 

When the clear cold eve's declining, 
He sees the round towers of other days 

In the wave beneath him shining ; 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over : 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of lime 

For the long-faded glories tbey cover.3 



THE SONG OF FIONNTJALA.* 

Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water, 

Break not. ye breezes, your chain of repose, 
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter 

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death-note singing, 

Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd ? 
When will heaven, i's sweet bell ringing, 

Call my spirit from this stormy world ? 

SaJly, oh Moyle, to thy win'er-wave weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away ; 
Yet sill in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. 
When will lhat day-star, mildly springing, 

Warm our isle with peace and love? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 

Call my spirit to the fields above ? 



' " This brought on an encounter between Malachi 
(the Monarch of Ireland in 'he tenth ce: ton) and the 
Danes, in which Malachi deflate I two of heir chmi- 
pions, whom he encouutered successively, hand to 



hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, 
and carrying off the sword of Ihe other, as trophies 
of his victory." — Harrier's History of Inland, vol. 
i. book ix. 

2 "Military orders of knights were very early 
established in Ireland : long before the bir fa 

we find an hereditary order of Chivalry : 
called Curaidht nd Craiulkt rtiadh. or Ihe 
of the Red Branch, from their chief seat in Eoiania, 
adjoining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called 
Teae;h na Craiobhe ruadh, or the Academy of the 
Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a Urge 
hospital, founded for Ihe sick knights and soldiers, 
called Broitbhtarg, or tl.t N.rrowful 

Soldier. "— O'UaUoraril Introduction, $-c., [art i. 
chap 5. 

3 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, 
that Lough Neagh had been origir i 

Idea overflowing the country 
and a whole region, like the Atlanta 
whelmed. He says that r L-ar wea- 

ther, u-ed to poii,' 
cal toner- uu ier the war 

turrts ecclesiastical, qux more palrix arctsc runt el 
alls, nccni'ii cl rtundx. 

bus. rti- 
que causas adinirantiliu idunt — 

Bib, dist. 2. c. 9. 
* To make this s'ory intelligible in a song would 
require a much grea'er i uu .my one 

is auth« r an audience at once ; the 

reader must therefore be content lo leirn, in a note, 
that Finiinuala, the daughter of Lir, was 
supernatural power, transformed in'o a swan, and 
condemned to wander, f>r many hundred yt 
certain lakes and river- in Ireland, till he . 
Ch i-tiamtv, when 'he first sound i I 
1 1 lie the signal of her release — I : 
fiction amoug some manu- 
Iri-h. which were begun under 'h: 
enlightened friend of Ireland, the late Countess of 
Moira. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



151 



COME SEND ROUND THE WINE. 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief 

To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; 
This moment 's a flower too fair and brief, 

To be wilber'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, 

But, while Ibey aie fill'd from the same bright bowl, 
The fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue, 

Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side 

In the cau-e of mankind, if our creeds'agree? 
Shall 1 give up the friend J have valued and tried, 

If he kneel not before the same altar with me? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, 

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox <kiss? 
No, perish the hearis, and the laws that try 

Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like this I 



SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 

Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke, 
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke 

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. 
Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o*er the waves of the 

west — 
Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, 
Nor, oh, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot 

While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain ' 

If the fame of our fathers, bequealh'd with their rights, 
Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, 

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same ! 
And oh ! may his tomb want a tear and a name, 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into victory's brea'h, 

For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 

That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for in 
vain, 
Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light, 
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as bright, 
And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws, 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause 

Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

God prosper the cause! — oh, it cannot but thrive, 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feel, and its lights to maintain ; 
Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die ! 
The finger of Glory shall point where they lie ; 
While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave 

Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain ! 



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING 
YOUNG CHARMS. 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, a«d fleet in my arms, 

Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be ador'd, as this moment thou art,-- 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,^ 
Ami around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 

Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and you'h are thine own, 
And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear, _• 

That the "fervour and faith of a soul can be known, 
To which time will but make thee more dear; . 



No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, 

But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, 

The same look which she tum'd when he rose. 



ERIN, OH, ERIN. 

Like the bright lamp, that shone in Ki Id are's holy 
fane,* 

And burn'd thro' long ages of darkness and storm, 
Is the heirt that sorrows have frown'd on in vain, 

Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm. 
Erin, oh, Erin, thus bright thro' the tears 
Of a loug night of bondage, thy spirit appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, 
Thy sun is but rising, when others are set; 

And iho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, 
The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet 

Erin, oh, Erin, tho' long iu the shade, 

Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. 

Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind, 
The lily lies steeping thro' winter's cold hour, 

Till Spring's light touch her letters uubind, 

And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.* 

Thus Erin, oh. Erin, thy winter is pa-t. 

And the hope that liv'd thro' it shall blossom at last. 



DRINK TO HER. 

Drink to her, who long 

Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 
Oh ! woman's heart was made 

For minstrel hands alone; 
By other fii.geis p'.av'd, 

It yields nut half the tone. 
Then here's !o her, who long" 

Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl « ho gave to song 

What gold could never buy 

At Beauty's door of glass, 

When'Wealth and Wit once stood, 
They ask'd her, - which might pass ? ' 

She answer'd, " he, who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought 

To pass — but 't would not do : 
While Wit a diamond brought, 

Which cut his bright way through. 
So here 's to her, wh > long 

Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth or grandeur shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome, 

That dwells in dark gold mines. 
But oh! the poet's love 

Can boas* a brighter sphere ; 
Its n itive home 's above, 

Tho' woman keeps it here. 



i The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kil- 
dare, which Gi nidus mentions :—" Apud Kildariam 
occurrit Ignis Sancte Brigidae, quern inextinguibilem 
vocant ; non quod extingui non posit, sed q.od tain 
solicite moniales et sanclae mulieres ignem. suppetente 
materia, fovent et nutriunt, ut a tempore virginis per 
tot annon m curricula semper mamit inextinctus." — 
Girald. Camb. dt Mirabil. Hibern. dist. 2. c. 34. 

» Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the 
has applied this image to a s: ill more important 
object. 



i. 

lily, I 
riant 



152 



IRISH MELODIES 



Then drink to her, who long 
Haiti wak'd ihe poel's sigh, 

The girl, who gave lo song 
What gold could never buy. 



OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.i 

Oh ! blame not the bard, if he fly lo the bowers, 

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame; 
He was born f r much more, and in happier h> urs 

His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame. 
The string, lhat now langui hes loose o'er the lyre, 

Might have bent a proud bow to ihe warrior's dart ;* 
And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, 

Might have pour'd the full tide of a patriot's heart. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone by, 

And that spirit i< broken, which never would bend ; 
O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh. 

For '( is treason lo love her, and death lo defend. 
Unpriz'd a e her sons, till they \e learned !o betray ; 
Undistiuguish'd Ihey live, if they shame not their 
si>es ; 
And Ihe torch, that would light them Ihro' dignity's 
way, 
Must be caught from Ihe pile, where their country 
expires. 
Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream, 

He should try lo forge 1 , wi.at he never can heal : 
Oh I give but a hope — let a vis'a but g!eam 
Through the gloom of his country, and mark how 
hell feel! 
That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down 

Every passion il nurs'd, every bliss it ador'd ; 
While the myrde, now idly entwin'd with his crown, 
.Like Ihe wreath of Harmodius, should cover bis 
sword 3 
But tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away, 
Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs; 
Not ev'n in the hour, when his heart is most gay, 
Will he lose Ihe remembrance of thee and thy 
wiongs. 
The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains; 
The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er ihe deep. 
Till thy masters themselves, as Ihey rivet thy chains, 
Shall pause at ihe song of their captive, and weep ! 



WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON'S LIGHT. 

While gazing on the moon's light, 
A moment from her smile 1 turu'd, 

To look at orbs, lhat, more bright, 
Iu lone and distant glory buru'd. 



1 We may suppose this apology to have been ultered 
by one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so 
severely, and, pei haps, truly, describes in his Stale of 
Ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, " were sprin- 
kled with some piet'y flower- of 'heir na'ural device, 
which have good grace and comeliness unto them, the 
which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of 
wickedness and vice which, with good usage, would 
serve to adorn and beautify virtue." 

s II is conjectured by Wormius, that the name of 
Ireland Is derived fiom IV, the Runic for a bovj, in 
Ihe use of which weapon the Irish were once very 
expert. This derivation is certainly more creditable 
to us than Ihe following: "So thai Ireland, called the 
land of Ire, from Ihe constant broils therein for -100 
years, was now became the land of concrd." — 
Lloyd's State Worthies, art. Tht Lord Granduon. 

3 See Mie Hymn, attributed lo Alcaeus, F.v nvprov 



But too far 
Each proud star, 
For me to feel ils warming flame; 
Much mo e dear 
That mild sphere, 
Which near our planet smiling came ; * 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ; 

While brigh er eyes unheeded play, 
I Ml love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my way. 

The day had sunk in dim showers, 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
Illumin'd all Ihe pale flowers, 
Like hope upon a mourner's cheek. 
I said (while 
The moons smile 
Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) 
" The moon looks 
'• On many brooks, 
" The brook can see no moon but this ; " * 
And thus, I thought, our for'unesniH, 

For many a lover looks to thee, 

While oh ! I feel there is but o?ie, 

One Mary in the world for me. 



ILL OMENS. 

When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, 

And stars in the heavens stilfliugering shone, 
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, 

The last iime she e'er was to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasured her heart and her 
soul in, 

Had promised to link the last tie before noon ; 
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen 

The maiden herself will steal afler it soon. 

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses, 

Nor ever w nt> time for a sly glance or two, 
A butterfly. 6 fresh from the night-flower's kisses, 

Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. 
Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces. 

She brnsh'd him — he fell, alas; never to rise : 
''Ah ! such," sa.d the girl, '• is the pride of our faces, 

•' For which the soul's innocence too often dies." 

While she stole thro' the garden, where hearts-ease 
wa- growing, 

She cuild some and kiss'd off its night-fallen dew; 
And a rose, further on, look'd so tempting and glowing. 

That, spite of her has'e. she must gather it too : 
But while o"er the roses loo carelessly leaning. 

Her zone flew in two, and the hearts-ease was lost: 
"Ah! this means." said Ihe girl, (and she sigh'd at 
its meaning,) 

" That love is scarce worth Ihe repose it will cost !" 



BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

By Ihe hope within us springing, 
Herald of to-morrow's str t'e ; 

By that sun, wh.se light is bringing 
Chains or freedom, death or life — 



(cXarJt to |itJioc <pop7]0-ui — "I will carry my sword, 
hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius, and Arist giton," 
*c. 



< "Of such celestial bodies as are visible. Ihe sun 
excep'el, the single moon, as despicable as it is in 
comparison <o niosTt of the others, is much more bene- 
ficial than Ihey all put toge her.'' — lYhislou's Theory, 
3-c. 

In the Entretiens (TAriste. among other ingenious 
emblems, we find a s arrv sky without a moon, with 
these words, Non mille. qiu-d absens. 

* This image was suggested by the following 
though!, which occurs somewhere in Sir William 
Jones's works : " The moon looks upon many night- 
flowers, the night-flower sees but one moon." 

6 An emblem of the soul. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



153 



Oh ! remember life can be 
No charm for him, who lives mt freel 

Like the day-star in the wave, 

Sinks a hero in his grave, 
Midst the dew-fall of a uation's tear*. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine 
And light him down the seep or years : — 
But oh, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on victory's breast t 

O'er his watch-fire's fading embers 
Now the foemm's cheek turns white, 

When his heart that held remembers, 
Where we lamed his tyraut might. 

Never let him bind again 

A chain, like ihat we broke from them. 

Hark I the horn of combai calls — 

Ere the golden evening falls, 
May we pledge that horn in triumph round ! > 

Many a heart that now beats hijh, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
Nor waken even at victory's sound : — 
But oh, how blest that hero's sleep, 
O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep J 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night clos'd around the conqueror's way, 

And lightnings show'd the distant hill, 
Where those who lost lhat dreadful day, 

Stood few and faint, but fearless still. 
The soldier's hope, ihe patriot's zeal, 

for ever dimm'd, for ever crost — 
Oh '. who shall say what heroes feel, 

When all but life and honour's lost? 

The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 

And valour's task, moved slowly by, 
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam 

Should rise and give them light to die. 
There 's yet a world, where souls are tree, 

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss;— 
If death that world's bright opening be, 

Oh 1 who would live a slave in this ? 



'TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, 

We are sure to find sxmethinsr blissful and dear, 
And that, when we're far from the lips we love, 

We 've but to ma., 'ove to the lips we are near.* 
The heirt, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling, 

Let it grow where it will, cannot flouush alone, 
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing, 

It can twine wilh itself, and make closely its own. 
Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, 
And to know, when far from tne lips we love, 

We 've but lo make love to the lips we are near. 



'- " The Irish Coma was not entirely devoted to 
martial purposes. In the heroic ages, our ancestors 
quaffed iNIeadh out of them, as the Danish hunters do 
their beverage at this day."— Walker. 

1 I believe it is Marmontel who siys, " Quand on 
n'a pas ce que Voyi aime, il faut aimer ce que Von a." 
— There are so mmy matter-of-fact people, who take 
such jeux d'esprit as this defence of inconstancy, to be 
the actual and genuine sentiments of him » ho writes 
them, that they compel one, in self-defence, lo be as 
matter-of-fact as ihemselves, and to remind them, that 
Democritus was not the worse physiologist, for having 
playfully con'ended that snow was black; nor Eras- 
mus, in any decree, the les, « i^e, fDr having written 
an ingenious encomium of folly. 



'T were a shame, when flowers around us rise, 

To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there; 
And the world 's so rich in resplendent eyes, 

>T were a pity to limit one's love lo a pair. 
Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike, 

hey are both of them bright, but they 're change- 
able too, 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, 

It u ill tincture Love s plume with a different hue. 
Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure lo find something, still, that is dear, 
And to knoiv, when far from the lips we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near. 



THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS.3 

Through grief and through danger thy smile hath 

cheer'd mv way, 
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round 

me lay ; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love 

burn'd, 
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd ; 
Yes, slave as I was, in thy aims my spirit felt free. 
And bless'd even tie sorrows that made me more dear 

to thee. 

Thy rival was honourd, while thou wert wrong'd 

and scorn'd, 
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows 

adorn'd ; 
She woo'd me to temples, while !hou lay'st hid in caves, 
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! were 

slaves; 
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be, 
Than wed what 1 lov'd not, or turn one thought from 

thee. 

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail — 
Hadst thou been a f Use one, thy cheek had look'd less 

pale. 
They say, too, »o long thou hast worn those lingering 

chains, 
That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile 

stains — 
Oh! foul is the slander,— no chain could that soul 

subdue — 
Where shiueth thy spiri', there liberty shinclh too !* 



ON MUSIC. 

When thro' life unblest we rove, 

Losing all that made life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
Oh ! how welcome bieathes the strain ! 

Wakening thoughts lhat long have slept; 
Kindling former smiles again 

In faded tyes that long have wept. 

Like the gale, that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowers. 
Is the grateful breath of song, 

That once was heard in happier hours; 
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though the flowers have sunk in death; 
So, when pleasure's dream is gone, 

Its memory lives in Music's breath. 

Music, oh, how faint, how weak, 

Language fades before thy spell ! 
Why should Feeling ever speak, 

When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? 

3 Meaning, allegorically, the ancient Church of 
Ireland. 

4 " Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there j» 
liberty." — St. Paul, 2 Corinthians, iii. 17. 



154 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Fri -ndship's bf.lmy Words may feign, 
Love's are ev'n more false than they j 

Oh ! 't is only music's strain 

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray. 



IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT 
SHED.i 

It is not the tear a' this moment shed, 

Wlien the cold turf has just been laid o'er him. 
That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled, 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him, 
'T is the tear, thru' many a lung- day wept, 

' I' is life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
'T is the one remembrance, fondly kept, 

When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light, 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, 
For worth shall look Mrer, and truth more bright, 

VVhen we think how he liv'd but to love them. 
And, as fre.-her (lowers the sod perfume 

Where buried saints >re lyins. 
So cur hearts shall borrow a sweefning bloom 

From the image he left there in dying 1 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'Tis believ'd that this Harp, which I uake now for 

tbee, 
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, ihio' the bright wa era rov'd, 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she lov'd. 

But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tear*, all the night, her gold treses to steep; 
Till heav'n look'd wi'h pity on true-love so warm. 
And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form. 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks smil'd the 

same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd the light 

frame ; 
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell, 
Was chang'd to bright chords utt'ring melody's spell. 

Hence il came, that this soft Harp so long hath been 

known 
To min»le love's language with sorrow's sad tone ; 
Till than didst divide thrm, and teach the foiid lay 
To speak love when I 'm near thee, and grief when 

away. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

Oh ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright, 

My heart's "chain wove ; 
When my dream nf life, from morn till night, 
Was love, still love. 
New hope may bloom, 
Anl days ma /come, 
Of milder calmer beam, 
But there's nothing half so sweet in life 

A* love's young dream: 
No, here's nothine half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream. 

Tho' the bard to purer fame mav soar, 

When wild youth s past ; 
Tho' he win the wise, who frowo'd before, 

To smile at last ; 



< These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very 
neat tad. iear relative, who had died lately at Mv 
Mra. 



He'll never meet 
A joy so sweet. 
In all his noon of fame, 
As when first he sung to woman's ear 

His soul-felt flame, 
And, at every close, she blush'd to hear 
The one lov'd name. 

No, — tha» hallow'd form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love trae'd ; 
Still it lingering haun's the greenest spot 
On memory's waste. 
T wa 5 odour fled 
As soon as shed ; 
T was morning'- winged dream ; 
T was a light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream; 
Oh ! 't was ligh' that ne'er can shine again 
On life's dull stream. 



THE PRINCE'S DAY.» 

Tho' dark are nor sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, 
And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in 
showers : 
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, 
More form'd to be grateful and blest than ours. 
But jus: when the chain 
Has ceased to pain, 
And hope has enwreath'd it round with flowers, 
'I lie e comes a new link 
Our spnisto sink — 
Oh the joy 'hat we tasie. like the light of the poles, 

Is a hash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay ; 

But, though 't were the last little spa' k in our souls, 

We must light il up now, on our Prince's Day. 

Con'empt on the minion, who calls you disloyal ! 

Tho' tierce to your foe. to your friends you are true ; 
And the tribute mo6t high to a heid that is royal, 
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. 

While c ward*, who blight 

Your fame, your right. 
Would shrink from the bhze of the battle array, 

Thr- S'andud of Green 

In front would be seen, — 
Oh, my life on your faith ! were yon snmmon'd Ibis 



You 'd cast every bitter remembrance away, 
And show what the arm of old Erin has in it. 
When rous'd by the foe, on ber Prince's Day. 



He loves the Green Isle, and his love is 

In hearts, which have sutfer'd 'oo much to forget; 
And nope shall be cro» n'd, and attachment rewarded, 
And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. 
The gein may le broke 
By many a stroke, 
But notion* can cloud its native ray; 
Each fragment will cast 
A light, to the I 
And thus, Erin, my country tho' broken thou art. 

There's a lustre within 'bee, that ne'er will decay ; 
A spirit, which beams through each suffering part, 
And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's Day. 



WEEP ON, WEEP ON. 

Weep on, weep on. your hour is past ; 

Your dreams of pri !e ar t 
The fatal chain is 'ound you cast, 

And you are men no more. 



5 This sons was wri'ten for a fete in honour of ( 
Prince of Wales's Birthday, eiven by my friend, it 
jor Bryan, at his seat in the county o? Kilkenny. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



155 



In vain (he hero's heart hath bled ; 

The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ;— 
Oh, Freedom ! once thy flame hath fled, 

It never lights again. 

Weep on — perhaps in after days, 

They -11 learn to love your name ; 
When many a deed may wake in praise 

That long hath septin blame. 
And when they tread the ruin'd isle, 

Where rest/at length, the lord and slave, 
They 'II wondering ask. h iw hands so vile 

Could conquer hearts so brave? 

« »T was fate," they 'II say, " a wayward fate 

" Your web of discord wove ; 
" And while your ty-ianis join'd in bate, 

" You never jom'd in love. 
" But hearis fell off, 'hat ought to twine, 

" And man prnfan'd what God had given; 
"Till some were heard to curse the shrine, 

" Where others knelt to heaven !» 



LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 

But no one knows for whom it beamefh ; 
Right and left its arrows fly, 

But what they aim at no one dreameth. 
Swee'er 't is to gaze upon 

My Nora's lid that seldom rises; 
Few its looks, but every one, 

Like unexpec'ed light, surprises ! 

Oh. my Nora Creina, dear. 
My geutle, b.<shful Nora Creina, 
Beauty lies 
In many eyes, 
But Love in yours, nay Nora Creina. 

Lesbia wears a robe of gold, 

But all so close the nymph hath We'd it, 
Not a charm of beauty's mould 

Presumes 'o s'ay uiiere na'ure plac'd it. 
Oh ! my Nora's gown for me, 

That floats as wild as mountain breezes, 
Leaving every beauty free 

To sink or swell as Heaven pleises. 

Y'es, my Nora Creina, dear, 
My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 
Nature's dress 
Is loveliness — 
The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd, 

But, when i s points are gleaming round us, 
Who can tell if they 're design'd 

To dazzle merely, or to w und us? 
Pillow'd on my Nora's heart, 

In safer slumber Love reposes — 

Bed of peice ! whose roughest pait 

Is but the crumpling of the roses. 

Oh ! my Nora Creina, dear, 
My mild, mv artless Nora Creina! 
Wit, tho' bright, 
Hath no such light, 
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. 



I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. 

I Baw thy form in youthful prime, 

Nor thought that pale deciy 
Would steal before the steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away, Mary ! 
Yet s' ill thv features wore that light, 

Which fleets not with the breath ; 
And life ne'er look'd more truly bi ight 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 



As streams that run o'er golden mines, 

Yet humbly, calmly glide, 
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 

Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 
So veil'd beneath the simplest guise, 

Thv radiant genius shone, 
And that, which charm'd all other eyes, 

Seeru'd worthless in thy own, Mary I 

If souls could always dwell above, 

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ,• 
Or could we keep the souls we love, 

We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary I 
Though many a gifted mind we meet, 

Though fairest forms we see, 
To live with them is far less sweet, 

Than to remember thee, Mary 1 1 



BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.* 

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 
Sky. lark never warbles o'er, 3 
Where the cliff hangs high and steep, 
Young Saint Kevin sole to sleep. 
" Here, at least," he calmly said, 
" Woman ne'er shall find my bed." 
Ah ! the good Saint little knew 
What that wily sex can do. 

T was from Kathleen's eyes he flew,— 
Eyes of most unholy blue"! 
She had lov'd him well and long, 
Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. 
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, 
S'ill he heard her light foot nigh; 
East or west, where'er he turn'd, 
Still her eyes before him burn'd. 

On the bold cliff's bosom cast, 
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ; 
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er 
Woman's smile can hauut him there. 
But nor earth nor heaven is free 
From her power, if fond she be : 
Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 

Fearless ishe had track'd his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat; 
And when morning met his view, 
Her mild glaices met it too. 
Ah, your Sail ts have cruel hearts^ 
Sternly from his bed he s'arts, 
And with rude, repulsive shock, 
Hurls her from the beetling rock. 

Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave! 
Soon the saint (yet ah ! too late.) 
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. 
When he said, " Heav'n rest her soul!" 
Round the Lake light music s'ole; 
And her ghost was seen to glide, 
Smiling o'er the fatal tide. 



« I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that 
exquisite inscription of Shenstone's, " Heu ! quantc 
minus est cum reliquis versari quani tui memiuisse '. " 

s This ballad is founded upon one of the many 
stories related of S'. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is 
to be seen at Glendalough, a most gloomy and roman- 
tic spot in the county of Wicklow. 

3 There are many other curious traditions concern- 
ing this Lake, which rray be found in Giraldus, Col- 
gan, &c. 



156 



IRISH MELODIES. 



SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 

And lovers are round her, sighing: 
But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, 

For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 
Every noie which he lov'd awaking; — 

Ah ! htile they think who delight in tier strains, 
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. 

He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, 
They were all that to life had entwin'd him ; 

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh '. make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
When they promise a glorious morrow; 

They'll shine o'er her sleep.like a smile from the West, 
From her own lov'd island of sorrow. 



NAY TELL ME NOT, DEAR. 

Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns 

One charm of feeling, one f nd regret j 
Believe me. a few of thy angry frowns 
Are all I 've sunk in its bright wave yet 
Ne'er haih a beam 
Been lost in the stream 
That ever was shed from thy form or soul ; 
The spell of those eyes, 
The balm of thy sighs. 
Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl. 
Then fancy not, dearcs', that Mine can steal 
One blissful dream of the hear' from me; 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim 1 
The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 

They tell us that Love in his fairy bower 

Had two blush-roses, of birth divine; 
He sprinkled the one with a rainbow's shower 
But bath'd the other with mantling wine. 
Soon did the buds 
'I ha' d'.ank of the floods 
Distill'd bv the rainbow, decline and fade; 
While those which the lide 
Of ruby had cly'd 
All blush'd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid ! 
Then fancy not, deares', that wine can steal 
One blissful dream of the hear: from me; 
Like founts, thai aw .ken the pilgrin 

The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 



AVENGING AND BRIGHT. 

Avenging and bright falls the swift sword of Erin • 
On him who the brave sons of l"sna betray d 1 — 

For ev'ry fond eye he hath waken d a tear in. 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her 

blade. 



> The words of this snag "ere su?gested by the 
very ancient Irish story caled •• UeirJn. or the La- 
mentable Fate of the soi s of Usnach," which has been 
translated literally from the Gaelic, by Mr. 
gan (see vol. i. of Transactions of the Gaelic S cittu 
of Dublin) and upon which it appears thai he '• Dar- 
t'hula of Macpherson" i- handed. I he 're che-y of 
Conor, King of Ulster, in pu tin? to death the iliree 
sons of l/sna", was the cause of a desolating war against 
Ulster, which terminated in ihe Jes'ruction of l.m i . 
"This story (savs Mr. 0'Flauaga.u) has been, from 
time immeinoiial, be d in lush repute as one of the 
three tragic stories of the Irish. These ae, 'The 
death of the children of louran;' 'The death of the 



By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwell- 
ing, 2 
When Ulad's3 three champions lay sleeping in 
gore- 
By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling. 
Have waf'.ed these heroes to victory's shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted, 

The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 
Our halls stall be mute and our tie ds sh?ll lie wasted, 

Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head. 
Tes. monarch ! tho' sweet are our home recollections, 

Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; 
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our 
affections, 

Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all ! 



WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. 
He.— What the bee is to the flr.weret, 
When he looks for honey-dew, 
Through the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, I '11 be to you. 

She. —What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
U 10 waves that wander i ear, 

Whispering kisses, while Ihey 're going, 
That 1 'II be to yoo, my dear. 

She.— But they say. the bee's a rover, 

Who « ill fly. when sweets are gone; 
And, when once the kiss is o-.er, 
Faithless bro ks will wander on. 

He. — Nay, if flowers uHU lose their looks, 
If sunny banks will wear away. 
'T is but right, ilia bees and I - 
Should sip and kiss them, while lb.?) may. 



LOVE AND THE NOVICE. 

" Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

" Where angels risons bend ; 

" Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers 

" 1) not di-tuib our calm, oh. 1. 
U S i like u thy f. rm to the cherubs above, 
" It well might deceive such heart* as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listen'd. 

And Love is no novice in takiog a hint; 
His laughing blue eves soon «i'h pieu glisten'a; 
His rosy wing lurn'd to he.ven's own tint. 

• Who would have thought," the urchin criea, 
u That L>ve could so >' ell, st eravely disguise 
" Hii wai.dctii g w ii.gs, and -* 

Love now warms th-e, waking and s'eeping, 
Voui.g Novice, to him ail thy i risons ri-e. 

}lt ti'ges t tie heavenly f ant \>ith his »eeping, 
Jh brighte s the corner's flame wi h his sighs. 



children of Lear' 

and this -Ihe death of the chil 
which is a Miles ^collected, 

that m tl -. thtre is 

a ballad upon the story < f the children of Lear or Lir ; 
M vie :" ic. 
i r ii ay be thought f lb se sanguine claims 
to antiquity, which Mr. U'l 'hers ad- 

vance for the Ii era'ure of Ire 1 ml. it would be a last- 
ing reproach up n our m ...aelic re- 
starche tin all the 

3 -Oh. Nasi! view thai clou I thai I here see in the 
sky I 1 see over Eman-green a chilling cloud of blood- 
tin'ged red " — Deirdri't Song. 

■■* Uklec 



IRISH MELODIES. 



157 



Love is the Saint en>hrin'd in thy breast, 
And angels themselves would admit such a guest, 
If he came to theui cloth'd in Piety's vest. 



THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQCER'D WITH PLEA- 
SURES AND WOES. 

j This life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes, 

That chase one another like waves of the deep, — 
E.ch brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, 

Keiiec ing our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 
So closely our whims on our miseries tread, 

That the laugh is awak'd ere the tear can be dried ; 
And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, 

'I he goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 
But pledge nie the cup — if existence would cloy, 

With bears ever happy, and heads ever wise, 
Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 

And the light, brilliant Folly that flashes and dies. 

When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, 

Thro' fields full of light, and with heart full of play, 
Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, 

And neglected his lask' for the flowers on the way.i 
Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted 

The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine, 
Their lime with the flowers on the margin have 
wased, 

And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 
But pledge me the goblet;— while Idleness weaves 

These flowerets together, should Wisdom but see 
One bright drop or two that has fall'n on the leaves 

From her fountain divine, 't is sufficient for me. 



OH THE SHAMROCK 

Through Erin's Isle, 

To sport awhile. 
As Love and Valour wander'd, 

With Wit, the sprite, 

Whose quiver bright 
A thousand arrows squander'd. 

Where'er they pass, 

A triple grass * 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 

As sofily green 

As emeralds seen 
Thro' pure-t crystal gleaming. 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 

Chosen leaf. 

Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 

Says Valour, "See, 

" They spring for me, 
"Those leafy gems of morning!" 

Sa\s Love, " No, no, 

'• For me they grow, 
" My fragrant path adorning.' 

But Wit perceives 

The triple leaves, 
And cries, "Oh ! do not sever 

" A type, that blends 

"Three godlike riends, 
" Love, Valour, Wit, for ever !" 



1 Proposito florem praetulit officio. 

Propett. lib. i. eleg. 20. 

' It is said that St. Patrick, when preaching the 
Trinity to the Pagan Irish, used to il lust > ate his sub- 
ject by reference to that species of trefoil called in 
Ireland by the name of the Shamrock; and hence, 
perhaps, the Island of Saints adopted this plant as her 
national emblem. Hope, among the ai cients, was 
sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing 
upon ti|.-toes, and a trefoil or three-coloured grass in 
her hand. 



Chosen le> 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 

So firmly fond 

May last the bond, 
They wove that morn together, 

And ne'er may fall 

One drop of gall 
On Wit's celestial feather. 

May Love, as twine 

His flowers divine, 
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ; 

May Valour ne'er 

His standard rear 
Against (he cause of Freedom ! 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock! 

Chosen leaf 

Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock! 



AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 

At the mid hourof night, when stats are weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm in 
thine eye; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions 

of air, 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to 
me there, 
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky. 

Then I sing the wild song 't was once such pleasure to 
hear ! 

When our voices commingling breath'd, like one, on 
Ihe ear ; 
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison 

rolls, 
I think, oh my love ! 't is tby voice from the King- 
dom of Souls, 3 

Faintly answering still the notes that once were so 
dear. 



ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 

One bumper at parting! — tho' many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any 

Remains to be crowu'd by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, 

Is always so slow to come forth, 
That seldom, alas, till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come, — may our lift's hapny measure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and Inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That 'mid the dull wilderne s smile ! 
But Time, like a piti'ess ma-ter, 

Cries 'Onward : " and spurs the gay houri- 
Ah. never doth lime travel faster, 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moment* made up; 
Thev 're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 



3 '* There are countries." says Montaigne, " where , 
thev believe the soul of the happy live in all manner i 
of liberty, in delightful fields; and that it is those 
souls, repeating the words we utter, which we call 
Echo." , 



14 



158 



IRISH MELODIES. 



We saw how the sun look'd in sinking, 

The waters beneath him how bright ; 
And now, let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that faiewell of light. 
You saw how he finish'd, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So, fill up, let 's shine at our parting, 

In full liquid glory, like him. 
And oh! may our I i fe "s happy measure 

Of moments like this be made up, 
'T was ooin on the b< som of Pleasure, 

It dies 'mid the tears of the cup. 



T IS THE LAST ROSE OF SCMMER. 

>T is the last rose of summer 

Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rose-bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I 'II not leave thee, thou lone one! 

To pine on the stem ; 
Siuce the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy ma'es of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may / follow, 

When friendships decay. 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wi'her'd, 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone? 



THE YOUNG MAY MOON. 

The young May moon is beaming, love, 
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, 

How sweet to rove 

Through Monu's grove,* 
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! 
Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 
T is never 100 la'e for delight, my dear, 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days, 
Is to steal a few hours from the Dight, my dear ! 



But the Sage, his s'ar-watch keeping, love, 

And I, whose star, 

More glorious far, 
Is the eye from thai casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear, 
The Sage's glass we 'II shun, my dear, 

Or. in watching the flight 

Of bodies of light. 
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear. 



THE MINSTREL-BOY. 

The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone. 
In the ranks of death ynu 11 find him ; 

His faher's sword he has girded on. 
And his wild harp slung behind him. — 



1 "Steals silently to Morna's grove.'' — See. in Mr. 
Bunting's collection, a poem transl iteJ from the Irish, 



" Land of song ! " said the warrior-bard, 
"Tho'all the world betrays thee. 
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 
" One faithful harp shall praise thee ! " 

The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain 

Could not biing his proud soul under; 
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, 

For he tore its chords asunder; 
And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 

"Tbou soul of love and bravery ! 
" Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 

" They shall never sound in slavery." 



THE SONG OF O'RUARK, 
PRINCE OF BREFFNI. 3 

The valley lay smiling before me, 

Where lately I left her behind ; 
Yet I trembled, and s mething hung o'er me, 

That saddened the joy of my mind. 
I look'd for the lamp which, she told me, 

Should shine, when her Pilgiim returu'd; 
But, though darkness began to enfold me, 

No lamp from the battlements burn'd ! 

I flew to her chamber — 't was lonely, 

As if the lov'd tenant lay dead ;— 
Ah, would it were death, and dea'h only ! 

But no, the young false one bad fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss ; 
While the hand that had wak'd it so often, 

Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss. 

There wat a time, falsest of women. 

When Breffui's good sword would have sought 
That man, thro' a million of foemen, 

Who dar'd but to wrong 'hee in thought! 
While now — oh dege< erate d lighter 

Of Erin, how fall'n is thv fame ! 
And thro' ages of bondage "and slaughter, 

Our country shall bleed for thy shame. 

Already, the curse is upon her, 
And strangers her valleys profane ; 

They come to divide, to dishonour, 
And tyrans they long will remain. 



by the late John Brown, one of my earliest college 
companions and friends, whose death was as singular- 
ly melancholy and unfortunate as his life had been 
amiable honourable, and exemplary. 

' These stanzas are founded upon an event of most 
melancholy importance to Ireland ; if, as we are told 
by our Irish historians, it gave England the first op- 
portunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing 
us. The f lloiviig are the circumstances, as re- 
lated by O'Halloran : — » The king of Leinster had 
long conceived a violent aflecion for Dearbborgil, 
daughter to the king of Mea'h, and though she had 
been for some time married to O'Ruark, prince of 
Breffni. yet it could not restrain his passion. They 
carried on a private coriespondence. ai d she informed 
him 'hat O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage 
(an act of piety frequent in those days), and c 
him to embrace that opportunity of conveyiig her 
from a hu-band she detested to a lover -be adored. 
Mac Murchad too punc'uallv obeved the summons, 
and had the lady conveyed to'his capi'al of [ 
The monarch Roderick'espoused the cause of O'Ruark, 
white Mac Murchad tied to England, and obtained 
the assistance of Henry II. 

" Such," adds Giraldus Cambrensis (as I find him in 
an old translation!, '• is the variable and fickle nature 
of woman, by whom all mischief in the • 
the most part) do happen a r«ar by 

Marcus Antonius, ■,on of Troy." 



IRISH MELODIES. 



159 



But onward ! — the green banner rearing, 
Go, flesh every sword to the hilt; 

Or. '/ur side is Virtue and Erin, 
On theirs is the Saxon and Guilt. 



OH ! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE 
OF OUR OWN. 

Oh ! had we some bright little isle of our own, 

In a blue summer ocean, far oil' and alone, 

Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers, 

And the bee banquets on through a whole year of 

Where the sun loves to pause 

With so fond a delay, 
That the night only draws 
A thin veil o'er the day ; 
Where simply to feel lhat we breathe, that we live, 
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. 

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, 
We should love, as they lov'd in the first golden time ; 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there. 
With affection as free 

From decline as the bowers, 
And, with hope, like the bee, 

Living always on flowers, 
Our life should resemble a long day of light, 
And our death come on, holy and calm as the night. 



"I wish he were 



FAREWELL! — BUT WHENEVER YOU WEL- 
COME THE HOUR. 

Farewell ! — but whenever you welcome the hour, 
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with youA 
His g> ieis may return, not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain, 
But he ne'er will forget "the short vision, that threw 
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with 
you. " 

And still on lhat evening, when pleasure fills up , 
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup/ 
Where'er'my path lies, be it gloomv or bright, 
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that nisht ; 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, 
And re'urn to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles— 
Too blast, 'f >' tel,s "'« 'hat, 'mid the gay cheer 
Some kind voice had murmur'" 
here ! " 

Let Fate do her -worst, there are relics of joy, 
B; ight dream* of the past, which she carjuat destroy ; 
Which erne in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, lon^be my heart with such memories fill'd ! 
Like the vase, in which roses h.iveonce been dis'ill'd— 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if vou will. 
But the scent of the roses will hang round itslill. 



OH! DOUBT ME NOT. 

Oh ! doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove. 
And now the vestal,Reason, 
Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. 
Allho' this heart was early blown, 

And fairest hands dis'urb'd the tree. 

They only shcok some blossoms down, 

Its fruit has all been kepi for thee. 



Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. 
And tho' my lute no longer 

May sing of Passion's ardent spell, 

Yet. trust me, all the stronger 

I feel the bliss 1 do not tell. 

The bee through many a garden roves, 

And hums his lay ol courtship o'er, 

But when he finds the flower he loves, 

He settles there, and hums no more. 

Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free, 
And now the vestal, Reason, 
Shall guard the flame awai'd by thee. 



YOU REMEMBER ELLEN." 
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, 

How meekly she blessed her humble lot, 
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, 

And love was the light of their lowly cot. 
Together they toil'd through winds and rains, 

Till William, at length, in sadness said, 
" We must seek our fortune on other plains ;" — 

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 

They roam'd a long and a weary way, 

Nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, 
When now, at close of one stormy day, 

They see a proud castle among the trees. 
"To-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; 

" The wind blows cold, the hour is late : " 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, 

And the Porter bow'd, as they pass'd the gate. 

"Now, welcome, Ijidy," exclaim'd the youth, — 

" This castle is thine, and these dark woods all !'» 
She believ'd him crazed, but his words were truth, 

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

What William the stranger woo'd and wed ; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 



I'D MOURN THE HOPES. 

I 'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me too; 
I'd weep when friends deceive me, 

If thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I 've thee before me, 

With heart so warm and eyes so bright, 
No clouds can linger o'er me, 

That smile turns them all to light. 

»T is not in fate to harm me, 

While fate leaves thy love to me; 
T is not in joy 10 charm me, 

Unless joy be shared with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a lonff, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee, 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And tho' the hope be gone, love, 

That long sparkled o'er our way, 
Oh! we shall journey on, love, 

More safely, without its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I 've yet to roam : — 
The mind that burns within me. 

And pure smiles from thee at home. 



l This ballad was suggested by a well-known and 
interesting story told of a certain noble family iu 
England. 



IGO 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Thus, when the lamp thatjighted 

The traveller a' first sues, out, 
He feels awhile benighted, 

And looks round in fear and doubt. 
But soon, the prospect clearing. 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 



COME O'ER THE SEA. 

Come o'er the sea, 
Maiden, uith me. 
Mine thro' sunshine, s:orm, and snows: 
Seasons may roll, 
Hut the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
I^et Me frown on, so we love and part not; 
Tis life where tAou art, 'lis death where thou art not. 
Then come o'er the sea, 
M lideo, with ine, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows; 
n. ay roll, 
But the true s ul 
Burns the same where'er il goes. 

Was not the sea 
Made for the Free, 
Land for couns and chains alone ? 
Here we are slaves, 
Bui. on the waves. 
Love and Liberty s all our own. 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us — 
Then come o'er ihe sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Mine thro' sunhine, storm, and snows; 
■ ina may roll, 
But the true' soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 



HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED. 

lias sorrow thy youne days shaded. 

As clouds o'er the morning fleet ? 
Ton fast have those youug days faded, 

That, even in sorrow, were sweet? 
I , :nc with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear? — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 

1 'll weep with thee, tear fur tear. 

Has love to (hat soul, so tender, 

Been like -ur Lagenian mine.' 
Where sparkle* of golden splendour 

All over the surf ice >hme — 
But. if in pursuit we to deeper. 

Allur'd bv t! e gleam that sh me. 
Ah ! false as the d'eim of h' - 

Like Love, the bright ore 

Has Hope, like the bird in the st^rv.3 

That flitted from tree to tree 
With the talisman's gli'tering glorv — 

Has Hope been th it bird 'o thee? 
On branch af er tra- ch alighting. 

The gem did she St. II display. 
And, when neare-t an I most inviting, 

Then waft the fair gem away i 



« Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse 
alludes, deserve, 1 feir, but too well the character 
here given of them. 

a " The bird, having got its prize, stttled not far 
off, with the talisman in his mouth. The prince drew 
near it. hoping it would drop it ; but as he ap| roached. 
the bird took wing, and settled again,'' &.c-—.lralian 
Nights. 



If thus the young hours have fleeted, 

When sorrow itself looked bright; 
If thus the fair hope bath cheated, 

That led thee along so light ; 
If thus the cold world now wither 

Each feeling thai OEce was dear : — 
Come, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I '11 weep with the*, tear for tear. 



NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. 

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 
When half-awaking from fea ful slumbers, 

He thinks the full quire of heaven is near, 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 

This heait long had sleepii g I tin, 
Nor thought its cold pul-e would ever waken 

To such benign, blessed souuds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort ! 't was like the stealing 

Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell — 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 

Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 
T was whispered balm— t was sunshine spoken 1 

I 'd live years of grief and pain 
To hate m\ long sleep of soitow broken 

By such benign, blessed sounds again. 



WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. 

When first I met thee, warm and young, 

There shone such truth about thee, 
And on thy lip such promise hui.g, 

1 did not due to dnub' thee. 
I saw thee cliar.te, yet s ill itlied. 

Still clung with hope the f uder, 
And bought, tbo' fal e toali 

From me thou couldst not wander. 

I i c heart, whose hopes could make it 
Tru-d one so lata . 
I)e erves that thou shouldst break it 

When every tongue thy follies nam'd, 

I fled the un« i 
Or font d, in ev'n the faulsthey blam'd. 

^ieann of fu'ure . 
/ still was true, when nearei friends 
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee; 
The heart that n n >. Is, 

Would then have bled to right tbee. 
But go. de ce iv e r 

Some day, perhaps, tbou 'It waken 
From ] know 

The grief of hearts forsaken. 



Even now, too' ww 

No lit: 
The few. 

And tl. 
Thy miJnight cup 

So ee ial tie- eu 
The smiling there, 

Hasra: k 
(.. - 



has shed, 

-efled, 
sc ra 'hee. 

ives, 

light on graves, 

'bine, 



And days n - -e one ! yet, 

When e 
When 'h u 



IRISH MELODIES, 



161 



Go — go, — 't is vain to curse 
T is weakness to upbraid thee 

Hate cannot wish thee worse 
Than guilt and shame have made thee. 



WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 

While History's Muse the memorial was keeping- 

Of all that (he dark hand of Destiny weaves, 
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, 

For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. 

But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, 

When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 

She saw History write, 

Wi'hapencilof light 

That illum'd the whole volume, her Wellington's 

name. 

" Hail, Star of my Isle !" said the Spirit, all sparkling 
With beams, such as break from her own dewy 
skies — 
'' Thro' ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 

" I 've watch'd for some glory like thine to arise. 
" For, tho' Heroes I 've number 'd, unblest was Iheir lot, 
'•And unhallow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of 
Fame ; — 

" But oh ! there is not 
" One dishonouring blot 
"On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's name. 

" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 

" The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet 

known j 

" Tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, 

" Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. 

" At the foot of that throne, for whose weal ihou hast 

stood, 
"Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, 
•' And, bright o'er the flood 
" Of her tears and her blood, 
" Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name!" 



THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING. 

The time 1 've lost in wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 

The light, that lies 

In woman's eyes. 
Has been my heart's undoing. 
Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me, 
I scorn'd the lore she brought me 

My only books 

Were woman's looks, 
And folly 's all they 've taught me. 

Her smile when Beauty granted, 
I hung with gaze enchanted, 

Like him the Sprite,* 

Whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that 's haunted. 
Like him, too. Beauty won me. 
But while her eyes were on me, 

If once their ray 



And are those follies going? 
And is my proud heart growing 

Too cold or wise 

For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing 
No, vain, alas ! th' endeavour 
From bonds so sweet to sever; 

Poor Wisdom's chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 



WHERE IS THE SLAVE 

Oh, where 's the slave so lowly, 
Condemn'd to chains unholy, 

Who, could he burst 

His bonds at first, 
Would pine beneath them slowly ? 
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
Would wait till time decay d it, 

When thus its wing 

At once may spring 
To the throne of Him who made it t 

Farewell Erin— farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 

Less dear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch'd and blowing, 

Than that, whose braid 

Is pluck d to shade 
The brows with victory glowing. 
We tread the land that bore us, 
Her green t'.ag glitters o'er us, 

The friends we 've tried 

Are by our side, 
And the foe we hale before us. 

Farewell, Erin,— farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 



» This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to 
be met with, they say, in the fields at dusk. As long 
as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in 
your power ; — but the moment you look away (and 
he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement) he 
vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite 
which we call the Leprechaun ; but a high authority 
upon such subjccs. Lady Morgan, (in a note upon her 
national and iiiteres'ing novel, O'Donnel,) has given a 
very different account of that goblin. 

14* 



COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. 

Come rest in this bosom, roy own stricken deer, 
Tho' the herd have fled from tbee, thy home is still 

here; 
Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, 
And a. heart and a hand all thy own to the last. 

Oh ! what was love made for, if 't is not the same 
Thro' joy and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame ? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt *s in that heart, 
I but know that I love thee, wha ever thou art. 

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss, 
And thy Angel I'll be, 'raid the hon rs of this,— 
Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, 
And shield thee, and save ihte,— or perish there too ! 



'TIS GONE, AND FOR EVER. 

'T is gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, 

Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the s'eepof the dead-- 
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, 

Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere it fled. 
'T is gone, and the gleams it has left of it's burning I 
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, i 
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning 
And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. 

For high was thy hope, when those glories went 
darting 
Around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world } 



* "The Sun-burat" wa6 the fanciful name given by 
the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner, 



162 



IRISH MELODIES. 



| Oh ! never shall earth see a moment so splendid ! 
Then, then — had one Hymn of Deliverance blended 
The tongues of all nations — how sweet had ascended 
The first nole of Liberty, Erin, from thee ! 

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing I 

And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, 
Who, at Death's reeking aliar, like furies, caressing 
The young hope of Freedom, bapiiz'd it in blood. 
Then v.mish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision, 
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold bean's derision, 
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian, 
As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 



I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 

I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, 
The bark was still there, but the wafers were gone. 

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 

Each wave, that we dauc'd on at morning, ebbs 
from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning 

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; — 
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of 
Morning, 
Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best 
light. 
Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, 
When passion first wak'd a new life thro' his frame, 
And bis soul, like the wood, that grows precious in 
burning, 
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 



FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 

Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit's electric Dime 

Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
As when thro' the frame 

It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair! 

Evety drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions: — 
So we, Sages, Bit, 

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the Heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 



Would'st thou know what first 

Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 

For wine's celes ial spirit? 
It chane'd upon that day, 

When, as bards inform us, 
Prome'heus stole away 

The living fires that warm us : 

The careless Youth, when up 

To Glory's fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cup 

To hide the pilfer'd fire in. — 
But oh, his joy, when, round 

'1 he halls of Heaven spying, 
Among the stars he found 

A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 

Some drops were in that howl. 

Remains of last night's pleasure, 
With which the Spark- of Soul 

Mlx'd iheir burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 

Every diop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 



DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 

Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness I 'bund thee, 

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,» 
When proudly, my own hlaud Harp, I unb und thee, 

And gave all thy chords 10 light, freedom, and song! 
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladuess 

Have waken'd thy fonde-t, thy liveliest thrill ; 
But, so oft bast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness. 

That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. 
Dear Harp of my counry ! faiewell to thy numbers, 

This sweei wrea'h of song is the last wesha I twine ! 
Go. sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, 

Till touch'd by some hand less unwor hy thau mine ; 
If the puhe of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 

Have throbb'd at our lay, 't is thy glory alone ; 
I was but a~ the wind, parsing heedlessly over, 

And all the wild sweetness 1 wak'd was thy own. 



Erin first rose," there is, if I tecollect right, the fol- 
lowing line : — 

"The dark chain of Silence wu thrown o'er the deep." 
The chain of Silence wa< a sort of practical figure 
of rhetoric among the ancient lri-h. Walker tells us 
of "a celelraed cuoteuti n for precedence between 
Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, 
where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to 
produce a ces-ation of hostilities, -hook the chain of 
Silence, and flung themselves am ng ihe ranks." See 
also the Ode tu' Gaul, th. in MiJ 

Brooke's RUiquts of Irith J 



END OF VOL. II 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 

The recollections connected, in my mind, with that i under which the atttempt to adapt words to our 



early period t my life, wh^n I first thought of inte 
pre ing in verse the touching language of mv country's 
music, tempt me again to advert to th se long p'ist 
days. 2nd. e-en at the risk of being thought "to in- 
dulge overmuch in what Colley Cibber calls "the 
great pleasure of writing about one's self all day," to 
notice briefly some of those impressions and influences 



at Mel dies was for some time meditated by me, 
and. at last, undertaken. 

There can be no doubt that to the zeal and industry 
of Mr. Bunting his country is indeb'ed f>r Ihe preser- 
vation of berold national airs During 'he prevalence 
of the Penal Code, the music of Ireland wis mide lo 
share in the fate of its people. Both were alike shut 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



163 



ont from the pale of civilised life; and seldom any 
II v. he. e but in the huts of 'he pr< scribed race could the 
I sweet voice of the songs of o'hcr days be heard. Even 
, of 'hat class the itinerant harpeis, among whom for 
| a l)»g period our ancient music had been kept aliv 



] there remained but tew to continue the precious tra 

I ditioD ; and a gieat music-meeting held a' Belfast ir 

I I the year 1792, at which the two or three sti 



ing "of the old race of wandering harpers as-isted, 
exhibited the last public effort made by ;he lovers of 
Iiish music, to preserve to their couniry the only] 
grace or ornament left to her, out of the wreck of all j 
her libe ties and hopes. Thus what the fierce legis- ■ 
latu;e of the Pale had endeavoured vainly thiough so 
many ceniuries to etfect, — the ut er extinction of Ire- 
land's Minstrelsy, — he deadly piessre of the Penal 
Laws had nearly, at the clo-e of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, accomplished ; and, but for the zeal and intelli- 
gent research of Mr. Bui ting, at that crisis, the greater 
part of our mu-ical treasures woi.ld probab y hive 
been 1 st to the world. It was in the year I7t>6 that 
this gentleman published his first volume; a:.d the 
national spirit and hope then wakened in Ireland, by 
the rapid spread f the democratic pi inciple throughout 
Europe, could not but insure a most cordial reception 
for such a work; — flatering as it was to the fond 
dreams of Erin's early da>s. and containing in itself, 
indeed, remarkable tes'im'ony to the truth other claims 
to an early date nfcivilisati n 

It was "in the ye r 1797 that, through the medium 
of Mr. Bunting's book, I was first made acquainted 
with the beau ies of our native music A young Iriend 
of our family, Edward Hud-on, the nephew of an 
eminent dentist of that name who plated with much 
taste and feeling on the flute, and, unluckily f r him- 
self, was but too deeply warmed with the patriot c 
ardour then kindling around him, was the first who 
made known o me this rich mine of our coun'r, ; s 
inelodie- ; — a mine, from the working of which my 
nuinb'e labours as a p<et have since derived their sole 
lustre and value. About the same periol I foimed an 
acquainta ce, whi.-h sonn grew into intimacy, wiih 
young Robert Emmet. He was my senior, i thii.k. 
by one c ass. in 'he university ; for when, in the fiist 
year of my course. 1 became a member of the Debat- 
ing Socie'v, — a sort of nursery to the authorised His- 
torical Socie'y — I found him in full reputation, n- t 
only for his learning and eloquence, but also for the 
blamelessness of his life, and the grave suavity of bis 
manners. 

Of the political tone of ihis minor school of oratory, 
which was he:d weekly at the rooms of different 
resident members, some no'ion may be fonied fr m 
the naure of the questions proposed for discussion.— 
one of which. I rec llect, was. '• Whe'her an Aristo- 
cracy or a Democracy is mrst favourable to the ad- 
vancement of science ar.d literature?" while another, 
bearing even more pointedly on the relative position 
of thegovernment and the people, at this crisis, was 
thus significantly propounded : — " Whether a soldier I 
was bound, on all occasions, to obey the orders of his I 
comm ndi' g officer ?" On the former of ihese ques- 
tions, ihe effect of Emmet's eloquence uptn his young 
auditors was, I recollect, m< st sriking. 'Ihe prohi- 
bition agiinst touching upon modern poli'ics. which 
it was subsequently f >und necessa'y to enforce, h,d 
not yet been introduced ; and Emmet, who rook of 
course ardently the side of democracy in the debase. 
after a brief review of the republics of antiquity, 
showing how much they had all done for the advance- 
ment of science and the' arts, procteded, lastly, to the 
grand and i eril ius example, then passing before all 
eyes, Ihe young Republic of France. Referring o the I 
circumstance told of Caesar, iha', in swimming across 
the Rubicon, he contrived to carry with him his Com- 
ment-Ties and his sword, the younzoiator said. ''Thus 
F a:ce wades through a sea of storm ar.d blood ; bu' ■ 
while, in one hand, she wields the sword against her 
agi-res-ors, with the other she upholds the glories of 
science and li'erature unsullied by the ensanguined 
tide through which she s niggles. In another of his j 



remarkable speeches, I remember his saying, " When 
a people advancing rapidly in knowledge and power, 
peiceive at last how far their government is lagging 
behind them, what then, 1 ask, is to be done in such a 
esse? What, but to pull the government up to tbe 
people?" 

In a few months after, both Emmet and myself 
were admitted members of the greater and recognised 
institution, called the Historical Society ; aid even 
heie, the political feeling so rife abroad contrived io 
mix up ltd restless spirit "with all our debates and pro- 
ceedings; notwithstanding the coi. slant watchfulness 
of the college authorities, as well as of a srong parly 
within Ibe "Society itself, devoted adherents to the 
policy of the government, and taking invariably pait 
with the Provost and Fellows in alltheir restrictive 
and inquisi orial measures. The most distinguished 
and eloquent of these supporters of power were a 
young man named Sargent, of whose fate in after 
days I know nothing, and jebb, the late Bishop of 
Limerick, who was then, as he continued to te 
through life, much respected for his private worth 
and learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, the chief cham- 
pion and ornament was Robert Emmet ; aid though 
every care was taken to exclude from Ihe subjects of 
debate all questions verging towards :he politics of the 
day, it was always easy enough, by a side-wind of 
digression or allusion, to bring Ireland and 'he pros- 
pec's then opening upon her within the scope of the 
orator's view. So exciting and powerful, in this re- 
spect, were Emmet's speeches, and so little were even 
the most eloquent of the adverse party able to cope 
wi'h his powers, thit it was at length thought ad- 
visable, by the higher authorities, to send among us a 
man of more advanced standing as well as belonging 
to a fr rmer iaceof renowned speakers, in that Society, 
in order that he might answer the speeches of Emmet, 
and endeavour io c"bvia!e the mischievous impression 
they were thought to produce. The name of this 
n alure champion of the higher r owers it is not neces- 
sary he:e Io record; but the object of his mi s,rn 
among us was in some respect gaiued ; as it was in 
replying to a lot g oration of his, one nigh', that 
Emmet, much to the mortification of us who gloried 
in him as our leader, became suddenly embarrassed in 
Ihe middle of his speech, and, to use the parliament- 
ary phrase, broke down. Whether from a moment- 
ary confusion in Ihe thread of his argument, or pos- 
sib y from diffidence in encountering an adversary so 
much his senior, — for Emmet was as modest as' he 
was high-minded and biave.— he began, in the lull 
cireer of his eloquence, to hesitate and repeat his 
words, and then, after an effort or two to recover him- 
self, sa'e dm n. 

It fell to my own lot to be engaged, about the same 
time, in a brisk struggle with the dominant party in 
the Society, in consequcr ce of a burlesque poem 
which I gave in, as candidate for Ihe Literary Medal, 
entiled •• An Ode upon Nothing, with Notes, by Tris- 
megistus Rus'ifustius. D. D.'' &c. &c. For this squib 
against the greit Dors of learning, the medal was 
voted to me by a triumphant majority. But a motion 
was made in the following week to rescind this vote ; 
and a fierce contest be'ween the two parties ensued, 
which I at last put an end toby voluntarily withdraw- 
ing my composition from the Society's Book. 

I have already adverted to the period when Mr. 
Bunting's valuable volume firs' became known to me. 
There elapsed no very long lime before I wjs myself 
the hippy proprietor of a copy of he work, and, 
though never reg .larly instructed in music, c aid 
play over the air- wi'h'tolerable facility on the piano- 
forte. Robert Emmet used sometimes to sit by me, 
when 1 was thus engaged ; and I remember one day 
his starting up as from a reverie, when I had just 
finished playing that spirited tune called the Red 
Fox,i and exc aiming, " Oh, that I were at the head 
of twenty h)Lsand men, marching to that air!" 

* " Let Erin remember the days of old." 



164 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



How little did I then think that in one of the most 
touching of the sweet airs I used 10 play to him, his 
own dying words would find an interpreter so worthy 
of their sad, but proud feeling; ' or that another of 
those mournful strains 2 would long be associated, in 
the hearts of his countrymen, with ihe memory of 
her 3 who shared with Ireland his last blessing and 
prayer. 

Though fully alive, of course, to the feelings which 
such music could not but inspire, I had not yet under- 
taken the task of adapting words to any of ibe airs ; 
and it was, 1 am ashamed to say, in dull and turgid 
prose, that I made my first appearance in prim as a 
champi»n of the popular cause. Towaids the latter 
end of the year 1797, the celebra'ed newspaper called 
"The Press" was set up by Arthur O'Connor, Thomas 
Addis Emmet t, and other chiefs of the United Irish 
conspiracy, with the view of preparing and ripening 
the public mind for thegreat crisis then fat approach- 
ing. This memorable journal, according to the im- 
pression I at present re'ain of it, was far more distin 
guished for earnestness of purpr.se and inrepidi'y, than 
for any great display of literary talent; — the bold 
letters written by Emmett (the elder), under the 
signature of " Montanus.' being the only composi- 
tions 1 can now call to mind, as entiiled to praise for 
their literary merit. It required, however, but a 
small sprinkling of talent to make bold witting, at that 
time, palatable; and, from the experience of my own 
h"me, I can answer for the avidity with which every 
line of this daring journal was devoured. It used to 
come out, I think, twice a week, and, on the evening 
of publication, I always read it aloud to our small 
circle after supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what with my 
ardour for the national cause, and a growing conscious- 
ness of some little turn for authorship, I was ua urally 
eager to become a contributor to those patriotic and 
popular columns. But the constant anxiety about me 
which I knew my own family fel',— a feeling more 
wakeful far than even their zeal in the public cause, 
— withheld me from hazarding any step that might 
cause litem alarm. 1 had ventured, indeed, one 
evening, to pop privately into the letter-tnx of The 
hort Fragment in imitation of Os-iau. But 
this, though inserted, p<s^ed off quietly ; and nobody 
was, in any sense of the phrase, the wi-er f <r it. I 
was soon tempted, however, to try a more daring 
flight. Without communicating my secret to any one 
but Edwaid Hudson, 1 addressed a lung Letter, in 
prose, to the of , in which a pro- 
fusion of bad flowers of ihetoric was en wreathed 
plentifully with that weed which Miakspeare calls 
" the cockle of rebellion,'' and, in Ihe same manner 
as before, committed il tremblingly to the chinces of 
the letter-box. I hardly expected my prose would be 
honoured with insertion, when, lo, on the next even- 
ing of publication, when, seated as usual in my li tie 
corner by the tire, I unfolded the paper for the pur- 
pose of reading it to my select auditoiy, there was niy 
own Letter staring me full m the face, being honoured 
with so conspicuous a place as to be one of the first 
articles my audience would expect to hear. Assum- 
ing an outvvnd appearance of ease, while every nerve 
within me was tumbling, 1 contrived to accomplish 
the reading of the Letter with mt raising in either of 
my auditors a suspicion that it was my own. I 
enjoyed the pleasure, loo, of hearing il a good deal 
p-aised by them ; and might have been tempted by 
this to acknowledge myself the author, had I not 
found that ihe language and sentiments of the article 
were considered by both to be " very bold." « 



J I was not destined, however, to remain long unde- 
tee'ed. On ihe following day. Edward Hudson,' — 
the only one. as 1 have said, entrusted with my secret, 
called to pay us a morning visit, aid had not been 
long in the room, conversing with my mo 1 her, when 
looking significantly at me, he said, " Well, you saw 

j " Here he stopped ; but the mother's eye had 

I followed his, with the ra| idi y of lightning, lo mine, 
|and at once >he perceived Ihe whole truth. "That 
I Letter was vours, the:.?' she asked of me eagerly; 
I and. without hesi a ion, of course, I acknowledged the 
fact ; when in the most earnest manner she entreated 
of me never ag'in lo have any connexiou with that 
paper ; and, as every wish of hers was to me law, I 
readily pledged the solemn promise she required. 

Though well aware how easily a sneer may be 
raised at the simple details of litis domes'ic scene. I 
have yet ven'ured to put it on record, a*, atioidi g an 
ii.s'ance of Ihe genlle a> d womanly watchfu uess, — 
j the Providence, as il may be called, of the I i' tie world 
of home, — by which, allhough placed almost in the 
j very curren of so headlong a movement, and living 
I familiarly with some of Ihe most darii g of ih< se » ho 
; propelled it, I ye! was guarded from any participation 
J in their secret oaths, c unsels. or plans, and Ihus 
escaped all share in that wild sruggle lo which so 
I many far better men than myself fell victims. 

In the mean while, this great conspiracy was hasten- 
I ing on. with fearful precipitancy, to its outbreak ; and 
j vague and shapeless as are now known lo have been 
the views, even of those who were engaged practi- 
cally in the plo', it is not any wonder ihat to the 
young and unitia'ed like myself it should have opened 
prospec's partaking far more of the wild dreams of 
poesy than of Ihe plain and honest prose of real life. 
But a crisis was then fast approaching, when such 
self-delusions c u!d no longer be indulged ; and when 
'he mystery which had hitherto hung over the plans 
of the coi.spir.vors was to be renf asunder by Ibe 
stern h.ii.d I I pew er. 

Of the hoirois Ihat fore-ran and followed the fright- 
ful explosion of the year I79S, 1 have neiher incli- 
nation, nor, luckily, occasion >o sjeak. But among 
Ih se introductory scenes, which had somewhat pre- 
pared the public mind for such a catastrophe, there 
was one, of a painful description, winch, as leaving 
j been myself an aclor in il, 1 may be allowed briefly 
I to no' ice. 

i l( was not many weeks, I think, before this crisis, 
Ihat, owing lo information gained by the college 
authorities of the rapid sp eid, among Ihe students, 
i not only of the principles, bu' he nrganisa'. 
Iri-h Union. 6 a solemn Visitation was held by Lord 
Clare, he vice-chancellor nf the University, with Ihe 
view of ii quiring iatn Ihe extent of this branch of ihe 
plot, and dealing summarily wilh those engaged in 1 1. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed ihe | 
thus set ing up a sort of inquisitorial tribunal, armed 



1 "Oh, breathe not his name." 

* " She is far from the land where her young hero 
Blue is." 

3 Miss Curran. 

* So thought also higher authorises ; for among the 
evir>ru from Th#> Pr*-ss brought forward by the Seciet 



Committees of the House of Commons, to show how 
formidable had been Ihe desiji s of ihe Dni 
men, there are two t r three paragraphs ci eJ frim 
this redoubtable Letter. 

* Of the depth and extent to which Raton had 
involved himself in 'he conspiracy, none of our family 
had harboured Ihe least notion ; till 
the thirteen Lei rs'er delegates. a 1 Oliver Bond's, in the 
month of March. 1798, we found, to our as or.ishmenl 
and sorrow, thai K umber. 

To those unread in Ihe pa:nfu ! h *tor> • f his | eriod, 
it is right lo mention rhat almost all the leaders of the 
I'ni'ed Irish conspiracy were Pro es'an s. 
those companions of my nwn nl u led 'o in these pages, 
I scarcely remember a'single I 

6 In Ihe Repor' from the Secret Commitee of the 
Irish House of Lords, this extension of the plot to ihe 
College is no' iced a~ " a desperate project of the same 
faction lo corrupt Ihe youth of the 
ducing their organised sv stern of treason iuto ibe Uni- 
versity.'' 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



165 



with the power of examining witnesses on oath, and 
in a place devoted to the instruction of youth, 1 can- 
not but confess that the facts which came out in the 
course of the evidence, went far towaids justifying 
even this arbitrary proceeding; and to ihe many who, 
like myself, were acquainted only with the general 
views of the Union leaders, without even knowing, 
except from conjecture, who those leaders were, or 
what their plans or objects-, it was most starling to 
hear the disclosures which every succeeding witness 
brought forth. There were a few, — and among that 
number, poor Robert Emmet, John Brown, and the 
two ***** *s,i whose total absence from the 
whole scene, as well as the dead silence that, day after I 
day, followed the calling out of their names, pro- I 
claimed how deep had been their share in the unlaw- 
ful proceedings inquired into by this tribunal. 

But there was one young friend of mine, ***##*,' 
whose appearance among Hie suspected and examin- 
ed as much surprised ns it deeply and painfully in- 
terested me. He and Emmet had long been intimate 
and attached friends; — their congenial fondness for 
mathematical studies having been, 1 think, a far more 
binding sympathy between them than any arising out 
of their political opinions. From his being called j 
up, however, on this d >y, when, as it appeared after- 
wards, all the most important evidence was brought 
forward, there could be little doubt that, in addition to ' 
his intimacy with Emmet, the college authorities 
Crust have possessed some information which led them I 
lo suspect him of being an accomplice in the con- 
spiracy In the couise of his examination, some 
questions were put to him which he refused to 
answer,— most piobably from their tendency to in- 
volve or inculpate others; and he was accordingly 
dismissed, with the melmclnly certainty that his 
future prospects in life were blasted ; it being already 
known that the punishment for such contumacy was 
not merely expulsion from the University, but exclu- 
sion from all the learned professions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of ihis whole day had 
been such as to send me lo my home in the evening 
wi h no very agreeable feelings or pospects. I had 
heard evidence given affecting even the live- of some 
of those friends whom 1 had long regaided with ad- 
miration as well as affection; and what w s still 
worse than even their danger, — a danger ennobled, 1 
thought, by the cause in which they suffered,— was 
the shameful spectacle exhibited by those who had 
appeared in evidence against them. Of these wit- 
nesses, the greater number had been themselves in- 
volved in the plot, and now came forward ei her as 
voluntary informers, or else were driven by the fear 
of the consequences of refusal to secure their own 
safety at the expense of companions and friends. 

1 well remember the gloom, so unusual, that hung 
over our family circle on that evening, as, talking 
together of the events of the day, we discussed the 
likeliho d of my being among those who would be 
called up for examination on the morrow. The 
deliberate conclusion to which my dear honest ad- 
visers came, was that, overwhelming as Ihe conse- 
quences were to all their plan, and hopes for me, yet, 
if the questions leading to criminate others, which 
had been put to almost all examined on that day, and 
which poor * * * * alone had refused to answer, I 
must, in Ihe same manner, and at all risks, return a 
similar refusal. I am not quite certain whether I re- 
ceived any intima'ion, on the following morning, that 
I was to be one of those examined in Ihe course of the 



day; but I rather think some such notice had been 
conveyed to me; — and, at last, my awful turn came, 
and 1 stood in presence of the formidable tribunal. 
There sate, with severe look, the vice-chancellor, and, 
by his side, the memorable Doctor Duigenan,— 
memorable for his eternal pamphlets against the 
Ca'holics. 

The oath was proffered to me. " I have an objec- 
tion, my Lord,'' said 1, " to taking this oath." '-What 
is your objection?" he asked sternly. "I have no 
fears, my Lord, that any thing 1 might say would 
criminate myself; but it might tend to involve others, 
and 1 despise the character of the person who could 
be led, under any such circumstances, to ilifoim against 
his associates." This was aimed at some of the reve- 
lations of the pieceding day ; and, as I learned after- 
wards, was >o understood. " How old are you, Sir ?" 
he then asked. "Between seventeen and eighteen, 
my Lord." He then turned to his assessor, Duigenan, 
and exchanged a few words with him, in an under 
tone of voice. " We cannot," he resumed, again ad- 
dressing me, "suffer any one lo remain in oui Uni- 
veisity, who refuses to take this oath." '• 1 shall, 
Ihen, my Lord," 1 replied, "take the oath,— still re- 
seiving to myself the power of refusing to answer 
any such questions as 1 have just desciibed." " We 
do not sit heie to argue with you, Sir," he rejoined 
sharply ; upon which 1 took the oath, and sealed my- 
self id the witnesses' chair. 

The following are the questions and answers that 
then ensued. After adverting to the proved existence 
of United Irish Societies in the University, he asked, 
" Have you ever belonged to any of these societies ?" 
" No, my Lord." •• Have you ever known of any of 
the proceedings that took place in them ?'' " No, my 
Loid." ''Did you ever hear of a pioposal at any of 
their meetings, lor the puichase of arms and ammu- 
nition ?" " Never, my Lord." " Did you ever hear 
of a proposition made, in one of these s< cieties, with 
respect .0 the expediency of assa-sination ?" " Oh no, 
my Lord." He then turned again to Duigenan, and, 
after a lew words with him, said to me : — " When 
such are the answers you aie able to give,-2 pray what 
was the cause of your great repugnance to taking Ihe 
oath ?" '• I have already told your Lordship my chief 
reason; in addition to which, it was the hist oath 1 
ever took, and the hesitation was, 1 think, natural." 3 

1 was now dismissed without any fuilher question. 



l One of these bi others has long been a general in 
the French army; having taken a part in all ihose 
great enterprises of Napoleon which have now be- 
come matter of history. Should these pages meet the 
eye of General '****, ibey will oil to his mind 
the days we passed together in Normandy, a few sum- 
mers since; — more especially our excursion to Bay- 
eux, when, as we talked on the way of old college 
times and friends, all the eventful and s'ormy scenes 
he had passed through since seemed forgotten. 



•1 There had been two questions put to all those 
examined on the first day,—" Were you ever asked to 
join any of these societies?" — and " By whom were 
you asked?"— which I should have refused to answer, 
and must, of course, have abided the consequences. 

3 For the correctness of the above report of this 
short examination, I can pretty confidently answer. It 
may amuse, iherefoie, my readers, — as showing Ihe 
manner in which biographeis make the most of small 
facts. — to see an extract or two from another account 
of this affair, published not many years since by an 
old and zealous friend of our family. After stating 
with tolerable correctness one or two of my answers, 
the wri'er thus proceeds: — "Upon Ihis, Lord Clare 
repeated the question, and young M ore made such an 
appeal, as caused his Lordship lo relax, austere and 
rigid as he was. The words 1 cannot exactly remem- 
ber; the substance was as follows: — lhat he entered 
college to receive "he education of a scholar and a 
gentleman ; that he knew not how to compromise 
these characters by informing against his college com- 
panions; that his own speeches in the debating so- 
ciety had been ill construed, when Ihe wort that 
could be said of them was, if truth had been spoken, 

that they were pa'riotic that he was aware of 

the high-minded nobleman he had the honour of ap- 
pealing to, and if his lordship could for a moment 
condescend to step from his high station and ptace 
himself in his situation, then say how he would act 
under such circumstances.— it would be his guidance." 
— HtrbirVs Irish Varieties. London, 1836. 



166 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



ing; and, however trying had been this short opera- ' drawing made under peculiarly painful circumstance?, 

tion, was amply repaid for it by the kind zeal with by the friend so often mentioned in this sketch, Ed- 

wliich my young friends and companions flocked to ward Hudson. 

congratulate me; — not so much, I was incined to In connexion with another of these matchless airs, 

ho|ie, on my acquitt.il by the coUit, as on tbe manner —one that defies ail poetiy to do it just.ce,— 1 find the 

in which I had acquired myielf. Of my reception, following singular and touching statement in an article 

on returning home, after the feais enertained of so of Ihe Quarterly Review. Speaking of a young and 

very different a result, I will not attempt any descrip- promising poetess, Lucrelia Davidson, who died very 

tion ; — it was all thai sudt a borne alone could fur- early fruni ner.ous excitement, tbe Reviewer says, 

nish. " She was particularly sensitive to music. There was 

I have been induced Ihus to continue down to the one song (it was Moore's Farewell to bis Harp) to 

very verge of the warning outbreak of 1798, the slight which she took a special fancy. She wished to hear 

sketch of my early days which I ventuied to Com- it only a; twilight,— ihus(wi b that ; ame perilous love 

mence in the Firs: Volume ,f this collection : nor could of excitement which made ber place Ihe .iEoiian harp 

i have furnished the Irish Mel' dies with iny mure in the window when she was composing.,) seeking to 

pregnan' illustia'ion. as it was in those times, and increase ihe effect which ihe song produced upon a 

amo.g Ihe events then stirring, that ihe feeling which nervous system, already diseasedl> susceptible ; (or it 

afterwards found a voice in my country's music, was is said that, whenever she heard this song, she became 

born and nur ured. , tie, and almost faiulicg; vet it was her favour- 

I sha 1 now string logeher such detached notices ile of all songs, and gave occasion to those verses ad- 

and memoranda respecting this woik, as I thiirk may dressed in her fitleeu h year to her sis'er.' '* 

be likely to interest my readers. ! VViih ihe Melody entitled -'Love, Valour, and 

Of the few songs written with a concealed political Wii," an incident is' connected, which awakened feel- 
feeling.— such as '• When he who adores ti.ee,"' and iugs in me of proud, but sad p.easure, to think That 
two more —the most successful, in its dav, was my songs had reached the hearts of some of the 



" When firs I me' thee warm and young, " which 
alludnl, in ils hidden s. nse, to the Prince Regent's 
de-eilion of his political friends. It was little les', I 
own. than profana i >u to dis'urb the sentiment of so 
beautiful an aii by any connexrm with uch a subject. 
Ihe great succe s of Ihis song, soon af er I wrote it, 
among a large party staying at Chatswotth, is thus 
alude 1 o in'one of Lord Byron's lexers to me : — " I 
have heard from London mat you have left Chats- 
worth and all ihere full of ' enlusymu-y' 

and, in particular, Iha' -When first I met ihee' has 
been quite overwhelming in i s effect. I told you it 
was one nf ihe best ihiugs you ever wrote, though 
that dog # * « * wanted you to omit part of it." 

It has been sometimes supposed that "Oh, breathe 
not his name," was meant to allude to Lord Edward 
Filzgeiald : but this is a mistake; the song having 
been suggested by the well known passage in R 'berl 
Emmet's dying speech, '• Let no man write my epi- 
taph let my lomb remain unin-criDed, till 

other times and other men shall learn to do justice to 
my memory.'' 

The feeble attempt to commemorate the glory of 
our great Duke — •' When Hisoiys Muse," &c. — is 
in so far remarkable, that it made up amply for its 
wan' of poetical spirit, by an outp)uriiig,rirely* granted 
to bards in these days, of the spirit of Prophecy. It 
was in the year 1815 that the following lines nut made 
their appearance : — 

And ■till the last crown of thy toil* it remaining. 
The grandest, the purest, ev'n thvu hast y-t known ; 

Though pio :d isaa thy '.,>«, other nations unchaining. 
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. 

At the toot of that lb-one, for whose wral Ibou hast stood, 
Go, plead for the laud that first cradled thy fame, ic 

About fourteen years after these lines were written, 
the Duke of Wellington recommended to the throne 
the great measure of Catholic Emancipation. 

The fancy of the " Origin of the Irish Harp." was 
(as I have elsewhere acknowledged) > suggesed, by 



descendants of those great Irish families, wbo found 
themselves forced, in the dark days of persecution, io 
seek in other lands a refuge from Ihe sh-me aud ruin 
of their own ; — those, wht-sc story 1 have Ibus asso- 
ciated with one of their country's most characteristic 
airs: — 

Ye Blakes and O'Dnnoefls. whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 
That repose which at home tbey had sigh'd for iu Talo. 
From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction, — 
whose names, cud 1 venture to men'ion them, would 
lend to Ihe incident an additional Irish charm — 1 re- 
ceived, about two years since, through the hands of a 
gentleman to whom it had been entrusted, a large 
portfolio, adorned inside with a beau iful drawing, 
representing Love, Wit, and Valour, as described in 
In tl.e b rder that surrounds the drawing 
are introduced the favourie emblems of Erin, tbe 
harp, the shamrock, the mitred head of St. Patrick, 
together wi h scrolls containing each, inscribed in tet- 
ters of gold, Ihe name of some favourite melody of 
the fair am '. 

This present was accompanied by Ihe following let- 
ter from the lady her-elf ; and her Irish race, 1 tear, 
discernible in the geuerr u- indiscretion with 
which, in this ins auce, she allows praise so much to 
outstrip desert : — 

"IcflSsiottt, 1536. 

" Monsieur, 
'• Si les poetes n'etoient en quelque sorte une pro- 
priete intellec'uelle dont chacun prend sa part a raison 
de la puis-ance qu'ils exercent. je ne taurois en verite 
comment faire L ur jus'if.er mon cr uragel — car il en 
falloit beiuc up ] sseier mon pauvre 

talent damateur a vos d( . et plus 

eocore pour en renvoyer Je pale reflet a son veritable 
auteur. 

•• J*espere toutefois que n a sympathie pour I'lrlande 
vous feta juger D n aviccctte' 



t a reue parlialite qui imp.se siletce a la critique: car, 
— si je n'a| par tens pas a 1'lle Verte par ana nai-sance. 
*d rii mes r el a t ions, je puis dire que 



i " When, in consequence of the compact entered 
into between government and the chief leaders of the un cccur Irlandals, 'et que 
conspiracy, the State Prisoners, before proceeding into J non , <j e mes pe r , s , er q^ e mes 

exile, were allowed to see their friends. I paid a visit petits vryageurs ne subr 
to Edward Hudson, in the jail of Kiln.ainham. where j erangers. Puissent-ils rei 
he had then lain immured for four or five mon h-, ! sol na'tal, en agis^ant com 

heroique et malhenxei.se nation: — le 

found hat to amuse his solitude he had made a lirge moyen de vaincre de tels adtervures s'lls ne font 

drawing with chircoal on the wall of his piison re- qu-un ? 

t renting that fancied origin of the Irish Harp. "Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux moments que je 

which, -ome years afler, I adopted as the subject of dois a vosoovragesr ce seroit rei i 

oue of the ' Melodies. 1 " — Life and Death of Lord . __ _ 

Edward Fitzgerald, vol. i. 



hearing of friend after friend being led out to death, 'cause Irlandaise, et amener 
and expec ing every 



ek his own lurn to come. I 



a Quarterly Review, vol. xli. p. 294. 






IRISH MELODIES. 



167 



ce que vous entendez tous les jours et de tous Ies coins ; 
de la terre. Aussi j'ai gar.ie de vous ravir un terns' 
trop |'.recieux par 1'echo de ces vieilles verites. 

•• Si jamais mon etoile me conduit en Irlande, je ne 

m'y croirai pas etrangere. Je sais que le passe y 

laisse de longs souvenirs, et que la eoufbnnile des 

es eperances rapproche en depit de l'espace 

et du terns. 

"Jusque la, recevez, je vous prie, 1'assurance de ma 
parl'aite consideration, avec laquelle j'ai l'honneur 
detre, 

"Monsieur, 

" Votre tres-humble servan'e, 

'■LA COMTESSE .« 

Of the translations that have appeared of the Melo- 
dies in different languages. I shall here mention such 
as hive come to my knov 

Latin.— '• Cautu's Hibernici,'' Nicholas Lee Torre, 
, London. 1S35. 

I Italian.— G. Flechia, Torino, 1836.— Adele Custi, 
Milano, I83& 

Frtnch —Madame Belloc, Paris, 1S23.— Loeve Vei- 
mars. Paris, 1*29. 
[ Russian.— Several detached Melodies, by the popu- 
lar Russian p> el Kozlof. 

Polish. — Seleclions, in the same manner, by Niem- 
tewich, Kosmian. and others. 

I have now exhausted not so much my own recol- 
lections, as the patience, I fear, of my readers on this 
subject. We are told of painteis calling those last 
touches of the pencil which they give to si>me favour- 
I e picture the "ultima basia ;" and with the same 
sort of affectionate feeling do I now take leave of the 
Irfcn Melodies, — the < uly work of my pen. as I very 
sincerely believe, whose fame (thanks to the sweet 
music in which it is embalmed) may boast a chance 
of prolonging its existence to a day much beyond our 
own. 



IRISH MELODIES. 

CONTINUED. 

MY GENTLE HARP. 

Mr gentle Harp, once more I waken 

The sweetness of thy slumbering strain ; 
In tears onr last farewell was taken, 

And now in tears we meet again. 
No light of joy hath o'er thee broken, 

But, like those Harps wh ose heav'nly skill 
Of slavery, dark as thine, ha'h spoken, 

Thou tiang'st upon the willows still. 

And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 

An'hour of peace and triumph came, 
And many an ardent bosom bounded 

With hopes — that now are turn'd to shame. 
Tet even then, while Peace was singing 

Her halcyon snng o'er land and sea, 
Tho' joy and hope to others bringing, 

She only brought new tears to thee. 

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure. 

My drooping Harp, from chords like thine? 
Alas', the lark'- gay morning me sure 

As ill would suit the swan's decline ! 
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee. 

Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains. 
When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress thee. 

Are sadly mix'd — half fl.> w'rs, half chains ? 

But come — if yet thy frame can borrow 
One bre>th of joy, oh, breithe for me, 

And sh w the world, in chains and sorrow, 
How sweet thy mu-ic sMl can be; 



How gaily, ev'n mid gloom surrounding, 
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill- 

Like Memnon's broken image sounding, 
'Mid desolation tuneful still ! 1 



IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. 

In the morning of Tife, when its cares are unknown, 

And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, 
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own 

And the light that surrounds us is all from within ; 
Oh 't is not, believe me, in that happy time 

We can love, as in hours of less transport »e may ; — 
Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sonny prime, 

But affection is truest when these fade away. 

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by. 

Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; 
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so 
high, 

First tastes of the ether, the dark-flowing urn ; 
Then, then is the time when affection holds sway 

With a depth and a 'enderness joy never knew ; 
Love, nursed anions pleasures, is faithless as they, 

But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true. 

In climes full of sunshine, thoueh splendid the flowers, 

Their sighs have no freshness, their odour no worth; 
'T is the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of showers, 

That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. 
So it is not mid splendour, prosperity.'mirth, 

That the depth of Love's generous spirit appears ; 
To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its birth, 

But tte soul of its sweetuess is drawn out by tears. 



AS SLOW C' U R SHIP. 

As slow our ship her foamy track 

Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 't was leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hear's as on w e rove, 

To (hose we 've left behind us. 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 

We talk, wi h j vous seeming — 
With -miles that might as welt be tears, 

So faint, so sad Iheir beaming; 
While mem'ry brings us back asain 

Each early tie that twii 
Oh, sweet 's the cup 'ha' circles then 

To those we 've left behind us. 

And when, in other climes, we meet 

Some isle, or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks rlow'ry, wild and sweet, 

And Bought but |rve is wanting; 
We think how great had been our bliss, 

If Heav'n had bu- a-sign'd us 
To live and die in scenes like th ; s. 

With some we 've left behind us! 

As travelers ofl look back at eve, 

When eastward darkly . 
To gaze upon "hat light tl ey leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, 
So, when the clo-e of pleasure's Say 

To gloom hath near con-ign'd us, 
We lurn to ca'ch One fadii z ray 

Of jov that 's left behind us. 



168 



IRISH MELODIES. 



WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. 

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, 

Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; 
Or. if from their slumber the veil be lemov'd, 

Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. 
And oh ! if 'I is pain to remember how far 

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star 

That arose on his darkness, and guided him borne. 

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came 

The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, 
To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame 

From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. 
O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, 

Thou earnest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; 
And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled 

On his ev'ning horizon, the light was from thee. 

And tho', sometimes, the shades of past folly might 
rise, 

And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, 
He but lurn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, 

And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd away. 
As the Priest* of the Sun, when their altar grew dim, 

At the day -beam alone could its lustre repair, 
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, 

He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there. 



REMEMBER THEE. 

Remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart, 
Jt shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. 

Wert thoo all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and 

free, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 
1 might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, 
But oh ! could I love thee more deeply than now ? 

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as il runs, 
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons — 
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest, 
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breait. 



WREATH THE BOWL 

Wreath the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us : 
Well take a flight 
Tow'rds heaven tonight, 

And leave dull earth behiud us. 
Should Love amid 
The wreaths be hid. 

That joy, th' enchanter, brings us, 
No danger fear. 
While wine is near, 

We '11 drown him if he stings us. 
Then, wreath the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 

The brightest Wit can find us ; 
We 'II take a flight 
Tow'rds heaven to-night. 

And leave dull earth behind us. 

T was nectar fed 

Of old, lis said, 
Thei- Junos, Joves, Apollos 

And man may brew 

His nectar oo, 
The rich receipt 's as follows : 



Take wine like this, 

Let looks of bliss 
Around it well be blended, 

Tber. bring Wit's beam 

To warm the steam, 
And there 's your nectar, splendid ! 

So wreath the bowl 

With flowers of soul, 
The brightest Wit can find us; 

We : 11 take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 

Say, why did Time 

His glass sublime 
Fill up with sands unsightly, 

When wine, he knew, 

Runs brisker through, 
And sparkles far more bughtly ? 

Oh, lend it us, 

And, smiling thus, 
The glass in two we 'II sever, 

Make pleasure glide 

In double tide. 
And fill both ends for ever ! 

Then wreath the bowl 

With flower? of soul 
The brightest Wit can find us; 

We 'II take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven to-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 



WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES. 

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 

So full of hope, and joy, and light, 
As if no cloud could ever rise. 

To dim a heav'n so purely bright — 
I sigh to think how soon that brow 

In grief may lose its every ray, 
And that light heart, so joyous now, 

Almost forget it once was gay. 

For time will come with all its blights, 

The ruined hope, the friend unkind. 
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, 

A chill'd or burning heart behind : — 
While youth, that now like snow appears, 

Ere sullied by the darkening rain, 
When once 'I is touch'd by sorrow's tears 

Can never shine so bright again. 



IF THOU'LT BE MINE. 

If thou 'It be mine, the treasures of air, 
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet ; 

Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, 
Or in Hope's sueet music sounds molt sweet. 
Shall be ours — if thou wilt be mine, love I 

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, 
A voice divine shall talk in rach stream ; 

The stars shall look like \\ 
And this earth be all one beautiful dream 
In our eyes — if thou will be mine, love! 

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high. 
Like streams, that come from heaven-ward hi b, 

Shall keep our he .- it lie 

To be bathed by tl 
Evergreen, if thou will be mine, love! 

All this and more the Spirit of Love 
Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells; 

That heaven, which forms his home 

He can make on earth, wherever l:e dwells, 
As thou "II own,— if thou will be mine, low! 



IRISH MELODIES. 



169 



TO LADIES' EYES. 

To Ladies' eyes around, boy, 

We can'l refuse, we can't refuse, 
Tho' bright eyes so abound, boy, 

T is bard to choose, 't is hard to choose. 
For thick as stars thai lighten 

Yon airy bow 'is, yon airy bnw'rs, 
The countless eyes that brighten 

This eirlh of ours, this earth of ours. 
But fill the cup— where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 

Some looks there ate so holy. 

They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n, 
As shining beacons, solely, 

To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n. 
While some — oh! ne'er believe them — 

With tempting ray, wilh tempting ray, 
Would lead us (God forgive them !) 

The other way, the other way. 
But fill the cup— where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We 're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all 1 so drink them all ! 

In some, as in a mirror. 

Love seems pourtray'd, Love seems pourtray'd, 
But shun the flittering error, 

'T is but his shade, 't is but his shade. 
Himself has fix'd his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips — bui this is telling — 

So here they go ! so here they go ! 
Fill up, fill up— where'er, boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We 're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 



FORGET NOT THE FIELD 

Forget not the field where they perish'd, 

The truest, the last of the brave, 
All gone — and the brizht hope we cherish'd 

Gone with them, and quench'd in their gravel 

Oh ! could we from death but recover 
Those hearts as they bounded before, 

In the face of high heav'n to right over 
That combat for freedom once more; 

Could the chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us then, 

No, 't is not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 

But 't is past — and, tho' blazon'd in story 

The name of our Victor may be, 
Accurst is the march of that glory 

Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. 

Far dearer the grave or the prison, 

Illumed by one patriot name, 
Than the trophies of all, who have risen 

On Liberty's ruins to fame. 



THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. 

They may rail at this life — from the hour I began it, 

I found it a life full of kindness and bliss; 
And, until they can show me some happier planet, 

More social and bright, 1 'II content me with this. 
As long as the world has such lips and such eyes, 

As before me this moment enraptured I see, 
They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies, 

But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

15 



In Mercury's star, where each moment can bring them 

New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high, 
Tho' the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them, 1 

They 've none, even there, more enamour'd than I. 
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love, 

And that eve its divine inspiration shall be, 
They may talk as they will of their Edens above, 

But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour, 

At twilight so often we 've roam'd through the dew 
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as 
tender, 

And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.3 
But tho' they were even moie bright than the queen 

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, 
As I never those fair young celestials have seen, 

Why — this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, 

Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, 
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station, 

Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we could 
spare. 
Oh ! think what a world we should have of it here, 

If the haters of peace, of afl'ection and glee, 
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere, 

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me. 



OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME I 

Oh for the swords of former time ! 

Oh for the men who bore them, 
When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime, 

And tyrants crouch'd before them : 
When free yet, ere courts began 

With honours to enslave him, 
The best honours worn by Man 

Were those which Virtue gave him. 
Oh for the swords, &c. &c. 

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then ! 

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 

Were all the ramparts round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms true, 

The throne was but the ceitre, 
Round which Love a circle drew, 

That Treason durst not enter. 
Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then! 

Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 

Were all the ramparts round them ! 



ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 
ST. SENANUS. 3 



"Oh ! haste and leave this sacred isle, 
"Unholy bark, ere morning smile; 



a La Terre pourra elre pour Venus l'etoile du ber- 
ger et la mere des amours, comme Venus Test pour 
nous. — Ibid. 

3 In a metrical life of SI. Senanus, which is taken 
from an old Kilkenny MS., and may be found among 
the Acta Sanctorum Hibrrnix, we are told of his 
flight to the is'and of Scatterv, and his resolution not 
to admit any woman of the party ; he refused to re- 
ceive even a sister saint, St. Cannera, whom an angel 
had taken to the island for the express purpose of 
introducing her to him. The following was the un- 
gracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical 
biographer : 



170 



IRISH MELODIES. 



" For on thy deck, though daik it be, 

" A female form I see ; 
" And I have sworn this sainted sod 
" Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 

THE LADY. 

" Oh ! Father, send not hence my bark, 
" Through wintry winds and billows dark: 
" I come with humble heart lo share 
'• Thy morn and evening prayer; 
"Nor mine the feet, oh ! holy Saint, 
"The brightness of tby sod to taint." 

The Lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd ; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd ; 
But legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morning's light delay 'd, 
And given the saint one ro",y smile, 
She ne'er bad left his lonely isle. 



NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. 

Ne'<_r ask the h<>ur — what is it to us 

How Time deals out his treasures? 
The golden moments lent us thus, 

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. 
If counting them o'er could add to their blisses, 

1 'd number each glorious second : 
But moment! of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, 

Too quick and sweet to be reckon'd. 
Then fill the cup— what is i' to us 

How lime his circle measures? 
The fairy hours we call up thus, 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's. 

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours. 

Till Care, one summer's morning, 
Set up, among his smiling flowers, 

A dial, by way of warning. 
But Joy loved be'tter to gaze" on the sun 

As long as its light was glowing. 
Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on, 

And how fast that light was going. 
So fill the cup — what is it to us 

How Time hi- circle measures ? 
The fairy hours we call up thus, 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's. 



SAIL ON, SAIL ON. 

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark — 

Wherever blows 'he welcome wind, 
It cannot lead to scenes more dark, 

M re sad than tho-e we leave behind. 
Each wave that parses seems to say, 

" Though death beneath our smile may be, 
" Less cold we are, les- fa se than they, 

" Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee." 

Sail on. sail on,— through endless space — 

Through calm — through tempest— stop no more: 
The stormiest sea's a rrsmg place 

To him who haves such hearts on shore. 
Or— if some desert land we meet. 

Where never yet false-hearted men 
Profan'd a world, that else were sweet. — 

Then rest thee, baik, but not till then. 



Cui Praeml, quid foeminis 
Commune est cum monachii 1 
tfeo te nee uJlam aliam 
Admttcmui in insulam. 
See the Acta Sanct. Mb., page 610. 
According to Dr. Ledwich. St. Senanus was no less 
t personage than the river Shannon ; but O'Connor and 
other antiquarians deny the metamorphose indignantly. 



THE PARALLEL. 

Yes. sad one of Sion,' if closely resembling, 

In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart — 

If drinking deep, deep, of (he same '• ci.p of tree;. 
b ice'' 
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. 

Like Ihee do'h our nation lie conquer'd and broken, 
And fall'n fiom her head is he once royal crown; 

In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken. 
And " while it isdiy yet, her sun hath gone down."' 

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, 
Die f<r from the home it were life to behold ; 

Like bine do her sons, in 'he day of their mourning, 
Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old. 

Ah. well may we call her, like thee " the Forsaken,"* 
Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; 
And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they 
waken, 
Have tones mid their mirth like the wind over 
graves ! 
Yet hadst thou thy vengeance — yet came there the 
morrow, 
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, 
When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and 
sorrow, 
Was sbiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. 

When that cup, which for others Ihe proud Golden 
City « 
Hal binnm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own 
lips; 
And the world she had trampled on heard, without 
pity. 
The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships. 

When the curse Heaven keeps for Ihe haughty came 
over 

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, 
And. a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover,* 

The Lady of Kingdoms 6 lay I..w in the dust. 



DRINK OF THIS CCP. 

Drink of this cup ; — you 11 find there's a spell in 

lis every d op 'gainst the ills rf mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was » fiction, bu this is reality. 
Would you forret the dark w 'rid we are* in. 

Just tas'e of the bubble that gieams on the top of it ; 
But would you rise above earth, 'ill akin 

To Immortals tbemse'ves, you must drain every 
drop of it ; 
Send round the cup — for oh. there's a spell in 

Its even- drop 'gainst the ills of mortality j 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter f rm'd with such power 
To charm and bew ilder as hi- we are quaffing; 

Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, 
A harvest "of gold in the fields it stood laughing. 



I These verses were writ'en after Ihe perusal of a 
treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the 
Irish were originally Jews, 

■» " Her sun is goue down while it was vet dav." — 
Jer. xv. 9. 

s "Thou ahalt no more be termed Forsaken." — 
Isaiah, Ixii. 4. 

4 " How hath the i ppressor ceased '. the golden city 
ceased !" — Isaia h, xiv. 11. 

* " Thy pomp is brought down to th: grave ..... 
and Ihe worms cover thee." — Isaiah, xiv. 4. 

Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kiag- 
* xlvii. 5. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



m 



There hiving, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd 

With the balm and Ihe bloom of ber kindliest 
weather, 
This wonderful juice from its ere was distill'd 

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together. 
Then diink of the cup — you'll rind there's a spell in 

Its every dn<p 'gain-t the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the coidial 'hat sparkled for Helen 1 

Her cup was a fiction, b.jl this is reality. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 

Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful, 
This phi Iter in secret was first taught to flow on, 

Yet 't is n't less potent for being unlawful. 
And, ev'n thoiiih ii taste of the smoke of that flame, 

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there 's a fire in some hearts I could name. 

Which may work too its charm, though as lawless 
and hidden. 
So drink of the cup — for oh, there 's a spell in 

lis every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial hat spvkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 



THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 
And I 'II tell you your fortune truly 

As ever 't was told, by the new-moon's light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

Eu', for the world, let no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive me; 

Such secrets between you and me and the sky 
Should never go farther, believe me. 

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim, 
My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition, — the image of him 
Whose destiny 't is to adore you. 

And if to that phantom you 'II be kind, 
So fondly around you he '11 hover, 

You '11 hardly, my dear, any difference find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 

An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite 
You 'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

What o'her thoughts and events may arise, 
As in destiny's bunk I 've not seen them, 

Must only be left to (be stars and your eye» 
To settle, ere mcvuing, between them. 



OH, YE DEAD! 

Oh, ye Dead ! oh, ye Dead ! * whom we know by the 

light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like 
men who live, 

Why leave you thus your graves, 
In firviff fields and waves, 
Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed, 
To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
And the hearts that wail'd you, like your own, lie 
dead? 



l Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in 
some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who 
have died in foreign lands walk about and converse 
j with those they meet, like living people. If asked 
' why they do not return to their homes, they s»y they 
are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear im- 
I mediately. 



are gone; 

But still thus ev'n in death, 
So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flowrs in our you 1 we wander'd 
o'er, 

That ere, condemn'd, we go 
To freeze 'mid Hecla's snow, 
We would taste it awhile, and thims we live once 
more ! 



O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS. 

Of all the fair months, that round the sun 
In light-link'd dance their circles run, 

Sweet May, shine ihou for me ; 
For still, when thy earliest beams arise, 
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, 

Sweet May, returns to me. 

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves 
Its lingering smile on golden eves, 

Fair Lake, thou 'rt dearest to me ; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steed 3 f^r him 

Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. 

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 
Young plumed Chiefs on sea nr shore, 

White Steed, most joy to thee! 
Who still, with the first young glance of spring, 
From under that glorious lake dost bring 

My love, my chief, to me. 

While, white as the sail some bark unfurls, 
When newly launch'd, thv long mane 3 curls, 

Fair Steed, as white and free ; 
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers 
Glide o'er ihe blue wave scattering flowers, 

Around my love and thee. 

Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, 
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, 

Most sweet that death will be, 
Which, under the next May evening's light, 
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, 

Dear love, I 'II die for thee. 



ECHO. 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To music at night, 
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, 

Goes answering light. 



* The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Do- 
nohue and his White Horse, may be found in Mr. 
Weld's Account of Killarney, or more fully detailed in 
Derrick's Letters. For mi'ny years after his death, 
the spirit of (his hero is supposed to have been seen on 
Ihe mornine of May-day, gliding over the lake on his 
favourite white hor-e. to the sound of sweet unearthly 
music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, 
who flung wrealhs of delicate spring flowers in his 
path. 

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of 
the Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beau 
tiful girl whose imagination was so impressed with 
the idea of this visionary chieftain, that shs fancied 
herself in love with him.' and at last, in a fit of insani- 
ty, on a May-morning threw heiself into the lake. 

3 The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which 
come on a windy day, crested with foam, "O'Dono- 
hue's white horses." 



172 



IRISH MELODIES, 



Yet Love hath ecVe3 truer tar, 

And far more swee'. 
Than e'er beneath the moonligi.s star, 
Of horn nr lute, or soft guitar, 

The songs repeat. 

'T is when the sigh, in youth sincere, 

And only then,— 
The suh tint "s breath'd for one to hear, 
Is by that one, that only dear, 

Breathed back again ! 



OH BANQUET NOT. 

Oh banquet not in tho-e shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but come to me: 
For mine 's a garden of faded flowers, 

More 6' for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feast of tears, 

And many a cup in silence pour ; 
Our guests, the shades of former years, 

Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 
There, while the myrtle's withering boughs 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
Well brim the bowl 10 broken vows. 

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. 
Or, while some blighted laurel waves 

Its branches o'er the dreary spot, 
We 'II drink to those neglec'ed graves. 

Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 



THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE. 

The dawning of morn, the r!a\ lUht 's sinking, 
The oighl's long hours still find me thinking, 

Of ihee, thee only thee. 
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, 
An) smiles are near, that once enchanted 
Unreached by all that sunshine round, 
>ly soul, like some dirk spot, is haunted 
By thee, thee, only thee. 
Whatever in fame's high path could waken 
My spirit once, is now forsaken 
For thee, thee, only ihee. 
Like shores, by which some headlong bark 

To th' ocean hurries, resting neier, 

Life's scenes eo by me, bright or dark, 

I know not, heed not, hastening ever 

To thee, thee, only thee. 

I have not a in* but of thy bringing, 

And pain itself seems sweet when springing 

From thee, thee, only thee. 
Like spells, that nought on earth ran break. 

Till lips that know ihe chirm, have spoken, 
This heart, howe'erthe world mav wake 
Its grief, its scorn, can bu' be broken 
By thee, thee, only thee. 



SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT. 

Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave 
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes? 

Shall a Mins'.ref of Erin stand mute by the grave. 
Where the first- where the last of her Patriots lies? 

No— faint tho' the death-song may fall fr^m his lips, 
Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be 
crost, 

Yet. yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse. 
And proclaim to the world what a star hath I 



What a union of all the affecions and powers 
By which life is exalted, embellish'd, refined, 

Was emt. raced in that spirit — wh' se centre was oars, 
While is mighty circumference circled mankind. 

Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see, 
Through the waste of her annals, that epoch sub- 
lime — 

Like a pyramid raised in the desert — where he 
And his glory s;and out to the eyes of all time ; 

That o?ie lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom 
And the madness of ages, w hen fill'd w ith his soul, 

A Nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, 
And for ant sacred instant, tnuch'd Liberty's goal ? 

Who, that ever hath heard him — hath drunk at the 
s< urce 

Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, 
In whose hieh-thoujhted daring, the fire, and Ihe force, 

And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown ? 

An eloquence rich, wheres-ever its wave 

Wander'd free and triumphant, with thoughts that 
shone through. 

As clear as the br.ok's "stone of lustre. r and gave, 
With the flash of the gem, its solidity too. 

Who, that ever approach'd him, when free from the 
crowd, 
In a h< me full of love, he delighted to tread 
'Mong the trees which a nation bad giv'n, and which 
bow'd, 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his head — 

Is there one, who hath thus, through his oibit of life 
But at distance observed him — through glory, 
through b'ame, 

In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, 
Whether shining or clouded, still high and the 



Oh, no, not a heart, that e'er knew him. but 
Deep, deep o'er the grave, where such glory is 



O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the urns 
Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind ! 



OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. 

Oh, the sight entrancing. 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files aray'd 

With helm and blade. 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing I 
Wben hearts are all high I 
And the trumpet's voice repeating 

That song, whose breath 

May lead to death, 
But never to retrt 
Oh. the sight enhancing. 
When mornii g's be<m is glancing 

O'er tiles a rav'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing. 

Yet, t is not helm or feather— 

For ask yon despot, whether 

His plumed bands 

Could bring such hands 
And hearts as ours together. 
Leave |.omps to tho-e who need 'em — 
Give man but heart and freedom, 

And pp ud he braves 

T! e gaudiest slaves 
That crawl w here monarehs lead 'em. 
The sword may pie 
Stcne walls in time may sever, 



- patriot, Grattan, in the year 1S20. It is only the two 
| 1 These line s were written on the death of our great fir,t verses that are eitl.tr intended or titt. d to best** 



IRISH MELODIES. 



173,1 



T is mind alone, 

World steel and stone, 
That keeps men free for ever. 
Oli, that sight entrancing, 
When the morning's beam is glancing, 

O'er files array 'd 

With helm and blade. 
And in freedom's cause advancing 1 



SWEET INNISFALLEN. 

Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 
May calm and sunshine long be thine I 

How fair thou art let others tell, — 
To feel how fair shall long be mine. 

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 
In memory's dream ihat sunny smile, 

Which o'er thee on th.\t evening fell, 
When first I saw thy fairy isle. 

'T was light, indeed, too blest f r one, 
Who had to turn to paths of care — 

Through crowded haui) s again to run. 
And leave thee bright and silent there; 

No more unto thy shores to come, 
But, on the world's rude ocean tost, 

Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 
Of sunshine he had seen and lost. 

Far betler in thy weeping hours 
To part from thee, as I do now, 

When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, 
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. 

For, though unrrvaU'd still thy grace, 

Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, 
But thus in shadow, seem'st a place 

Where erring man might hope lo rest- 
Might hope to rest, and find in thee 

A gloom like Eden's, on the day 
He left its shade, when every tree, 

Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way. 

Weeping or smiling, lovely isle! 

And all the lovelier for fhy tears — 
For Iho' but rare thy sunny smile, 

'T is heav'u's own glance when it appears. 

Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 
But, « hen indeed ihey come, divine — 

The brightest light the sun e'er ihrew 
Is lifeless to one gleam of tliiue 1 



>T WAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.i 

'T was one of those dreams, that by music are brought, 
Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's waim 

thought — 
When, lost III the future, his soul wanders on, 
And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. 

The wild no'es he heard o'er the water were those 
He had taught to sing Erin's daik bondage and woes, 
And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er 
From Dinis' green isle, to Glena's wooded shore. 

He listen'd — while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest. 
The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest; 
And the echoes sung back fiom their full mountain 

quire, 
As if loth to let song so enchanting expire. 



It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died here, 
Was again brought lo life in some airier sphere, 
Some heav'n in those hills, where the soul of the strain 
That had ceased upon eaith was awaking again ! 

Oh, forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath 
Seem'd to circle his name wiih a charm against death, 
He should feel a proud Spirit within him proclaim, 
"Even so shall thou live in the echoes of Fame : 

"Even so, tho' thy memory should now die away, 
"'T will be caught up again in some happier day, 
" And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, 
41 Through the answering Future, thy name and thy 
eong." 



FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. 

Fairest ! put on awhile 

These piuions of light I bring thee, 
And o'er thy own green isle 

In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel's plume, 

At golden sunset hover 
O'er scenes so full of bloom, 

As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where the Spring delays 

And fearlessly meets the ardour 
Of the warm Summer's gaze, 

With only her tears to guard her. 
Rocks, through myrtle boughs 

In grace majestic frowning. 
Like some bold warrior's brows 

That love hath just been crowning. 

Islets, so freshly fair, 

That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But fiom his course thro' air 

He hath been won down by them ; 3 — 
Types, sweet maid, of thee, 

who'e look, whose blush inviting, 
Never did Love yet see 

From Heav'n, without alighting. 

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid, 3 

And caves, where the gem is sleeping, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

Lets fell in lonely weeping. 
Glens.* where Ocean comes. 

To 'scipe the wild wind's rancour. 
And Harbours, worthiest homes 

Wheie Fieedom's tleet cm anchor. 

Then, if, while scenes so grand, 

So beautiful, shine before thee, 
Pride for thy own dear land 

Should haply be sttaling o'er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first, 

O'er pride itself victorious — 
Thinking how man hath curst 

What Heaven had made so glorious ! 



Writlen during a visit lo Lord Kenmare, at Kil- 
larney. 

15* 



» In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of 
Forth), Dr. Keating -ays, " I here is a certain attrac- 
tive virtue in the soil which draws down all the Iiirds 
that attempt to flyover it, and obliges them to light 
upon the rock. 

S "Nennius. a British writer of the nin'h century, 
mentions the abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their 
prince*, he says, hung them behind their ears: ar.d 
this we find confirmed by a present made A. C. 1094, 
by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, tn Anselm, Aich- 
bishop of Canterbury, of a considerable quantity of 
Irish pearls." — O'HaUoran. 

• Glengariff. 



174 



IRISH MELODIES. 



QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. 

Quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round the cup, while you may; 
For Time, the chuil, hah beckon'd, 

And we must away, away ! 
Grasp the pleasure ih-t's flying, 

For oh, not Orpheus' s'rain. 
Could keep sweet hours from dying, 
Or charm them to life again. 
Then, quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round the cup, while you may; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 

See the glass, how it flushes, 

Like some young-Hebe's lip. 
And half meets thine, and blushes 
That thou shouldsi delay to sip. 
Shame, oh shame unto thee, 

If ever ihou see'st that day, 
When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 
And turn untouch'd away ! 
Then, quick ! we have but a second, 

Fill round, fill round, while you may; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away I 



AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. 

And doth not a meeting like this make amends. 

For all the long years I 've been waid'riug away — 
To see thus around me my youth's ea'ly friends, 

As smiling and kind as in ihat happy day ? 
Though haply o'er some • f your brows, as o'er mine, 

The snow-lall of time may be stealing — what then? 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, 

We 'II wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. 

What snften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, 

In gazing on those we 've been lost to so long! 
The >orrows. the joys, of winch once they were part 

Still round tl.em. like vision:- of \es'erd'ay, throng. 
As letters some hand hath invisibly trac'd, 

When held to the Dime will s eil out on the sight, 
So many a feeling, that long seein'd cfficrd. 

The warmth ol a moment like this brings to light. 

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, 

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
Th >' oft we may see. looking down on the tide. 

The wreck of full many a hope s'lining through; 
Yet still, as in fancy we point 'o the fl >wers. 

That once made a garden of all the gay >hore, 
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, 

And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once 



So brief our essence, a glimpse, at tie most, 

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear; 
And oft even joy is unheeded <nd I st. 

For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. 
Ah, well may « e lope, when ihsshoit life i- gone, 

To meet in some world of more permanent bl.ss, 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, ha-t'iiiug on, 

Is all we enjoy of each other in th s.a 



» Jours charmans, quand je songe a vous heureux 
i Asians, 
Je ]>ense remonter le fleuve de mes ans : 
Et nton cocur encnante sur sa ri\e fieurie 
Respire encore 1'air pur du matin de la vie. 
* The same thought his been happih expressed by 
mv friend Mr. Washing! n Irving, in his Bra&bridge 
Hall, vol. i. p. 213. Tl.e sincere pleasure which I 
feel in calling this gentleman my friend, is much en- 
hanced by the reflection that he is too r o d an Ameri- 
can, to have admiiied me so readily to such a distinc- 
tion, if he had not kuowu that my feelings towards 



it, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, 

The more we should welcome and bless them the 
more; 
They're ours, when we meet, — they are lost when 
we part, 

Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er. 
Thus circling the a. p. hand in hand, ere we drink, 

Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, tbro' pain, 
That, fast as a feelii g but touches one link, 

Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain. 



THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. 

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 

A youth, whose moments had ca mly flown, 

Till spells came o'er him, and, da> and night, 

He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite. 

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er 
The golden sands of Ihat island shore, 
A footprint sparkled before his sight — " 
T was the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite 1 

Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 

As bending over ibe stream he I y, 

There prep d down o'er him two eyes of light, 

And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite. 

He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird, 

That spirit fled '. — aid the youth bu' beard 

Sweet mu-ic, such a- marks the flight 

Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. 

One night, still haunted by that bright look, 

The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil look, 

And, guided only by memory's ligtv, 

Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. 

Oh, thou, who lovest the shadow," cried 
A voice, low whisp'ring by his side, 

Now turn and see,"' — here the youth* delight 
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. 

Of all the Spiits of land and sea," 
Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee, 
. oh, oft, may Ihy fuoi thus light 
In this lonely bower, sweet Mouuuiu Sprite !• 



AS VANQUISHED ERIN. 

As vanquish 'd Era «ept beside 

The Boyne's ill-tateJ river, 
She siw where Discoid, in 'be tide, 

Had dropi \i his loaded quiver. 
" Lie hid, darts, 

•• Where mortal • j 
" Lie hid — the stain i f manly hearts, 

" That bled for me, is on you." 

But vain her wish, her weeping vain, — 
As Time lr«<> well hath !a< ght her — 

Each ye>r "-gain, 

And divts into th.a' »a er : 

And brings, triumphant, from beueaih 

And sends ■ D worse than death, 

Through all her maud'nii g 

Alas, for her who sits and mourns, 
Ev'n s. x-r — 

•urns, 
And stored is s ill bis qt 



the great and free ■ him birth, nave 

been long such as every reil lover of the liberty and 
happiness of the human race must entertain. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



175 



1 When will this end, ye Powers of Good ? ' 

She weeping asks for ever; 
iui only hears, from out that flood, 

The Demon answer, "Never !" 



DESMOND'S SONG.t 

By the Feal's wave benighted, 

No star in the skies, 
To thy door by Love lighted, 

1 hi si saw ihose eyes. 
Some voice whisper'd o'er ine, 

As the threshold I crust, 
There was ruin before me, 

If I loved, 1 was lost. 

Love came, and brought sorrow 

Too soon in his tram ; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 

>T were welcome again. 
Though misery's full measure 

My portion should be, 
I would drain it with pleasure, 

If poui'd out by thee. 

You, who call it dishonour 

To bow to this flame, 
If you 've eyes, look but on her, 

And blush while you blame. 
Hath the pearl less whiteness 

Because nf its birth? 
Ha>h the violet less brightness 

For grou ing near earth ? 

No — Man for his glory 

To ancestry flies; 
But Woman's bright story 

Is told in her e\es. 
While the Monarch but traces 

Thro' mortals his line, 
Beauty, born of the Graces, 

Ranks next to Divine ! 



THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART 

They know not my heart, who believe there can be 
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee ; 
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour, 
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flow'r, 
I c uld harm what I love,— as the sun's wanton ray 
But smiles on the dew-drop lo waste it away. 

No— beaming with light as those young features are, 
There's a light round thy he<rt which is lovelier far: 
I' is not tint cheek — 'I is the soul dawning clear 
Thro' its innoceni blush makes ihy beauty so dear; 
As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair, 
Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there ! 



I WISH I WAS BY THAT DIM LAKE. 



t "Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had 
accidentally been so engagtd in the chase, that he was 
benighted near Tralee. and obliged lo take shel'er at 
the Abbev of Feal, in the house of one of his depend- 
ants, called Mac Conine. Catherine, a beautiful 
daughter of his host, instan'ly inspired the Earl with 
a violent passion, which he could not subdue. He 
married he', and by this inferior alliance alienated his 
followers, whose brula 1 pride regarded his indulgence 
of his love as an unpardonable degradat:on Of hi, 
family."— Ltland, vol. ii. 

2 These verses are meant to allude to that ancient 



Of this vain world, and half-way lie ' 

In death's cold sh'dow, ere they die. 

There, there, far from thee, 

Deceitful world, my home should be; 

Where, come what might of gloom and pain, 

False hope should ne'er deceive again. 

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 

Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves, quiv'ring o'er my head, 

Like man, unquiet ev'n when dead! 

These, av, these shall wean 

My soul from life's deluding scene, 

And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom, 

Like willows, downward low'rds the tomb. 

As they, who to their couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the light, 
So must the hopes, that keep this breast 
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. 
Cold, cold, this heart must grow, 
Unmoved by either joy or woe, 
Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown 
Within their current turns to stone. 



SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre 

The rosy rays of evening fell, 
As if to feed with their soil fire 

The soul wiihin that trembling shell. 
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, 

And play'd around those lips that sung 
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speal 

If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. 

But soon the West no longer burn'd, 

Each ro~y ray from hea^'n withdrew; 
And, when to gaz» again 1 turn'd, 

The minstrel's form <eem'd fading too. 
As if her light ami heav'n's were one, 

The gloiy all had left that frame; 
And from her glimmering lips the tone, 

As fiom a parting spirit, came.3 

Who ever loved, but had the thought 

That he and all he loved must part? 
Fill'd wjih this fear, I flew and caught 

The fading image to my heart — 
And cried. " Oh Love ! is this thy doom ? 

"Oh lisiht of youth's resplendent day! 
" Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 

"And thus, like sunshine, die away?" 



haunt of superstition, called Patrick's Purgatory. "In 
the midst of these gloomy regions of Donegal! (says 
Dr. Campbell) lay a lake, which was to become the 
mystic theatre of this fabled and intermediate stale. 
In Ihe lake were several islands ; hut one of them 
was dignified with that called the Mouth of Purga- 
tory, which, during the dak ages, a'tracted the notice 
of all Christendom, and was the resort of penitents 
and pilgrims from almost every country in Europe " 

" It was," as the same wiiter tells us, ''one of the 
most dismal and dreary spms in the North, almost in- 
accessible, through deep glens and rugged mountains, 
frightful with impending rocks, and the hollow mur- 
murs of the western winds in dark caverns, peopled 
only with such fantastic beings as Ihe mind, however 
gay, is, from strange association, wont to appropriate 
to such gloomy seems " — Strictures on the Ecclesias- 
tical and LiUrary History of Ireland. 

3 The thought here was suggested by some beautiful 
lines in Mr. Rogers's poem of Human Life, begin- 
ning — 

" Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows 
Less and less earthly." 

I would quote the entire passage, did I not fear to put 
my own humble imitation of it out of countenance. 



176 



IRISH MELODIES, 



SING — SING — MUSIC WAS GIVEN. 

Sing — sing — Music was iriven, 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; 
Soul? here, like placets in Heaven, 

By harmony':, laws alone are kept moving. 
Bea'uiy may boast of her ejcs and her cheeks, 

But Love from the lips his true archery wings; 
And she, who but feathers the d^rt when she speaks, 
At once sends it home to the heart when she sings. 
Then sing — sing— Music »as given, 

To biighten the gay, and kindle the loving; 
Souls here, like panels in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 

When Love, rock'd by his mother, 

Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could make him, 
" Hush, hush." said Venus, "no other 

"Sfl'eet voice but his own is worthy to wake him." 
Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while, 

Till faint from hi* lip a soft melody broke, 
And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile, 
While Love to his own s«eet singing awoke. 
Then sing — sing — Music was givf-n, 

To brighter, the gay, and kindle the loving; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 



THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET. 

Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee, 
Thou 'It find there (he best a poor bard can com- 
mand: 
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to 
light thee. 
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand. 

And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from 
the dwelling 

Of him thou regrirdest her favouring ray. 
Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling, 

Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way. 

T is that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion 
Can turn from the pa'h a pure conscience approves ; 

Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the 
pinion, 
Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves. 

'T is this makes the pride of his humble retreat. 
And, with this, though of all other treasures be- 
reaved. 

The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet 
Than the c stlies! incense thai Pomp e'er receiv'd. 

Then, come, — if a board so untempting hith power 
To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; 

And there 's one, long the light of the bard's happy 
bovver, 
Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with 



SING, SWEET HARP. 

Sing, sweet Harp, oh sine to me 

c of ancient days. 
Whose s undi. in this sad memory, 

Long buried dreams shall rai*e ; — 
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame, 

Whii'e light once round us shone; 
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame, 

And hopes fur ever g"ne. — 
Sin», sad Harp, thus sing to me; 

Alike our d<om is cast, 
Bo'h lost to all but memory, 

We live but in the pas'. 



How mournfully the midnight air 

Among thy chords doth sigh, 
As if i I sought some echo there 

Of voices long gone by : — 
Of Chief ains, now forgot, who seeio'd 

The foremost then in fame ; 
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd, 

Now sleep without a name. — 
In vain, sad Harp, 'he midnight air 

Among thy chords doth si^h ; 
In vain it seeks an echo there 

Of voices long gone by. 

Could'st thou but call those spirits round, 

Who once, in bower and hall, 
Sate listening to thy majjic sound, 

Now mute and mouldering all ; — 
Bu', no; they would but wake to weep 

Their children's slavery ; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, 

The dead, at least, are free ! — 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, 

That knell of Freedom's day ; 
Or, lis'eniog to its death-like moan, 

Let me, too, die away. 



SONG OF THE BATTLE EVE. 
TIME— THE NINTH CENTCRT. 

To-morrow, comrade, we 
On the battle-plain must be, 

There to conquer, or both lie low ! 
The morning star is up,- 



But there 's wine still in Ihe cup, 

And we 'II take another quaff, ere we go, boy p 

We 'II take another quaff, ere we go. 
T is true, in manliest eyes 
A passing tear will rise, 

When we think of t*ie friends we leave lone ; 
But what can wailing do? 
See, our goblet 's weeping too ! 

With its tears we 'II chase away our own, hoy cur 
own; 

With its tears well chase away our own. 



The last that o'er us si 

Saw our children around us pay , 
The neit — ah ! where shall we 
And those n>sy urchins be? 

But— no matter — gra-p thy sword and away, boy, 

No matter — grasp thy sword and away ! 
Let those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 

Ignobly by their fire-sides stay; 
One sigh to home t.e given. 
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, 

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra ! hurra ! 
hurra! 

Then, for Erin and ber cause, hurra ! 



THE WANDERING BARD. 

What life like that of the bard can be.— 

The uanderinc bard, who roams as free 

As 'he mountain lak that o'er him sings, 

And, like that lark, a music 

Within him, where'er he c^mes or gjes,— 

A fount thai for evt 

The world's to him like some pi av -ground. 

Where fa 

If dimm'd the tL - : .trod. 

The elves t 

So, when ie-- t jf glee. 

To another away Cies he 1 



IRISH MELODIES. 



17' 



Cfc, what would have been young Beauty's doom, 

Wiihou' a bard to tix her bloom ? 

They teil u-, in 'he moon's b' ight round, 

Things lost in this dark world are found; 

So charms, on earth long pass'd and gone, 

In the putt's lay live on — 

Would yr lave smiles that ne'er grow dim ? 

You 've only to give ihem all to him, 

Who, with'but a much of Fancy's wand, 

Can lend them life, this life beyond, 

And fix then, high, in Poesy's sky,— 

Young stars that never die! 

Then, welcome I he bard where'er he comes,— 

For, though he hath countless airy homes, 

To which his wing excursive roves, 

Yet still, from time to lime, he loves 

To light upon eanh and find such cheer 

As brightens our banquet here. 

No matter how far, how fleet he flies, 

You've only to light up kind young eyes, 

Such signal fires as here are given,— 

And down he 'II drop from Fancy's heaven, 

The minute such call to love or mirth 

Proclaims he 's wanting ou earth ! 



ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON. 

Alone in crowds to wander on, 

And feel that all the charm is gone 

Which voices dear and eyes beloved 

Shed round us once, where'er we roved — 

This, this the doom must be 

Of all who've loved, and lived to see 

The few bright things they thought would stay 

For ever near them, die away. 

Tho' fairer forms around us throng, 

Their smiles lo others all belong, 

And want that charm which dwells alone 

Round those the fund heart calls its own. 

Where, where the sunny brow? 

The long-known voice — where are they now? 

Thus ask 1 still, nor ask in vain, 

The silence answers all too plain. 

Oh, what is Fancy's magic worth, 

If all her art cannot call forth 

One bliss like these we fell of old 

From lips now mute, and eyes now cold ? 

No, no, — her spell is vain, — 

As soon could she bring back again 

Those eyes themselves from out the grave, 

As wake again one bliss they gave. 



I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE. 

1 've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not here, — 

Oh ! not where the world its vigil keeps : 
1 'II seek, to whisper il in thine ear, 

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps; 
Where summer's wave unmurmuring dies, 

Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush ; 
Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs, 

The rose saith, chidingly, " Hush, sweet, hush!" 

There, amid the deep silence of that hour, 
I When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 
j Thyself shall, under some rosy bower, 
< Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip : 
; Like him, the boy.i who born among 

The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush, 

Sits ever thus,— his only song 
I To earth and heaven, " Hush , all, bush ! " 

! i The God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyp- 



SONG OF INNISFAIL. 

They came frt m a land beyond the sea, 

And now o'er the weser'n main 
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, 

From the sunny land of Spain. 
•' Oh, where 's the Isle we 've seen in dreams, 

"Our destin'd home or grave?'* 
Thus sung they as, by the morning's beams, 

They swept the Atlantic wave. 

And, lo, where afar o'er ocean shines 

A sparkle of radiant green. 
As though in that deep lay-emerald mines, 

Whose light thro' the wave was seen. 
<"T is Innisfail 2 — t is Innisfail !" 

Rings o'er the echoing sea ; 
While, bending to heav'n, the warriors hail 

That home of the brave and free. 

Then turn'd they unto the Eastern wave, 

Where now their Day-God's eye 
A look of such sunny omen gave 

As lighted up sea and sky. 
Nor frown was seen through sky or sea, 

Nor tear o'er leaf or sod, 
When first on their Isle of Destiny 

Our great forefathers trod. 



THE NIGHT DANCE. 

Strike the gay harp ! see the moon is on high, 

And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, 
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, 

Obey the mute call, and heave into motion, 
Then, sound notes — the gayest, the lightest, 

That ever took wing, when heav'n look'd brightest S 
Again ! Again ! 
Oh ! could such heart-stirring music be heard 

In that City of Statues describ'd by romancers, 
So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirr'd, 

And statues themselves all start into dancers ! 

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears, 

And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us, — 
While stars overhead leave the son? of Ibeir spheres, 

And lisl'ning to ours, hang wondering o'er us? 
Again, that strain ! — to hear it thus sounding 

Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding — 
Again ! Again 1 
Oh, what delight when the youthful and gay, 

Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a fea- 
ther, 
Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May, 

And mingle sweet song and sunshine together 1 



THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. 

There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, 

And lamps from every casement shown ; 
While voices blithe within are singing. 

That seem to say " Come," in every tone. 
Ah ! once how light, in Life's young'season, 

My heart had leap'd at that >»eel lay : 
Nor paus'd lo ask of greybeard Reason 

Should I the syren call obey. 



3 "Milesius remembered the remarkable prediction 
of the principal Druid, who foretold that the po-terily 
of GadeJus should obtain the possession of a Western 
Island (which was Ireland), and there inhabit." — 
Keating. 



178 



IRISH MELODIES. 



And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 

The syren lips more fondly sound ; 
No, seek, ve nymphs, some victim filter 

To sink' in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms 

Could bend to tyranny's rude control, 
Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms, 

And yield to a smile bis freeborn soul? 

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, 

The nymphs iheir fet'ers around him cast, 
And,— their laughing eyes, the while, concealing,— 

Led Freedoms Bard Iheir slave a! last. 
For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving, 

Was like that r ck at the Druid race,* 
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, 

But all earth's power couldn't cast from is base. 



OH ! ARBANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE. 

Oh ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, 

How oft 1 dream of thee, 
And of Ih-se day9 when, by Ihy shore, 

I wander'd young and free ! 
Full many a path I 've tried, since then, 

Through pleasure's flowery maze, 
But ne'er could find the bliss again 

1 felt in those sweet days. 

How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs 

At sunny morn I 've stood. 
With heart as bounding as Ihe skiffs 

That danced along thy flood ; 
Or, when the we-.ie.-n wave grew bright 

Wilh daylight's parlii g wing, 
Have sought that Eden in its light 

Which dreaming poets sing* j_ 

That Eden where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene,— 
Wh>se bow'is beyond the shining wave, 

At sunset, oft are seen. 
Ah dream loo full of sadd'ning truth ! 

Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I built in youth 

As sunny and as vaiu ! 



LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE. 

Lay his sword by his side,' — it hath served him too 
well 

Not to rest near his pillow below; 
To the last moment tiue, from his hand ere it fell, 

lis poini was still turn'd to a flying foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers in life, let them slumber in death, 

Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave,— 
That s\\ ord which he loved s'ill unbroke in its sheath, 

And him. elf unsubdued in his giave. 

Yet pau=e — for, in fancy, a slill voice I hear. 
As if brealhed from las brave heart's remains; — 

Faint echo of that which, in SI utv'. ear, 
Once sounded the war-word, " Burst your chains ! * 



And it cries, from the grave where the hern lie? deep, 
<* Tho' ihe d>y of your Chieftain for ever bath ser, 

" Oh, leave nut his sword thus inglorious to sleep, — 
" It hath victory's life in it yet • 

" Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield, 
" Dare to touch thee, my o»n gallant sword, 

"Then rest in thy sheath, like a lalisman seal'd, 
" Or re'urn to the grave of thy chainless lord. 

" But, if grasp'd by a baud that hath learn'd the proud 

« Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,— 
"Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose, 
fc Leap fonh from thy dark sheath again ! " 



» The Racking Sior.es of the Dr.ii)«, son;e of which 
no force is able to dislodge from their stations. 

3 •' The inhabitants of Arranm re are still per- 
suaded that, in a clear day, ihey can see from this 
coast Hy Brvsail or the Enchanted Island, the Paradise 
oi the Pa^mi Irish, and concermn? which thev relate 
a number of roman'ic s'ories." — Br-atiforl's j/icteni 
I :y of Inland. 

3 It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in the man- 
ner of the Scythians, to bury Ihe favourile swords oi 
their heices along with them. 



OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD 
OF OURS. 
Ob, conld we do with ibis world of ours 
As thou dost with thy garden bowers, 
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers, 

What a heaven on earth we'd make it! 
So bright a dwelling should be our own, 
So warranted free from sigh or frown, 
That angels soon would be coming down, 
By the week or month to take it. 

Like those gay flies that wing thro' air, 
And in themselves a lustre bear, 
A st ck of light, still ready ihere, 

Whenever they wish to use it ; 
So, in this world I 'd make for ihee. 
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, 
And |be flash of wit or p"e>y 

Break forth whenever we choose it 

While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere 
Hah still s me shad nw hovering near, 
In this new world of ours, my dear, 

Such shadows will all be omii'ed : — 
Unless Ihey 're like that graceful Oi.e, 
Which, when thou 'rt dancing in the tun, 
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon 

Each spot where it hath flitted ! 



THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. 

The wine-cup is circling in Almhin's hall,* 

And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining, 

Looks up, with a sigh, 'o he tn.phied wall, 

Where his sword hanes idly shining. 

When, haik ! thai shout 

From the vale with ut. — 
" Arm ve quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh 1 » 

Ev'ry Chief sta 

Fr in hi- foaming cup, 
And " To battle, 10 battle ! " is the Finian's cry. 

The mins'rels have seized their harps of gold, 

And they sing such thrilling numbers, — 
T is like the voice of the Brave, of nfct, 
Breaking f^rth f . m iheir place of slumbers! 
Spear to buckler ran;, 
As the niin-trcls sanj, 
And the Sun-burst » o'er them floated wide; 
While reii.emb'rit-g the yoke 
Which their fal , 
" On for liberty, for liberty '." the Finhns cried. 



« The Palace of Fin Mac-Coml.al (Ihe Fmgal of 
Macpherson) in Lcins'er. It «a? buill 00 ihe "top c-f 
the hill, which has retail t 
the Hill or Allen, in th. 
Finians, or Frnii, » ere the 
of Ireland, whirh • 

cbr. iiisin cominou to most of ihe Fmun and Osuante 

» I he name given to the banner of the Irish. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



179 



Like clouds of the nighl tlie Northmen came, 

O'er tlie valley of Almhin lowering; 
While onward moved, in the light of its fame, 
That banner of Erin, towering. 

With the mingling shock 

Hung cliff and rock, 
While, rai.k on rank, the invaders die: 

And the shout, that last 

O'er Ihe dying pass'd, 
W..s *• victory ! victory !" — the Finian's cry. 



THE DREAM OF THOSE DATS. 

The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er, 
Thy triumph hath staiu'd the charm thy sorrows then 

U ore ; 
And ev'n of the light which Hope once shed o'er thy 

chains, 
Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. 

Say, is it 'hat slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, 
That still the dark brand is there, tho' chainless thou 

art; 
And Free loin's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long 

burn'd, 
Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath lurn'd? 

Up Libeity's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, 
With eyes on her temple fix'd, how proud was thy 

tread ! 
Ah, better thou ne'er hid'st lived that summit to gain, 
Or died in the porch, than thus dishonour the fane. 



FROM THIS HOUR THE FLEDGE IS GIVEN. 

From this hour the pledge is given, 

From this hour my BOtll is thine: 
Come what will, from earth or heaven, 

Weal or woe, thy fa'e be mine. 
When Ihe proud and great stood by thee, 

None dared thy rights 10 spurn ;" 
And if now thei're false and fly thee, 

Shall I, loo, ba-ely turn? 
No ; — whate'er the' fires that try thee, 

Iii the same this heart shall burn. 

Tho' the sea, where thou embaikest, 

Otl'eis now no friendly shore, 
Light may come where all looks darkest, 

Hope hath life, when life seems o'er. 
And. of those past ages dreaming, 

When gl >ry deckd thy brow, 
Oft I fondly think, though seeming 

So fall'n and clouded n >w, 
Thou 'It again break forth, all bemiiug,— 

None so bright, so blest as thou ! 



SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS.i 

Silence is in our festal halls, — 

Sweet Son of Sons ! thy course is o'er; 
In vain on thee sad Eiin calls. 

Her minstrel's vice responds no more;— 
All silent asth' Eolian si, ell 

Sleeps at the close of some biightdav, 
When the sweet breeze, that waked its'swell 

At sunny morn, hath died away. 



Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long. 

Awaked by music's spell, shall rise; 
For, name so link'd with deathless song 

Partakes its charm and never dies: 
And ev'n within the holy fa> e, 

When music wafts the soul to heaven, 
One thought to him, whose earliest stiain 

Was echoed there, shall long be given. 

But, where is now the cheerful day, 

The social night, when, by thy side, 
He, who now weaves this parting lay, 

His skilless voice with thine allied; 
And sung those songs whose even tone, 

When bard and minstrel long have past, 
Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 

Embalm'd by lame, undying last. 
Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame, — 

Or, if thy hard have shared the crown, 
From thee the borrow'd glory came, 

And at thy feet is now laid down. 
Enough, if Freedom still inspire 

His latest song, and Mill (here be, 
As evening closes round his lyre, 

One ray upon its chords from thee. 



APPENDIX: 

CONTAINING 

THE ADVERTISEMENTS 

Originally prefixed to the Different Numhert, 

AND THE 

PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



« It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the 
reader, that these lines are meant as a tribute of sin- 
cere friendship to the meniorv of an old and valued 
colleague in this work, Sir John Stevenson. 



ADVERTISEMENT PREFIXED TO THE FIRST 

AND SECOND NUMBERS. 

Power takes 'he liberty cf announcing to the Public 
a Work which has long been a Desideratum in this 
counn y. I hough the beauties of the National Music 
of Ireland have been very generally felt and acknow- 
ledged, yet it has happened, through the want of ap- 
propriate English woids, and i f the apangement ne- 
cessiry to adapt them to the voice, that many of Ihe 
most excellent composi'ionshave hi'herto remained in 
obscurity. It is intended, therefore, to f nil a Col- 
lection of the best Original Irish Melodies, with cha- 
racteristic Symphonies and Accompaniments; and 
wi'h Words containing, as frequently as possible, 
allusions to the manners and history of the countiy. 
Sir John Stevenson h;s very kindly consented to 
undertake tlie arrangement of the Airs ; and the lovers 
of Simple Ni'ional music may res' secure, that in such 
tas'eul hands the native charms of the original me- 
lody «t ill not be sacrificed tothe ostentation of science. 

In the poetical Pirl. Power has had promises of 
assistance from several distinguished l.ite'ary Chaac- 
te>s; particulaily from Mr. Moore, whose lyrical 
talent is so peculiarly suited to such a task, and whose 
zeal in the undertaking w«ll he best understood from 
the following Extract of a Letter which he lias ad- 
dressed to Sir John Stevenson on the subject : — 

'• I feel very arxious that a wotk of this kind should 
be undertaken. We have too long neglected the only 
talent for which our English neighbours ever deigned 
to allow us any credit. Our Na'i nal Music has 
never been propetly collected ;3 and, while the com- 

I ' The writer forgot, when he made this assertion, 
that the public are indebted to Mr. Bunting for a very 
valuable collection of Irish Music ; and that the pa- 
triotic genius of Miss Owensou has been employed. 

! upon some of our finest airs. 



180 



PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



posers of the Onti rent have eoricl ed theirOperas and 
Sonatas with Melodies borrowed from lrelai d.— very 
often wilhout even the honesty of acknowledgment,— 
we have left these treasures, in a great degree, un- 
cla med and fugitive. Thus our Airs, like too many 
of our countrymen, have, for want of protection at 
home, passed into the service of foreigners. But we 
are come, I hi pe, to a beter pericri of both Politics 
and Music; and how much they are conneced, in 
Ireland at least, appears too plainly in the tore of 
sorrow and depression which charac erizes most of our 
early Songs. 

"The lak which you propose to me, of adapting 
words to these ais. is by no meai.s easy. The Foe , 
who would follow the various sen'imen s which they 
express, must feel arid unde st-rnd that rapid fluctua- 
tion of spirits, that unaccountable mixture of gloom 
and levity, which c mpo-es the character of my coun- 
trymen, and has deeply tinged their Music, Lven in 
their liveliest strains we find s me melancholy mite 
intrude,— some minor Third or Hat Seventh,— w hich 
throws its shade as it p sses, and makes even mirth 
interesting. If Burns bad been an Irishman (and 1 
would willingly giw up all our claims upon Ossi.in for 
him), his heart w'ould have been proud of such music, 
and his genius would have made it immortal. 

" Another difficulty (which is, however, purely me- 
chanical; ar ses fr ni the irregular structure of many 
of those airs, and the lawless kind of metre which it 
will in consequence be necessary to adapr to them. In 
these instances ttie Poet mustwrie, not to the c>e, but 
to the ear; and must be content to have his verse- of 
that description which Cicero mentions, 'Quossicantu 
sjinlinverix nuda rema?i,bit oralio.' 'that lau ilu, 
.Air, 'The 1 wising of the Rope,' which has all the 
romantic character of the Sw.ss Ranz da Pacha, is 
one of those wild and sentimen'al rc.kcs which it will 
not be very easy to tie down in sober wedlock « it h 
Poetry. However, notw i'hs anding all these difficul- 
ties, and the very moderate portion of talent which I 
can bring to surmount them, the design aupears to me 
so truly National, 'hat I shall feel much pleasure in 
giving it all the assistance iu my power. 

"Leicestershire, Feb. 1807." 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD NUMBER. 

In presenting the Third Number of this work to the 
Public. Power begs leave to offer Ins acknowledg- 
ment- for the very libeial pa'ronage wih which it has 
uied ; id to expre-s a hope tint he una- 
bated zeal of those who have hitherto so admirably 
conducted it, will enable him to continue it Ihiough 
many future Numbers wiih equal spirit, variety, and 
t ste. The s'ock of popular Melodies is far from 
being exhausted ; and there is still in reserve an abun- 
dance nf bcau'iful Airs, which call upon Mr. Moore, 
in the language he so well understand-, to save them 
from the oblivion to which thev are hastening. 

Power respectfully trus's he will not be thought 
presump'u'us iu saying, that he Ueh proud, as an 
Irishman, in even the very subordinate share which 
he can claim, in promo ing a Work so creditable to 
the talents of the Country,— a Woik which, from the 
spirit of nationality it b ea'hes, will do more, he is 
c mvinced. towards' liberalizing the feelings of society, 
and producing that b'O'hrrhood of sentiment which it 
is so much our interest to cherish, than could ever be 
effected by the mere arguments of well-intentioned but 
uninteresting politicians. 



in general, I have much pleasure in selecting one from 
that number, to whom my share of the Work is par- 
ticularly dedicated. 1 know that, though your Lady- 
ship has been so long absent from Ireland, vou still 
continue to remember it well and warmly,— 'that 70s 
have not suffered the attractions of English society to 
produce, like the taste of the lotus, any lorge'fulness 
tf your own country, but that even the bumble tribute 
which I offer derives its chief claim u|ion your inte- 
rest and sympathy from the appeal which it makes to 
your patriotism. Indeed, absence, however fatal to 
e affections of the heart, rather tends to strengthen 
love for the land where we were born ; and lre- 
lai d is the country, of all others, wh.ch an exile from 

t must remember with most en husiasm. Those few 
darker and less amiable traits with which bigoiry and 
srule have stained her character, and which are too 
apt to disgust us upon a nearer in e course, become at 
a distance softened, or altogether invisible. Nothing 
is rcmeriibered but her virtues and her misfortunes, — 

he zeal with which sh<- h s always loved liberty, and 
the barbarous policy which has always withheld it 
from her,— the ease with which her generous spirit 
ght be conciliated, and the cruel ingenuity «hch 
has been exerted to '■ wring her into undutiro 

It las been often rem.rkid. and Mill ofe er felt, 
tha in our music is found the truest of all comments 
upon our history. The torie of defiance, succeeded by 
the languor of despondency. — a buist of turbulence 
dying away inrtDsontnss, — the sorrow jrf one moment 
lost in the 'levity of the nex', — and all that romantic 
mixture of mir h and -adnes-, which is naturally pro- 
duced by the efforts of a lively temperament to shake 
off, or foruet, the wrongs which lie upon it. Such are 
the features of our hisory and ch racter, which we 
find strongly and faithfully reflected in our music ; and 
there are even many airs, which it is difficult to 

i-ten to, wiiboot recalling some period or event to 
which theirexpression seems applicable. Some'imes, 
for instance, when the strain is open and spirited, yet 
here aid there shaded by a mournful recollection, we 
can fancy thai we behold the brave allies of Mon- 
t>ase.9 m irehing to the aid of tl e rr.yal cause, notwith- 
standing all the perfidy of Charles ad his ministers, 
at d remembering just enough of pa-t sufferings to en- 
hance the generosity of their present sacrifice. Tie 
plaintive melodies of Carolan take us back to the 
times in which he lived, when our poor countrymen 
were driven to worship their God in caves, or to quit 
lor ever the land of their birth, — like the bird that 
abandons the uc-t which human touch h<s violated. In 
'hese mournful songs we seem to hear the 
last farewell of the exile,' mingling regret for the ties 



LETTER TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER 
OF DONEGAL, 

PREFIXED TO THE THIRD NUMBER. 

While the publisher of these Melodies very properly 
inscribes them to the Nobility and Gentry of Ireland 



» A phrase which occurs in a Letter from the Earl 
of Desm "nd to the Earl of Ormond in Elizabeth's 
time. — Scrmta Sacra, as quoted by Cuny. 

3 There are somegratifyir.g accounts of the gallan- 
try of these lri«h auxiliaries in "The complete His- 
tory of the Wars in Scotland under Mrnlrose" (1660). 
>ee particularly, for the conduct 'fan Irishman at the 
battle of Aberdeen, chap vi. p. 49; and for a 'ribute 
to the bravery cf Colonel UKvan, cba| 
Clarendon owns that the Marquis of M- unose was 
indebted for much of his miraculous success to the 
small band of Irish heroes ui der Macdonnell. 

3 The associations of the Hindu nn-sic, thr ugh more 
obvious and defii ed. were far !e>s touching and cha- 
racteristic. They divided ngtoihe 
seasons of the year, by w hi 

'• thev were able to recall tlse 'memory of autumnal 
merriment, at the close of the h rves'. o'r of separation 
aid melancholy du'ing the cold months'" &c— jitia- 
tic Transactions, vol. lii 00 the Musical Modes of the 
Hindus.— What the Abbe du Bos says of 'he sym) ho- 
niesof Lully, may be issened, with much more pro- 
bability, of our bold and imrassioned airs: — " Elles 
auroient pioduit de ces efl'e's qui nous pamissent fibu 
leux dans le recit des anciens, si on les avcit fait enten- 



PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



181 



which he leaves at honie, with sanguine hopes of the 
high honours that await him abroad,— such honours as 
weie won on he field of Fontenoy, where the valour 
I of Irish Catholics turned the foriune of the day, and 
extorted fioni Georse the Second that memorable ex- 
clamation, " Cursed be the laws which deprive rue of 
such subjects !" 

Though miich has been said of the antiquity of our 
music, it is certain thai our finest and most popular 
airs are modern ; and perhaps we may lock no further 
than the la>t diseracelul century for I he origin of most 
of those wild and melancholy strains, which were at 
once the offspring and solace of grief, and were ap- 
plied to the mind as music was formerly to the b >dy, 
'■ decanlare loca dolentia." Mr. Piuktrton is of opin- 
ion > that none of the Scotch popular airs ate as old 
as the middle of the sixteenth century; and though 
musical antiquaries refer us for some of <<ur mel - 
dies, to so early a period as the fif h century, 1 am 
persuaded that there ate few, of a civilized descrip- 
tion, (and by this I mean to exclude all the savage 
Cea. ans, Cries,"* &c.) which can claim quite so an- 
cient a dale as Mr. Pinkerton allows to the Scotch. 
But music is not the only subject upon which our 
taste for antiquity has been lather m. reasonably in- 
dulged ; and, however heretical it may be to dissent 
from ihe-e romantic speculations, I cannot help think- 
ing that it is possible to love our country very ?eal- 
ouslv, and to feel deeply interested in her honour and 
happiness, without believing that Irish was ihe lan- 
guage spoken in Paradise ; 3 that our ancestors were 
kind enough to take the trouble of polishing the 
Greeks,-* or that Abaris, the Hyperborean, was a 
native of the North of Ireland. 5 

By some of these zealous antiquarians it has been 
imagined that the Irish were early acquainted with 
counter-point ; 6 and tbey endeavour to support this 
conjecture by a well-known passage in Giraldus, 
where he dilates, with such elaboraie praise, upon the 
beauties of our national minstrelsy. But the terms 
of this eulogy are much too vague, too deficient in 
technical accuracy, to prove that even Giraldus him- 
self knew any thing of the artifice of counter-point. 
There are many expressions in the Greek and Latin 
writers which might be cited, wi h much more plau- 
sibility, to prove that they understood the arrange- 
ment of music in parts ; 1 and it is in general now 



dre a des homines d'un nature! aussi vif que les Athe- 
niens." — Reflex, sut la Pemture, &c. torn. i. sect. 45. 

i Dissertation, prefixed to the 2d volume of his 
Scottish Ballads. 

2 of which some genuine specimens may be found 
at the end of Mr. Walker's Work upon the Irish bards. 
Mr. Bunting has disfigured his last splendid volume 
by too many of these barbarous rhapsodies. 

a See Advertisement to the Transactions of the 
Gaelic Society of Dublin. 

* O'Halioran, vol. i. part iv. chap. vii. 

* Id. ib. chap. vi. 

6 It is also supposed, but wi'h as little proof, that 
Ihey understood the diesis, or enharmonic interval. — 
The Greeks seem to have formed their ears to this 
delicate gradation of s >und ; and, whatever difficul- 
ties or objections may lie in the way of its practical 
use, we must agree wi'h Me^senue, (Preludes de 
l'Harmonie, quest. 7,) that the t'tecry i f Music would 
be imperfect without it. Even in practice, too, as 
Tosi, among others, very justly remarks. (Observa- 
tions on Florid Song, chap. i. sect. 16.) there is no 
good performer on the vnlm who d es not make a 
sensible difference between D sharp and K Hat. though, 
from the imperfection of the instiumeut, they are he 
same notes upon the piano-forte. The effect of modu- 
lation oy enharmonic transitions is also very striking 
and beautiful. 

i The words noiKiXia and tripodujina, in a passaee 
of Plato, and some expressi ius . f Cicero in Fragment, 
lib. ii. de Republ., induced the Abbe Fragu.er to 

16 



conceded, I believe, by the learned, that, however 
grand and pathetic the' melody of the ancients may 
l;a\e been, it was reserved for the ingenuity of 
modern Science to transmit the "light of Song"' 
through the variegating prism of Harmony. 

Indeed, the irregular scale of the eariy Irish (in 
which, as in the music of Scotland, the interval of 
the fiurth was wan'ing") must have furnished but 
wild and refractory subjects to Ihe harmoni-t. It was 
only when the invention of Guido began to be known, 
and the powers of the harp 9 w ere'enlarged by ad- 
ditional strings, that our airs can be supposed to have 
assumed the sweet character which interests us at 
present ; and while the Scotch persevered in the old 
mutilation of the scale,' our music became by de- 
grees more amenable to the laws of harmony and 
counter-point. 

While profi ing, however, by the improvements of 
the moderns, our style still keeps its original charac- 



maintain that the ancients had a knowledge of coun- 
ter-point. M. Burette, however, has answered him, 
I think, satisfactorily. (Examen dun Passage de 
Platon, in the 3d vol. of Hi-toire de l'Acad.) M. Huet 
is of opinion (Pensees Diverses), that what Cicero 
says of the nn.s.c of Ihe spheres, in his dream of 
Scipio, is sufficient to prove an acquaintance with 
harmony ; but one of the strongest passages, which I 
recollect, in favour of this suppnsiiion, occurs in the 
Treatise (IJspi Kocr/xovj attributed to Aristotle — 
Mor OMC77 it o;tcc Ana k<u jSapci j, k. t. A. 

8 An ther law less peculiarity of our music is the 
frequent occurrence of, what composers call, conse- 
cutive fifths; but ibis, I must say, is an irregularity 
which can hardly be avoided by persons not convers- 
ant w ith all tie rules of composition. If 1 may ven- 
ture, indeed, to cite my own wild attempts 1*11 this 
way, it is a fault which! find myself continually com- 
mitting, and which has even, at times, appeared so 
pleasing to my ear, that I have sunendered it to ihe 
critic with no small reluctance May there not be a 
little pedantiy in adhering loo rigidly to this rule? — 
I have been told that there are instances in Haydn, of 
an undisguised succession of fifths; and Mr. Shield, 
in his Introduction to Harmony, seems to intimate 
that Handel has been sometimes guilty of the same 
irregularity. 

s A singular oversight occurs in an Essay upon the 
Irish Harp, by Mr. Beauford, which is inserted in the 
Appendix o Walker's Historical Memoirs : — " The 
Irish (says he) according to Bromton. in the reign of 
Henry 11 , had (wo kinds of Harps, • Hrbernici tamen 
in duobus musici generis instromentis. quamvis prae- 
cipitem er velocem, stiavem tamen et jucundum : Ihe 
one grearly bold and quick, the other soft and pleas- 
ing.'— How a man ' f Mr. Beauford's learning could 
so mistake the meaning, and mutila'e ihe grammati- 
cal construction of this extract, is unaccountable. 

Ihe following is the passage as 1 find it entire in 
Bromton; and it requites but li'tle Latin to perceive 
the injustice which has been done to the words of ihe 
old Chronicler: — •' Et cum Sc tia. hujus terrae filia, 
u'atur lyra, lynrpauo el choro, ac Wallia cithara, 

ubis el choro Hibernici tamen in duobus musici 
generis ins ruinentis, quamoil pneciyitem et veloam, 
suaoon tcmnen et jucundam, cn-pitis modulis ei 
inlricatis notulis, efficiunt harmoniam. '— Hist. 
Anglic Script page 1075. I should in>t have thought 
this error worth remarking, but that Ihe compiler of 
the Dissertation on the Harp, prefixed to Mr. Bunt- 
ing's last Work, has adopted it implicitly. 

i° The Scotch lay claim to some of our best airs, but 
there are strong tiaits of difference between their 
melodies and ours. They had formerly the same 
passion lor robbing us of r.ui Saint-, and Ihe learned 
Dempster was f r this offence called " The Saint 
Stealer. ■ It must have been some Iri-hm 11, I sup- 
pose, who, by way of reprisal, stole Dempster's 
bemtiful wife from him at Pisa.— See this anecdote in 
the Phiacvthua of Erythrseus, part i. page 2a. 



182 PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



ter sacred from their refinements; and though Caro- 
Jan, it appears, had fiequent opportunities of hearing 
the works of Geniiniani and other great masters, we 
but rarely find him sacrificing his native simplicity to 
any ambition of their ornaments, or affec'ation of 
their science. In that cunous composition, indeed, 
called his Concerto, it is evident that he lab.iured to 
imitate Corelli ; and this union of manners, so very 
dissimilar, produces the same kind of uneasy sen.-a- 
tion which is fell at a njxture of d.fferent styles of 
architecture. In general, however, the artle=s Bow 
of our music h s pre ; erved it.-elf free from all tinge 
of foreign innovation ; » and ihe chief corruptions of 
which we have to complain arise from 'he unskilful 
performance of our own itinerant musicians, from 
whom, too frequently, the airs are noted down, encum- 
bered by their taseiess decorations, and res; onsibie 
for all iheir ignorant anomalies. Though it be some- 
times impossible to trace ihe criminal strain, yet, in 
most of them, "aim per ram' s aura refulget."2 he 
pure gold of he melody shines through the ung'ace- 
lul foliage which surrounds it,— and ihe most delicate 
and diffcult duly of a compiler is to endeavr ur, by 
retrenching these inelegant supertluit es, and collating 
Ihe various methods of playing or singing each air, to 
restore the regularity of its foim, and the chaste sim- 
plicity of its character. 

1 must again observe, that in doubtins the antiquity 
of our music, my scepucism extends I u: to those po- 
lished -pecimens of the art, which it is difficult 10 
conceive anterior lo ihe dawn of modern improvement ; 
and that I would by no means invalidate he claims 
of Ireland 10 as eary a rank in the a: nals of min- 
strelsy, as the mos zealous antiquary may be iuc ined 
lo allow her. In addition, indeed, tc. the power winch 
music must always have p ssessed over ihe minds of 
a people so ardent and susceptible, the stimulus of 
persecution was not wanting to quicken our tasle into 
enthusiasm; the claims <f sing weie ennobled with 
the glories of martyrdom, and the ac's against min- 
strels, in the reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, were 
as successful, I doubt not, 111 making my c u< trimen 
musicians, as the penal laws have been in keeping 
them Catholics. 

With respect to the verses which I hive written for 
these Me'. dies, as Ihey .re intended rather to be sung 
than read. I can answer for thei> sounj » ith -omewhat 
more confidence than for their sense. Yet it would be 
affectation to deny that I have given much attention to 
thet.sk, and that" i' is not through ^ny want of zeal 
or industry, if I unf rtunately di-grace the sweet airs 
of my country, by poetry altogether unwor.hv of Iheir 
taste, their eneigy, and their te: derness. 

Though ihe humble nature of my contributions to 
thii work may exempt hem from the rigours of lie- 
rary criticism, it was not to be expected that tho>e 
touches of political feeling, those tones of I 
complaint, in which the poetry sometimes sympa- 
thizes with the music, w ulj t* suffered to pass with- 
out censure or alarm. It has been ace >rd. 
that the tendency of this p .hi .cation is mischievous,* 
and that 1 have "chosen these aire but as a 1 
dangerous politics,— as fair and precious vessels v to 

1 Among other false refinements of the art, our 
music (with the exception perhaps of the air called 
'■Minima Minima.'' and one or two more of the 
same ludicrous description.) has avoided that puerile 
mimicry of natural noises. 1110 i ns, &c. which d s- 
graces "so often the works of even Ha: del h m-eif. 
IVAIembert ought to have had be'ter taste than 10 
become the |>ativn of this imitative affec ation — Dit- 
cours Prtliminairt de I'EnciicloptJie The reader 
may find some good renurks mi the subject in Avison 
up 'ii Musical Expression; a work which, though 
under the name of Avison, was written, it is said, by 
Dr. Brown 

*■» Virgil, .Eneid, lib. vi. verse 204. 

» See Letters, under the signatures of Timseus, &c. 
in he Morning Post, Pilot, and other , 



borrow an image of St. Augustin «). from which the 
wine of error might be administered. To those who 
identify nationally with treason, and who see, in 
every effort for Ireland, a system of hos ility towards 
England,— to those, too, who, nursed in the doom of 
prejudice, are alarmed by Ihe faintest gleam" of libe- 
rality that threatens to disturb their darkness, — like 
that TJemophou of old, who, when the sun stose upon 
him. shivered, 5 — to such men I shall not a 
to offer an apology for the too gieat warmth of any 
political sentiment which may occur in the course of 
these piges. Hut as there are many, among the more 
wise and tolerant, wh >, wi h feel i : g enough to mourn 
over the wrongs of iheir c uu'ry, and sense enough to 
perceive all the d .uger of not redre-sing then;, may 
yet be of opinion that allusions, in the It si degree in- 
flammatory, should be avoided in a publication of this 
popular descripion — I beg of these respected persons 
10 believe, that there is no one who more sinceiely 
deprecates than I do, any appeal to the passions ( f aii 
and angry multitude ; but lhat it is not 
through that gross and inflammable region of society, 
a work of this nature conld ever have been intended 
to circuate. V. looks much higher (or its audience 
a 1 d .ealers,— it is f und upon the piano-fortes of the 
rich and the educated, — of those who cau afford to 
have their national zeal a little stimulated, without 
exciiugni'jch dread of the excesses into which it may 
hurry them ; arid of many whose nerves may be, now 
and then, alarmed with advantage as much n 
be gained by their fears, than could ever be expected 
from their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal objection, 
which has been hitherto made to the poetical part of 
this work, .11 iw Lie to a !d a few words in dele ce 01 
my ingenious coadju'or. Sir John Stevenson, who has 
been accused of h.«\nig -poiled the simplicity of the 
airs by ihe chromatic richness ol his syiupfa 
the elaborate variety of his harmonies. We might 
cite the example ol the admirable Haydn, who has 
-p rtei hough all 'he mazes of mus.cal science, in 
his arrangement of the sin , J es ; but 

it appears to me, that Sir J 

to this task an innate and national feeling, which it 
would be vain in expect f r m a foreigner, however 
tasteful or judici us. Thn \\n com- 

position, we trace a vein of Iri-h sentiment, which 
points him out as peculiarly suitej I 
rf his country's music; and, far from agn • 
those fas'idious ci it cs who think ' 
have nothing kindred with the airs 
duce. I would say 'ha', on the con ran 
in general, those illumina 

which are of the s me character with the 
writing wh.ch follows, though more highly coloured 
and more curiously oman [ 

skill his 

it ca .not be den ed that a 
rally expresses the langua;- 
often, when a favourite s ra;n has . 
having I st is c arm of n 

in a harmonized snipe, wi h new claims on our inte- 
rest and 1 he deli- 
cate artifices 1 f c-mp si :i n, the construction of the 
inner [arts of these pece- mu-t aff.rd, I II 
siderable satisfaction. Every vo ce has an a r 
a flow ins succesi.m of notes, wh ch might be heard 
with pleasure, ii dependent!}- of the res' ;— so artfully 
has the harmonist (if I ma) satxtlcd 

v. distributing an equal p 
ness to every part. 

If your Ladyships love of Music were Dot well 



B accuse verba, quasi vasa electa afi 
' villain erroris i.uxi cum eis nobis propina- 
tur." — L . \\i. 

s This emblem of modern bigots was he 

m Alexander the Gieat. — SexL 
Pyrrk. Hypoth. Lib. i. 



ADVERTISEMENTS. 



183 



known to me, I should not have hazarded so long a 
let er upon the subject ; but as, i robahly, I may have 
presumed too far upon your partiality, the best revenge 
you now can take is to write me just as long a letter 
upon Painting ; and I promise to attend to your theory 
of the art, with a pleasure only surpassed by that 
which I have so often derii'ed from your practice of 
it.— May the mind which such talents'adow, contiuue 
calm as it is bright, and happy as it is virtuous ! 
Believe me, your Ladyship's 

Grateful Friend and Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



ADVERTISEMENT TOTHEFOURTH 
NUMBER. 

This Number of the Melodies ought to have ap- 
peared much earlier ; and the writer of the words is 
ashamed to confess, that the delay of its publication 
must be imputed chiefly, if not entirely, to him. He 
finds it necessiry to make this avowal, not only for 
the purpose of removing all blame from the Publisher, 
but iu consequence of 3 rumorj, which has been cir- 
culated industriously in Dublin thai the Irish Govern- 
ment had interfered to prevent the continuance of the 
Work. 

This would be. indeed, a revival of Henry the 
Eighth's enactments against Minstrels, and it is flatter- 
ing to find that so much importance is attached to our 
compilaiion, even by such persons as the inventors of 
the report. Bishop Lawth, it is true, was of opinion, 
that owe song, like the Hymn to Harmodius, would 
have done more towards rousing the spirit of the Ro- 
mans, than all the Philippics of Cicero. But we live 
in wiser and less musical times ; ballads have long 
lost their revolutionary powers, and we question if 
even a " Lillibullero" would produce any very tenons 
consequences at present. It is needless, therefore, to 
add, that there is no trilth in the report ; and we trust 
that whatever belief it obtained was founded more 
upon the character of the Government than of the 
Work. 

The Airs of the last Number, though full of origi- 
nality and beauty, were, in general, perhaps, loo 
curiously selected to become all at once as popular as, 
we think, they deserve to be. The public are apt to 
be reserved towards new acquaintances in music, and 
this, perhaps, is one of the rea-ons whv many modern 
composers introduce none but old friends totheir no- 
tice. It is, indeed, natural that persons, who love 
music only by association, should be somewhat slow 
in feeling the charms of a new and stranee melody; 
while those, on the other hand, who have a quick 
sensibility for this enchanting art, will as naturally 
seek and enjoy novelty, because in every variety of 
s'rain they find a fresh combination of ideas ; and the 
sound has scarcely reached the ear, before the heart 
has as rapidly tendered it into imagery and sentiment. 
Alter all, however, it cannot be denied that the most 
popular of our National Airs are also the most beauti- 
ful ; and it has been our wish, in the pre.-ent Num- 
ber, to select from those Melodies only which have 
long been listened to and admired. The leist known 
in the collection is the Air of "Love's Young Dream ;" 
but it will be found, I think, one of those easy and 
artless strangers whose merit the heart instantly ac- 
knowledges. T. M. 

Bury Street, St. James'*, Nov. 1811. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIFTH NUMBER. 

It is but fair to those, who take an interest in this 
Work, to state that it is now very near its termination, 
and that the Six:h Number, which shall speedily ap- 
pear, will, most probably, be the last of the series. 



Three volumes will then have been completed, ac- 
cording to the original plan, and the Proprietors desire 
me to say that a List of Subscribers will be published 
with the concluding Number. 

It is not so much, I must add, from a want of 
materials, and s'ill less from any abatement of zeal or 
industry, that we have adopted (he resolution of bring- 
ing our task to a close; but we feel so proud, still 
more for our country's sake than our own, of the 
general interest which this purely Irish Work has 
excited, and so anxious lest a particle of that interest 
should be lost by too long a protraction of its exist- 
ence, that we think it wiser to take away the cup 
from the lip, while its flavour is yet, we trust, fresh 
and sweet, than to lisk any further trial of the charm, 
or give so much as not to leave some wish for more. 
Id speaking thus, I allude entirely to the Airs, which 
are, of course, the main attracion of these Volumes ; 
and though we have still a great many popular and 
delightful Melodies to produce,! it cannot be denied 
that we should soon experience considerable difficulty I 
in equalling the richness and noveliy of the earlier 
numbers, for which, as we had the choice of all before 
u«, we naturally selected only the most rare and beau- 
tiful. The Pi etry, too, would be sure to sympathise 
with the decline of the Music; and, however feebly 
my words have kept pace with the excellence of the 
Airs, they would follow their falling off. 1 fear, with 
wonderful alacrity. Both pride and prudence, there- 
fore, counsel us to come to a close, while yet our 
Work is, we believe, flourishing and attractive, and 
thus, in the imperial attitude, '« stantes mori," before 
we incur the charge either of altering for the worse, 
or what is equally unpardonable, continuing too long 
the same. 

We beg to say, however, that it is only in the event 
of our failing to find Airs as good as most of those we 
have given, that we mean thus to anticipate the natural 
period of dissolution (like those Indians who when 
their relaiives become worn out, put them to death) ; 
and they who aie desirous of retarding this Euthana- 
sia if the Irish Melodies, cannot better eflect their 
wish than by contributing to our collection, — not what 
are called curious Airs, for we have abundance of 
such, and they are. in general, only curious,— but any- 
real sweet and expressive Songs of our Country, 
which either chance or research may have brought 
into their hands. T. M. 

Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, December, 1813. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH NUMBER. 

In presenting this Sixth Number to the Public as 
our last, and bidding adieu to the Irish Harp for ever, 
we shall not answer very confidently for the strength 
of our resolution, nor feel quite sure that it may not 
turn out to be one of those eternal farewells which a 
lover takes occasionally of his mistress, merely to 
enhance, perhaps, the pleasure of their next meeting. 
Our only motive, indeed, for discontinuing the Work 
was a feir that our treasures were nearly exhausted, 
and a natural unwillii gness to descend to the gather- 
ing of mere seed-pearl, after the really precious gems 
it has been our lot to string together. The announce- 
ment, however, of this intention, in Our Fifth Num- 
ber, has excited a deg:ee of anxiety in the lovetsof 
Irish Mu-ic, not only pleasant and fla'terins, but 
highly useful to us ; for the various contributions we 



» Among these is Sawmrna Deelish, which I have 
been hitherto only withheld from selecting by the 
diffidence I feci in treading upon the same ground 
with Mr. Campbell, whose beautiful words to this 
fine Air have taken too strong possession of all ears 
and hearts, for me to think of following in his foot- 
steps with any success. I suppose, however, as a 
matter of duty, I must attempt the air for our next 
Number. 



184 



DEDICATION, &c. 



have received in consequence, have enriched our col- 
lection with so many choice and beiutiful Airs, (hat 
should we adhere to our pie>ent tesolution of publish- 
ing no more, it would certainly furnish an instance 
of forbearance unexampled in the history of poets 
and musicians. To one Gentleman in particular, who 
has been for many years redden in England, but who 
has not forgot, among his various pursuits, either the 
language or the melodies of his native country, we 
beg to oiler our hesi thanks for the many interesting 
communications with which he has favoured u-. We 
trust that neither he nor any other of our kind friends 
will relax in those efforts by which we have been so 
con-iderably assisted ; for, though our work must now 
be looked upon as defuuC, yet — as Reaumur found 
out the art of making the cicada sing af er it was 
dead — it is just possible that we may, some time or 
other, try a similar experiment upon the Irish Melo- 
dies. T. M. 
Mayfitld, Jlshlotirne, March, 1815. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SE- 
VENTH NUMBER. 

Had I consulted only my own juigment, this Work 
would not have extended beyond the Six Numbers 
already published ; which coulain ihe flower, perhaps, 
of our national melodies, and have now attained a 
rank in public favour, of which 1 would not willingly 
risk the lorfei'ure, by degenerating, in any way, fiom 
tho^e meriis that weie its source. Whatever trea- 
sures of our music » ere still in reserve, (and it will be 
seen, I trus', that they are numerous and valuable.) I 
would gladly hue left to future |H>els to glean, and, 
with the ritual words " fiii trado," would liave de- 
livered up the torch into other bands, before it bad 
lost much of its light in my own. Rut the rail for a 
continuance of the work his been, as I understand 
fiom the Publisher, so general, and we have received 
so many contributions of old and beautilul air-, 1 — the 



» OneGentleman, in particular, whose mine I shall 
feel Bappy in being allowed to mention, has not only 
sent us nearly forty ancient airs, but has c iiiiiiuii- 
ci'e.l tinny curious fragments of Irish poetry, and 
some interesting traditions current in the 
where he resides, illustrated by sketches of the roman- 



suppression of which, for the enhancement of those 
we have published, would too much resemble the 
policy of the Dutch in burning their spices, — that I 
have been persuaded, though not without much difl> 
dence in my success, to commence a new series of the 
Irish Melodies. T. M. 



DEDICATION TO THE MARCHIONESS OF 
HEADFURT, 

PREFIXED TO THE TENTH NUMBER. 

It is with a pleasure, not unmixed with melancholy, 
that I dedicate the last Number of the Irish Melodies 
to your Ladyship; nor can 1 have any doubt that the 
feelings with which you receive the tribute will be of 
the same mingled and saddened tone. To you,— « ho 
though but little beyond the seasan of childhood, when 
the earlier numbers of this woik appeared,— lent the 
aid of your beau'iful voice, and, even then, exquisite 
feeling for music, to the happy circle who met, losing 
them together, under your fa tier's roof, the gTatifica- 
ti n, wha ever it may be, w h ch this humble offering 
brings, cannot be Otherwise than darkened by the 
mournful reflection, how many of the voices, which 
then joined with ours, are now silent in death ! 

I am not without hope that, as far as regards the 
grace aid spiiit of the Melodies, you will find this 
closing p Ttion of Ihe woik not unworthy of what has 
preceded i 1 . 'I he Sixteen Airs, of which ihe Number 
and the Supplement consists, have been selec 
the immense mass of Irish mus c. which has been for 
yea s p st accumulating in my hai ds ; at d it was from 
adoiie to include all that appeared m st worthy of 
preservation, that the four supplemental}- songs which 
follow tins Tenth Number have been added. 

Tiuatinc that I nay yet again, in remembrance of 
old times, hear our vo'ices toge'her in some of the har- 
monized airs of this Volume, I have the honour to 
subscribe myself, 

Tour Ladyship's faithful F^end and Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

Slofcrton Cottage, May, IS34. 



tic scenery to which hey refer; all of which, though 
too late for the present Number, will tie of 
seivice to us in the prosecution of our task. 



NATIONAL AIRS 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It is Cicero, I believe, who says " nntura ad mo- 
dos diiciniur;" and the abundance of « ild. iidigen us 
airs, which almost every country, except F.iuland, 
sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. 
The lovers of this simple, bu' in eresting k.nd of 
music are here presented with the first number of a 
collection, which. I trust, their contributions will 
enable us to continue. A pretty air with* ut words 
resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, » hich 
are described as wanderii g in search of 'he remainder 
of themselves lb rough the world. To supply this 
other half, bv uniting with congenial words the many 
fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none. — or 
Onlv such as are unintelligible to the generality of 
their hearers.— is the object and ambition ol 
sent work. Neither is i- our inten i n to confii e ■ ur- 
•elves in what ,ve s'nc'Iy called N 
but, wheiever we meet with any wandi 
beau'iful air, to which pietry has not yet - 
worthy home, we shall venture to cla.m'it as an tstray 



swan, and enrich our humble Hippocrene with its 
long. 

******* 
T. M. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 

A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.! 
(SPANISH AIR.) 

"A Temple to Friendship." said Laura, enchanted, 

•' I '11 t.uild in this ga'deii.— 
Her temple was built, and she now only wanted 

An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. 



i The thought is taken fr m a song by Le 
called •• La Sta'ue de I'An.itie." 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



185 



She flew to a sculptor, who set dow n before her 

A Friendship, the fairest bis art could invent ; 
But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer 

Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. 
" Oh '. never,"' she cried, -'could ! think of enshrining 

" An linage, whose looks are so jo> le=s and dim ; — 
"But yon little god, upon roses reclining, 

" We 'II make, if you please, Sir, a Friendship of 
him." 
So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden, 

She joylully (lew to her shrine in the grove: 
"Farewell," said the sculptor, "you 're" not the first 
maiden 

"Who came but for Friendship and took away 
Love." 



FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Flow on, thou shining river ; 

But, ere thou reach the rea, 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o'er thee. 
And tell her thus, if she 'II be mine, 

The c Trent of our lives shall be ; 
With joys along their cour-e to shine, 

Like those sweet flowers on thee. 

But if, in wandering thither, 

Thou find st she mocks my prayer, 
Then leave tho-e wreath* to wither 

Upon he c Id bank there; 
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, 

Her lone and loveless charms shall ba 
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore. 

Like those sweet flowers from thee. 



ALL THAT 'S BRIGHT MUST FADE. 
(INDIAN AIR.) 

All that 's bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the r.ee est 
All that 's sweet wag made, 

But to be lost » hen sweetest 
Stan thai shine and fall ; — 

The flower that drops in springing; — 
These, alas ! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 
All that 's bright nius' laJe.— 

The brightest stiil the fleetest; 
All that 's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 

Who would seek or prize 

Delight that end in aching? 
Who would trust to ties 

Tint even hour are breaking ? 
Better far to be 

In utter darkness lying. 
Than to be bless'd wrh lieht and see 

That lisht forever flving. 
All that s bright must fade,— 

The brightest s'ill the fleetest; 
All that 's sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 



SO WARMLY WE MET. 

(HUNGARIAN AIR.) 

So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, 
That which was the sweeter ev'n I could not tell,— 
| That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, 
| Or that tear of passion, w hich blesVd'our faiewell. 



To meet was a heaven, and 10 part thus another,— 
Our joy and our sormw seem'd rivals in bliss; 

Oh ! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other 
In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. 

The first was like day-break, new, sudden, delicious, — 

The daw n of a pleasure scarce kindled up vet ; 
The last like the faiewell of daylight, more precious, 

More glowing and deep, as 't is nearer its set. 
Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow 

To think "that >uch happiness could not remain ; 
While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that 
to-morrow 

Would bring back the bless'd hour of meeting again. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 

(AIR. — THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURGH.) 

TVse evening bells ! those evening bells I 
How many a tale their mij>ic tells, 
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, 
When last 1 beard their soothing chime ! 

Those joyous hours are past away ; 

And many a heart, that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dweils 
And beais no more those evening bells. 

And so 't will be when I am gone; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
While other bards shall walk these dells, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells! 



SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee.t 

Which now so sweetly thy heart employ; 
Should the cold world c n.e to wake thee 

From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 
Should the gay friends, fir whom Ihou wouldst banish 

Him who once thought thy young heart his own, 
All. like spring birds, falsely vanish, 

And leave thy wiser unheeded and lone ; — 

Oh '. 1 is then that be thou hast slighted 

Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er; 
Then the truant, lost and blizhted, 

_ Would to his bosom tie taken once more. 
Like that dear bird we both can remember, 

Who left us while summer shone round, 
But, when chill'd by bleak December, 

On our threshold a welcome still found. 



REASON, FOLLT, AND BEAUTY. 

(ITALIAN AIR.) 

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, 
Went on a partv of pleasuie one day : 

Folly' playd 

Around the maid, 
The bells of his cap rung merrily out : 

While Reas-.n to.k 

To hii sermon -book — 
Oh ! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, 
Which was the pleisanter no one need doubt. 



i This is one of he many 
lyrical poems, — though the above, it must be owni 
is an extreme ca»e, — m here the metre hai been nece* 
sarily sacrificed to the structure of the air. 



16* 



186 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, 
Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page, 

Till Folly s. id, 

" Look here, sweet maid !" — 
The light of his cap brought her back to herself; 

While Reason lead 

His leaves of lead, 
With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! 
No,— no one to miud him, poor sensible elf! 

Then Reison grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; 
Had he that on. he her heart might entrap — 

" There it is," 

Qunth Follv, "old quiz!" 
(Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) 

" Under the -un 

"There's no such fun, 
" As Reason with my cap and bells on his head 
" Reason with my cap and bells on his bead !" 

But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, 
That Beauty now liked him still less than before; 

While Folly took 

Old Reason's book, 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such fori, 

That Beauty vow'd 

(Though not aloud), 
She liked him still belter in that than his own. 
Yes,— hked him Kill better in that than bis own. 



FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE ! 
(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely s'ill. but dear no more 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 
Thy words, whate'er their flattYing spell, 

Could scarce have thus dece.vtd; 
But eyes that acted truth so well 

Were sure to be believed. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! 

Lovely still, but dear i.o more; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 

Yet those eyes look constant still. 

True as stars thev keep their Iiehl ; 
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil 

Of blushing always bru 
T is only on thy changeful heart 

The blame of falsehood lies; 
Love lives in every other part, 

But there, alas ' he dies. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, bat dear no more ; 
Once bis soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



DOST THOU REMEMBER. 

(PORTPGPESE AIR.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lonely, 
A place for lovers, and lovers only. 

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ? 
When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, 
Illumed thv blushes. I kneit before thee, 

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes ? 
Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, 
Love bound us — never, never mere to part! 

And when I call'd thee by names the dearest* 

That love could fancv. the f n.lest, nearest,— 

"Mv life, my only life!" among the iest ; 



In those sweet accents that still enthral me, 

Thou saidst, ''Ah ' wherefore rhy life thus call me? 

* Thy soul, tby soul 's the name that I love best; 
"For life soon passes, — but bow bless'd to be 
" That Soul which never, never parts from thee?" 



OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 

Oh, come to me when daylight sets J 

Sweet! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth 's awake, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
With sound of lutes and mandolins, 

To steal young hearts away. 
Then, come to me when daylight sets; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondoleU 

O'er the moonlight sea. 

Oh, then 's (he hour for those who love, 

Sweet, like thee and me; 
When all's so calm below, above, 

In Heav'n and o'er the sea. 
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles,' 

And Echo sinus again 
So sweet, that all with ears and soul* 

Sh< uld love and listen then. 
So. come to me when daylight sets ; 

Swee' ! then come to me. 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 



OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 

(SCOTCH AIR.) 

Oft, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 

Fond Memory brings the light 

Of o'her days around me; 

The smiles, the tears, 

Of bo\ hood's years, 

The words of love then spoken ; 



i' shone, 
>» d.mm'd and gone. 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 



Nov 



Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory tripes the light 

Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends, so Imk'd together, 
I've seen ar und n>e fall, 
Like leaves in wintry weather; 
I feel like one. 
Who treats alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted, 
lights are fled, 
? dead. 
And all but he departed ! 

mberi chain his bound m*, 

Of other days around me. 



l The thought in 'his verse is borrowed from the 
original Portuguese words. 



Barcarolles, sor'e de chansons en I 
me, que chantent les enndoliers a Ve 
h, LHctitmnairc dt Mutiqu*. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



187 



HARK! THE VESPER HYMN IS STEALING. 

(RUSSIAN AIR.) 

Hark ! the vesper hymn is stealing 

O'er the waters soft and clear; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 

Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now father stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear, 
Jubilate, Amen. 

Now, like moonlight waves retreating 

To the shore, it dies along ; 
Now, like angry surges meeting, 
Breaks the mingled tide of song. 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Hush! again, like waves, retreating 
To the shore, it dies along, 
Jubilate, Amen. 



LOVE AND HOPE. 
(SWISS AIR.) 

At morn, beside yon summer sea, 
Young Hope ai d Love reclined ; 

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he 

Into his bark leap'd smilingly. 
And left poor Hope behind. 

" I go," said Love, '• to sail awhile 

" Across this sunny main ; " 
And then so sweet his parting smile, 
That Hope, who never dreamt of guile, 

Believed he'd come again. 

She linger'd there till evening's beam 

Along the waters lay ; 
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 
Oft traced his n<me. which still the stream 

As often wash'd away. 

At length a sail appears in sight, 

And tow'rd the maiden moves ! 
'T is Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, 
His golden bark reflects the light, 
But ah ! it is not Love's. 

Another sail — * was Friendship show'd 

Her night-lamp o'er the sea ; 
And calm the light that lamp bestow'd; 
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd, 

And where, alas ! was he ? 

Now fast around the sea and shore 

Night threw her darkling chain; 
The sunny sails were seen no more, 
Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er,— 
Love never came again ! 



THERE COMES A TIME. 
(GERMAN AIR.) 

There comes a time, a dreary time, 

To him whose heirt hath flown 
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, 

And made each flower its own. 
>Tte when his soul must first renounce 

Those dreams so bright, so fond ; 
Oh ! then 's the time to die at once, 

For life has nought beyond. 

When sets the sun on Afric's shore, 

That instant all is night ; 
And so should life at once be o'er, 

When Love withdraws bis light ; — 



Nor, like our northern day, gleam on 
Through twilight's dim delay, 

The cold remains of lustre gone, 
Of fire long pass'd away. 



MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING THEME. 
(SWEDISH AIR.) 

My harp has one unchanging theme, 

One strain that still comes o'er 
Its languid chord, as 't were a dream 

Of joy that 's now no more. 
In vain I try, with livelier air, 

To wake'the breathing string; 
That voice of other times is there, 

And saddens all I sing. 

Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain, 

Henceforth be all my own ; 
Though thou art oft so full of pain 

Few hearts can bear thy tone. 
Yet oft thou 'rt sweet, as if the sigh, 

The breath that Pleasure's wings 
Gave out, when last they wanton 'd by, 

Wen still upon thy strings. 



OH, NO — NOT EVN WHEN FIRST WE 
LOVED. 

(CASHMERIAN AIR.) 

Oh, no — not ev'n when first we loved, 

Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 
Thy beauty then my senses moved, 

But now thy virtues bind my heart. 
What was but Passion's sigh before, 

Has since been turn'd to" Reason's vow ; 
And, though 1 then might love thee more, 

Trust me, 1 love thee better now. 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 

That then but sparkled o'er my brow, 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more, 

Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 



PEACE BE AROUND THEE. 
(SCOTCH AIR.) 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st ; 

May life be for thee one summer's dav, 
And all that thou wishes*, and all that thou lov'it. 

Come smiling around thy sunnv way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break. 

May even thy tears pass off so lightly 
Like spring-showers, they'll only nuke 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly. 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all, 

And daily dooms some joy to death, 
O'er thee let years so gently fall, 

They shall not crush one flower beneath. 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances, 
May tha' side the sun 's upon 

Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances ! 





188 NATIONAL AIRS. 






COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS 


GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET. 






(FRENCH AIR.) 


(MALTESE AIR.) 






While I touch the string, 


Gaily sounds the Castanet, 






Wreathe my brows with laurel, 


Beating time to bounding feet, 






For the tale Ising 


When, after daylight s golden set, 






Has, for once, a moral. 


Maids and youths by moonlight meet. 






Common Sense, one night, 


Oh, then, how sweet to move 






Though not used to gunbols, 


Through all that maze of mirth, 






Went out by moonlight, 


Led by light from eyes we love 






With Genius, on his rambles. 


Beyond all eyes on earth. 






While I touch the string, &c 








Common Sense went on, 


Then, the joyous banquet spread 






Many wise things saying; 
While the light that sh' tie 


Un the cool and fragrant ground, 
Wi'h heav'n's bright sparklers overhead, 






Soon set Genius s'raying. 
One his eye ne'er raised 


And still brighter sparkling round. 






Oh, then, how sweet to sty 






From the path before him; 


Into some loved ones ear, 






T'other idly gazed 


Thoughts reserved through many a day 






On each night-cloud o'er him. 


To be thus whiSLer'd heie. 






While 1 touch the striog, &c 


When the dance and feast are d-ne, 






So they came, at last, 


Ann in arm as home we stray, 






To a shady river ; 


How sweet to see the dawning sun 






Common Sense soon pass'd, 


O'er her cheek's warm blushes play ! 






Safe, as he doth ever; 
While the boy, whose look 


Then, too, the farewell kiss — 






'1 he words, whose pai ting tone 






Was in Heaven that minute, 


Lingers Still in dreams of bliss, 






Never saw the brook, 


That liaunt young hearts alone. 






But tumbled headlong in it ! 








While I touch the string, &c 


— — 






How the Wise One smiled, 








When safe o'er the torrent, 


LOVE IS A HUNTER- BOT. 






At that youth, so wild, 

Dripping from the current ! 


(langcedocian air.) 






Sense went home to bed ; 

Genius, left to shiver 
On tbe hank, 't is said. 

Died of that cold liver! 

While I touch the string fcc 


Love is a hunter-boy, 






Who makes young hearts his prey ; 






And, in his 1 els of joy. 

Ensnares them night and day. 
In vain coi.ccal'd they lie — 








Love tracks them everywhere ; 









In vain a lot! they ri\ — 






THEN, FARE THEE WELL. 


Love shoots ih'em flying there. ■ 






(OLD ENGLISH AIR.) 


But 1 is his joy most sweet, 
At early dawn to trace 






Then, fare thee well, my own dear love, 
This world has now for us 


The print of Beauty's feet. 
And give 'he trembler chase. 






No greater grief, no pain above 
The pain of parting thus, 


And if, h rough virgin snow. 






He tracks her footsteps fair, 
How sweet for Love to know 






The pain of parting thus. 
Had we but known, since first we met, 


None went before him there 1 












Some few short hours of bliss, 








We might, in numbering them, forget 


COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEA* 






The deep, deep pain of this, 


AWAY. 






Dear love ! 








The deep, deep pain of this. 


(FRENCH AIR.) 






But no, alas, we 've never seen 


Come, chase that starling tear away, 






One glimpse of pleasure's ray, 


Ere mine to meet it spring*; 






But still 'here came some cloud between, 


To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 






And chased it all away, 


Whatever t -morrow brinta. 






Dear love ! 


Like sun-set gleams, that linger late 






And chased it all away. 


When all is dark-nit); 






Yet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 

Far dearer to my heart 
Were hours of grief, together past, 


Are hours 1 ke the>e wesna'ch from Fate — 
The brightest, and th; 

ise that starting tear, tc 






Than years of mirth apart, 
Dear love ! 


To gild the deepening gloom, if Heaven 






Than years of mirth apart 


But one bright hour allow, 






Oh. think that one bright hour is gives, 






Farewell ! our hope was born in fears, 
And nursed 'mid vain regrets ; 


In all its sp'endour. bow. 




, 


Let 's live it out — then sink in night, 






Like winter suns, it ro-e in tears, 


Like waves that ftom the shore 






Like them in tears it sets, 


One minute swell, are touch'd with ligfct, 






Dear love ! 


Then lost for evermore ! 






Like them in teats it sets. 


Dime, chase that starting tear, Jte. 





NATIONAL AIRS. 



189 



JOYS OF YOU1H, HOW FLEETING! 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Whisp'rings, heard by wakeful maids, 

To whom the nighl-stars guide us; 
Stolen walks through moonlight shades, 
With those we love beside us, 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting; 
Tears starting, 
At parting; 
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! 

Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting! 
Wand'rings far away from home, 

With life all new before us ; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 
From hearts whose prayers watch d o'er u 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Heans heating, 
At meetii g; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting ! 



HEAR ME BUT ONCE 
(FRENCH AIR.) 

Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 

I count each flatt'ring hope he gave 
Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled. 

Who could have thought the smile he wore, 
When first we met, would fadeaway? 

Or that a chill would e'er come o'er 
Those eyes so bright through many a day? 
Hear me but once, &c. 



WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 
(SWEDISH AIR.) 

When Love was a child, and went idling round, 
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day, 

One morn in Ihe valley a bower he found, 
So sweet, it allured him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, 

A fountain ran darkly beneath ; — 
'T was Pleasure had hung up ihe flow'rets there; 

Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. 

But Love didn't know — and, at his weak years, 
What urchin was likely to know ? — 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears 
The fountain that murmui'd below. 

He caught at the wreath — but with too much baste, 

As bo>s when impatient will do — 
It fell in those waters of briny tas e, 

And the flowers were all wet through. 

This garland he now wears night and day; 

And. though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say 

Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 



SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY? 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Say, what shall be our sport to-day ? 

There 's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 
I For spirits like mine to dare ! 



'T is like the returning bloom 

Of those days, alas, gone by, 
Whe:. I loved, each hour— I scarce knew wfaom- 

And was bless'd — I scarce knew why. 

Ay — those were days when life had wings, 

And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, 
That, like the lark which sunward springs, 

'T was giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft, 

With that sun, too, nearly set, 
I 've enough of light and wing still left 

For a few gay soarings yet. 



BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 

(WELSH AIR.) 

Bright be thy dreams— may all thy weeping 
Turn into smiles while thou an sleeping. 
May (hose by death or seas removed, 
The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, 

All, thou hast ever piized or loved, 
In dreams come smiling to thee! 

There may the child, whose love lay deepest, 
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest; 
Still as she was — no charm forgot — 
No lustre lost that life had given ; 

Or, if changed, but changed to what 
Thou 'It find her yet in Heaven ! 



GO, THEN — 'TIS VAIN. 
(SICILIAN AIR .) 

Go, then — »t is vain to hover 

Thus round a hope that 's dead ; 
At length my dream is over; 

'T was sv> eet — 't was false — 't is fled 
Farewell ! since nought it moves thee, 

Such truth as mine to see — 
Some one, who far less loves thee, 

Perhaps more bless'd will be. 

Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 

New life around me shed ; 
Farewell, false heart, whose lightness 

Now leaves me death instead. 
Go, now, those charms surrender 

To some new lover's sigh — 
One who, though far less tender, 

May be more bless'd than I. 



THE CRYSTAL- HUNTERS. 

(SWISS AIR.) 

O'er mountains bright 

With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunteis speed along; 

While rocks and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each iustant echo to our song; 
And, when we meet wiih stoie of gems, 
We grudge not kings their diadems. 

O'er mountains bright 

Wi h smnv and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 

While grots and caves, 

And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 

Not half »o oft the lover dreams 
Of spatkles from his lady's eyes, 

As we of those refreshing gleams 
That tell where deep the crystal lies; 



190 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



Though, next to crystal, we too grant, 
That ladies' eyes may most enchant. 
O'er mountains bright, &c 

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 

The golden sunset leaves its iay, 
So like"a gem the flow'iet glows, 

We thither bend our heidlong way; 
And, though we find no treasure here, 
We bless the rose that shines so fjir. 
O'er mountains bright, 
With snow and light. 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 
While rocks and caves, 
And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 



ROW GENTLY HERE. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 

Row gently here, 

My gondolier, 
So softly wake the tide, 

That not an ear, 

On earlh, may hear, 
But hers to whom we glide. 
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well 

As starry eyes to see, 
Oh, think what' tales 't would have to tell 
Of wand'ring youths like me I 

Now rest thee here, 

My g ndolier; 
Hush, liush, for up I go, 

To climb yon light 

Balcony's height, 
While thou keep'st watch below. 
Ah! did we take for Heaven above 

But half such pains as we 

Take, day and night, for woman's love, 

What Angels we should be ! 



OH, DAYS OF YOUTH 
(FRENCH AIR.) 

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, 

Why thus for ever haunt my view? 
When in the grave your light lay shrouded, 

Why did not Memory die there too? 
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me, 

Tel'ling of joys that yet remain — 
No, never more can this life bring me 

One joy that equals youth's sweet pain. 

Dim lies the way to death before me, 

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; 
Sunshine of youth ! thai once fell o - er me, 

Where is your warmth, your glory now ? 
Tit not tint ihen no pain could sting me; 

'Tis not that now no joys remain; 
Oh, 't is that life no more can briug me 

One joy so sweet as that worst paitt. 



WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 

When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd my sight, 

Oh what a vision then came o'er me! 
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, 

Seem'd in that smile to pass before me. 
Ne'er d d the peasant dream of summer skies, 

Of golden fruit, aid harves's springing, 
With fonder hrpe 'Inn I of those sweel eyes, 

And of the joy their lighi was brii i 



Where now are all these forid.'y-promised hours? 
Ah! woman's fiith is like her brightness — 

Fading as fas: as rainbows, or clay-flowers, 
Or aught that 's known for grace and iightness. 

Short as the Persian's prayer, at close of day, 
Should be each v w of Love's repeating; 

Quick let him worship Beau'y's precious ray- 
Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting ! 



PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS ! 
(CATALONIAN AIR.) 

Peace to the slumberers! 

They lie on the battle-plain, 
With no shroud to ever them; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

Vain was their bravery ! — 
The fallen oak lies wheie it lay, 

Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, or.ee swept away, 

Are gone, alas ! for ever. 

Vain was their bravery ! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us, 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance ihey have lefl us! 
Woe to the conqueror 1 



WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER. 
(SICILIAN AIR.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 
We u-ed to gaze on so many an eve, 

When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive — 

Oh, then, rememb'nng how sw ift went by 

Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh. 

Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was tar too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
A-ide, w hen pass'd the summer's heat ; 

And wi-h in v .in to know again 

Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then. 



WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS? 

(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 
Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling: 
None could doubt, who saw or knew them, 
Hymen's call was welcome to them. 

'" Who '1! buy my love knots? 

'• Who'll buy my love-knots?" 
Soon as that swee' cry resounded. 
How his baskets were surrounded ! 

Maids, who now first dreamt of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen's tying ; 
Dames, who lone had sat to watch him 
Passing bv, but ne'er could catch him ; — 

" Who ''II buy my love-knots? 

" Who '11 buy div love-kt. 
All at that sweet cry assembled ; 
Some laugh'd, some blush 'd, and sr 



"Here are knots." said Hymrn, taking 
Some loo ; e Bowers, u of Love's own making; 



NATIONAL AIRS, 



191 



" Here are gold ones — you may trust 'em n — 
(These, of course, found ready custom.) 

"Come, buy my love-knots! 

«' Come, buy my love-knots ! 
"Some are labell'd ' Knots to tie men — 
" Love Ihe tinker — Bought of Hymen.' » 

Scarce their bargains were completed, 
When the nymphs all cried, " We're cheated ! 
" See these flowers — they 're drooping sadly j 
" This gold-knot, too, ties but badly — 

" Who 'd buy such love-knots ? 

" Who 'd buy such love-knots ? 
" Even this tie, with Love's name round it — 
" All a sham — He never bound it." 

Love, who saw Ihe whole proceeding, 
Would have laugh'd, but fur good breeding} 
While Old Hymen, who was used to 
Cries like that these dames gave loose to — 

" Take back our love-kuots ! 

" Take back our love-knots ! " 
Coolly said, " There 's no returning 
" Wares on Hymen's hands — Good morning 1 ' 



SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. 

(TO AN AIR SUNG AT ROME, ON CHRIST- 
MAS EVE.) 

See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 

O'er our sight, 
And Earth, from sin awaking, 

Hails Ihe light! 
See those groups of angels, winging 

From the realms above, 
On their brows, from Eden, bringing 

Wreaths of Hope and Love. 

Hark, their bymns of glory pealing 

Through the air, 
To mortal ears revealing 

Who lies there ! 
In that dwelling, dirk and lowly, 

Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 
He, whose home's above,— the Holy, 

Ever Holy Quel 



NETS AND CAGES. » 
(SWEDISH AIR.) 

Come, listen lo my story, while 

Your needle's task you ply ; 
At what I sing some maids will smile, 

While some, perhaps, may sigh. 
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames 

Such florid songs as ours, 
Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames, 

Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 

Then listen, maids, come listen, while 
Your needle's task you ply ; 

At what I sin; there 's some may smile, 
While some, perhaps, will sigh. 

Young Cloe, benl on catching Loves, 

Such nets had learn'd to frame, 
That none, in all our vales and groves, 

E'er caught so much small game : 



l Suggested by the following remark of Swift's: — 
'•The reason «hy so few n. arrives are happy, is, 
because your.g ladies spend their lime in making nets, 
aot in making cages." 



But gentle Sue, less giv'n to roam, 

While Cloe's nets were taking 
Such lots of Loves, sal still at home, 

One little Love-cage making. 
Come, listen, maids, ~&c 

Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task} 

But maik how things went on : 
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask 

Their name and age, were gone ! 
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove, 

That, though she charra'd into them 
New game each hour, Ihe youngest Love 

Was able to break through them. 
Come, listen, maids, &c 

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought 

Of bars too strong to sever, 
One Love with golden pinions caught, 

And caged him there for ever; 
Instructing, thereby, all coqueltes, 

Whale'er their looks or ages, 
That, though 't is pleasant weaving Nets, 

T is wiser to make Cages. 

Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile 

The lask your fingers ply. — 
May all who hear like Susan smile, 

And not, like Cloe, sigh ! 



WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 

When through the Piazzetta 

Night breathes her cool air, 
Then, dearest Ninetta, 

I'll come to thee there. 
Beneath thy mask shrouded, 

I'll know thee afar, 
As Love knows, though clouded, 

His own Evening Star 

In earb, then, resembling 

Some gay gondolier, 
I '11 whisper thee, trembling, 

"Our bark, love, is near: 
"Now, now, while there hover 

"Those clouds o'er the moon, 
"T will watt thee safe Over 

"You silent Lagoon." 



GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 

(SICILIAN AIR.) 

Go, now, and dream o'er lhat joy in thy slumber- 
Moments so sweet again ne'er shall thou number. 
Of Pain's bitter draught the flavour ne'er flies. 
While Pleasure's scarce touches ihe lip ere it die*. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 

That moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid, 
Often will shine again, bright as she then did — 
Bu<. never more will the beam she saw burn 
In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. 
Go,' then, and' dream, &c. 



TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 

(NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 

Take hence the bowl ; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er shone, 
0!i, il but ses n. e the n,i: g 

Of happy days now gnue. 



192 



NATIONAL AIRS 



There, in its clear reflection, 

As in a wizard's gla-s, 
Losi hopes and dead affection, 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cup I drain brings hither 

Some scene of bliss gone by;— 
Bright lip-, too bright to wither, 

Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o'er me 

Of those lorig-vanish'd years, 
Abs. the wine bef >re me 

Seems turning all to lean ! 



FAREWELL, THERESAS 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 

Farewell, Theresa ' yon cloud that over 
Heaven's pale night-star ga'h'ring we see, 

Will scarce from ihat pure orb have pass'd, ere thy 
lover 
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee. 

Long, like that dim cloud, I 've hung around thee, 

Dark'ning Ihy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow; 
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek 1 found 
thee; 
Oh, think how changed, love, how changed art thou 
now! 

But here I free thee : like one awaking 

Frnm fearful slumber, ihou break's! the spell; 

'T is over — the moon, too, her bondage is breaking- 
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell ! 



Then, to every bright tree, 
In the garden he'll wander; 
While I, oh, much fonder, 
Will stay with thee. 
In search of new sweetness through thousand* tar 11 

run, 
While 1 find the sweetness of thousands in one. 
Then, to every bright tree, &c 



THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 

(FRENCH AIR.) 

Though 't is all but a dream at the best, 
And still, «hen happiest, soonest o'er, 
Yet. even in a dream, to be ble-s'd 
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 

The bosom that opes 

Witli earliest hopes, 
The soonest finds those hope* untrue; 

As flowers that first 

In spring-time burst 
The earliest wither too! 

Ay — 't is all but a dream, Sec. 

Though by friendship we oft are deceived, 

And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast, 
Tet friendship will still be believed, 
And love tiusied on lo the last. 

The web 'mong the leaves 

The spider w eaves 
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men ; 

Though often she sees 

'T is bioke by the breeze, 
She spins the bright tis-ue again. 

Ay — 't is all but a dream, &c 



HOW OFT WHEN WATCHING STARS. 

(SAVOYARD AIR.) 

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, 

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 

I from mv casement lean. 
" Come, come, mv love !" each note then seems to say, 
" Oh, come, my love ! the night wears fast away !"' 
Never to mortal ear 

Could words, though warm they be, 
Speak Fa-sinn's language half so clear 
As do those noies to me ! 

Then quick mv own light lute I seek, 

And strike the chords with loudest swell; 
And, th"Ugh they nough' to others speak, 

He knows their language well. 
" I come, my love !"' each ii"te then seems to say, 
" I come, my love '. — thine, thine till break of day." 
Oh. weak the power of words. 
The hues of piinting dim, 
Compared to wliat those simple chords 
Then say and paint to him ! 



WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. 



(GERMAN A 



When the first summer bee 
O'er the yourg rose shall hover, 
Then, like that gay rover, 
I 'il come to thee. 
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim — 
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him 
When the first summer I ee, Sc. 



WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING. 
(ITALIAN AIR.) 

When the wine-cup is smiling before us. 

And we pledge round to hearts that are true, ooj 
true. 
Then the sky of this life opens o'er os, 

And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 
Talk of Adim in Eden reclining, 

We are better, far bet'er off thus. boy. thus; 
For him but two b' ight eyes were shining — 

See, what numbers are sparkling for us ! 
When on one side the grape-juice is dancing, 

Whi!e on t'other a biue eje beams, boy beams, 
T is enough, 'l win the wine and the glancing, 

To dis'urb ev'n a saint from his dreams. 
Yet. though life like a river is flowing, 

I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on. 
So the grape on its bank is s - ill gro'wii g, 

And Love lights the waves as they run. 



WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME? 
(.NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 
Where shall we bury our shame ? 

Where, in wh>t desolate pace, 
Hide the last wreck of a name 

Broken and staind by disgrace? 
Deith may dissever the chain. 

Oppression will cease when we're gone; 
Bu' the dishonour, the stain. 

Die as we may, will live on. 
Wi- it for this v»e sent out 

Liberty's oy from our shore ? 
Wis it for this lhat her shout 

Thrill'd to the world's very core ? 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



193 



Thus to live cowards and slaves ! — 
Oh. ye free hearia lhai lie dead, 

Do you not, ev'n in your graves, 
Shudder, as o'er you we tread ? 



NE'ER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

V M AHR ATTA AIR .) 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools; 

Give me the sage who s able 
To diaw his mor.il thoughts and rules 

From the study of the lable ; — 
Who learns how lighllv, fleetly pass 

This world and all thai 's in it, 
From the bumper that but crowns his glass, 

And is gone again next minute! 

The diamond sleeps within the mine, 

The pearl beneath the water; 
While Truth, more precious dwells in wine, 

The grape's own rosy daughter. 
And none can prize her charms like him, 

Oh, none like him obtain her, 
Who thus can, like Leander, swim 

Through sparkling floods to gain her ! 



HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 

(HIGHLAND AIR.) 

Here sleeps the Bard who knew so well 
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell 
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near, 
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. 
Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded how 
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow; — 
That storm, whose ru>h is like thy martial lay; 
That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away 1 



DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING. 

Do riot say that life is waning, 
Or that hope's sweet day is set ; 

While 1 r ve thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th' horizon yet. 

Do not think those charms are flying, 
Though thy roses fade and fall; 

Beauty hath a grace undying, 

Which in these survives them all. 

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, 
That on other cheeks may shiue, 

Would I change the least, the slightest, 
That is ling'ring now o'er thine. 



THE GAZELLE. 

Dost thou not hear the silver bell, 
Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing? 

T is my lady's light gazelle, 
To me her love thoughts bringing,- 

All the while that silver bell 
Around his d irk neck ringing. 

See. in his mouth he bears a wreath, 
My love hath kist in tying ; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying,— 

Hid within the mystic wreath, 
My love hath kist in tying ! 



Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 
And joy to her, the fairest, 

Who thus hath breathed her soul to rx 
In every leaf thou bearest ; 

Welcome, dear gmelle, to thee, 
And joy to her the fairest! 

Hail ye living, speaking flowers, 
That breathe of her who bound ye; 

Oh, 't was not in fields, or bowers, * 
'T was ou her lips, she found ye ; — 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
T was ou her lips she found ye. 



NO -LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 

No — leave my heart to res', if rest it may, 

When you'h, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 

Could'st thou, when summer hours are fled, 

To some poor leaf that 'a fall'n and dead, 

Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed? 

No— leave this heart to rest, if rest il may, 

When youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 

Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright, 

Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light; 

But now thou corn's! like sunny skies, 

Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, 

When wreck'd and los r his bark before him lies ! 

No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, 

Since youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd away. 



WHERE ARE THE VISIONS. 

" Where are the visions that round me once hover'd, 
" Forms that shed grace from their -hadows alone; 

"Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered, 
"Atd voices th it Music might take for her own ?" 

Time, while I spoke, with his wings renting o'er me. 
Heard me say, '"Where are those visions,»h where?'' 

And pointing his wand to the sunset before me, 
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, " There." 

Fondly I looked, when the wizard had spoken, 
And there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day, 

Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken, 
The last golden fragments of hope melt away. 



WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY. 

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, 

Arid leave thy lute's inglorious sighs; 

Hunting is the hero's joy, 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 

Hark ! the hound-bells ringing sweet, 

While hunters shout, and the «oods repeat, 
Hilli-ho! Hilliho! 

Wind again thy cheerful horn, 

Till echo, faint with answering, dies: 

Burn, bright torches, burn till morn. 
And lead us where the wild boar lies. 

Hark ! the cry. " He 's found, he 's found,' 

While hill and valley our shouts resound. 
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho. 



OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. 

Oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel 
The blight that this world o'er the warmest will iImI ; 
While the faith of all round us is fading or past, 
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the 1m- 



17 



194 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



Far safer for Love 't is to wake and to weep, 
Ab he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep; 
For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, 
While the love that is wakeful lives on to the last 

And tho', as Time gathers his clouds o'er our head, 
A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, 
Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cas*. 
So lhai Love's softeu'd light may shine through to the 



SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER. 

Slumber, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st 
1 My heart beat so wildly, I 'm lost if thou wak'it." 
Thus sung I to a maiden, 

Who slept one summer's day, 
And, like a flower o'erladen 
With too much sunshine, lay. 
Slumber, oh slumber, &c. 

'Breathe not, ob breathe not, ye wind*, o'er her 

cheeks; 
'If mote thus she charm me, I'm lost when she 
speaks." 
Thus sing I, while, awaking, 

She murmurs words that seem 
As if her lips were taking 
Farewell of some sweet dream. 

Breathe not, oh breathe not, tie. 



BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER. 

Brins the bright garlands hither, 

Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 
If so s<*>n ihey must wither, 

Ours be their last sweet sighing. 
Hark ! that low dn.mil chime ! 
'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 
Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, 

Biing all ha vet is ours; 
Let life's day, as'it cksa-s. 

Shine to the last thro' flowers. 

Has'e, ere the bowl* declining, 

Drink of it now or never; 
Now, while Beauty is shining, 

Love, or she's los fir ever. 
Hark! again th«t dull chime, 
T is the dreary voice of Time. 
Oh if life be a torrent, 

Down to oblivi * going. 
Like this cup be its current, 

Blight to the last drop flowing 1 



IF IN LOVING, SINGING. 

If in loving, singing, night and day 

We could tiifle merrily life away, 

Like atoms dancing in the beam, 

Like day-Hies skimming oVr the stream, 

Or summer blossoms, born to sigh 

Their (weAtted ou', and die — 

How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, 

1 hou and I could make our minute* glide ! 

No atoms ever glanced so bright. 

No day-flies ever danced so light. 

Nor summer blossoms naix'd their sigh, 

So close, as thou and 1 ! 



THOU LOV'ST NO MORE. 

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er; 

Thv heart is changed, thy vow is broken, 
Thnu lov'st n ' more— thou lov'st no mor 



Tbo' kindly still those eyes beheld me, 
The smile is gone, which once tbey wore; 

Tho' fondly suit those arms enfold me, 
'T is not the same — thou lov'st uo more. 

Too long my dream of bliss believing, 
I've thought thee all thou wert before; 

But now— alas! there * uo deceiving, 
'T is all too plain, thou lov'st no more. 

Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 

As lost affection's life restore, 
Give peace to her that is forsaken. 

Or bring back him who loves no more. 



WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. 

When abroad in the world thoa appearest, 

And the ybung and the lovely are there, 

To my heart while of all thou Tt the dearest, 

To my eyes tbou Vt of all the most fair. 

They pass, one by one, 

Like waves of the sea, 
That say to the >un, 

" See. how fair we can be." 
But where's 'be light like tbiue, 
In sun or shade to shine ? 
No — no, 'mone them all. there is nothing like thee 
Nothing like thee. 

Oft, of old, without farewell or wanting. 

Beauty's self used to steal from the skies ; 
Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, 
And pit down to earth in disguise ; 
But, no matter what shroud 

Around her might be, 
Men peep'd through the cloud, 
And » liisper'd. " T is She.'' 
So thou, where thousands are, 
Shin'st forth the only star, — 
Yes, yes, 'mpog them all there is nothing like thee, 
Nothing like thee. 



KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINK. 

Keep those eves still purely mine, 

1 ho' far off 1 be : 
When on others most they shine, 

Theu think the> 're turn'd on me. 



Should iho«e lips as now i 

To sweet minstrelsy, 
When their accents stem most fond, 

Then think they 'ie breathed for me 

Mike what heart* thou wilt thy own, 

If when all on thee 
Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 

Tbou think'sl the » bile on me. 



HOPE COMES AGAIN. 

Hope comes again, to this heart long a 
Once more she sings me her rial ering stiain ; 

But hush, gi-.'t e syreu— for, ah, the r s iess, danger 
Iu still sutTringoii, tbau . 

Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, 

! ill tranquil, this b son h > 
And joy comius now, l.ke a suddeu light shining 
O'er evelids lung darkeu'd, would bring me but pain. 

Flv then, ve visions, that Hope would shed oVr me; 

I chance of rest 
Now- lies not in dreaming of bliss that *» before me, 
But, ah — in forgetting h ■» once I was blest. 



NATIONAL AIRS 



195 



O SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. 

O say. thou best and brightest, 

My first love and my last, 
When he. whom now ihou slightest, 

From life's dark scei e hath past, 
Will kinder thoughts then move thee? 

Will pity «ake one thrill 
For him who lived to love thee, 

And dying loved Ihee still? 

If when, that hour recalling 
From which he dales his woes, 

Thou feel'st a tear-drop falling, 
Ah, blush not while it flows; 

But, all Ihe past forgiving, 
Bend gently o'er his shrine, 

Aud say, '• Thi9 heart, when living, 
With all its faults, was mine." 



WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR. 

When night brings the hour 

Of starlight and joy, 
There comes to my bower 

A fairy-wing'd boy; 
With eyes so bright. 

So full of wildarls, 
Like nets of light, 

To tangle young hearts ; 
With lips, in whose keeping 

Love s secret may dwell, 
Like Zephyr a-leep in 

Some rosy sea shell. 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name, 
And his best kiss, 

For ieward, you may claim. 

Where'er o'er the ground 

He prinis his light fee', 
The flow'rs there are found 

Most shining and sweet » 
His looks, as soft 

As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 

Ne er wound but in play: 
And oh, when his wings 

Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 
You 'd fancy its strings 

Were turning to fire. 
Gues> who he is, 

N 'ine but his name, 
And his best kiss, 

For reward, you may claim. 



LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM'D. 

Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 

His weaiy pith to measure, 
When home at length, with fav'ring breeze, 

He brings the far-sought treasure ; 

His ship, in sight of shore goes down, 
That shore to which he h.isied ; 

And all the wealth he thought his own 
Is o'er the waters u feted ! 

Like him, this heart, thro' many a track 

Of toil and sorrow straying. 
One hope alone brought fondly back, 
' Its toil and grief replying. 

Like him, alas. I see that ray 

Of hope before me perish, 
And one daik minute sweep awav 

What years were given to cherish. 



FEAR NOT THAT, WHILE AROUND THEE. 

Fear not lhat, while around thee 

Life's varied blessings pour, 
One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 

Whose smile thou seek'st no more. 
No, dead and cold for ever 

Let our past love remain; 
Once gone, its spirit never 

Shall haunt thy rest again. 

May the new ties that bind thee 

Far sweeter, happier prove, 
Nor e*er of me remind thee, 

But by their truth and love. 
Think how, asleep or waking, 

Thy image haunts me yet ; 
But, how mis heart is breaking 

For thy own peace forget. 



WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 

When love is kind, 

Cheerful and free, 
Love 's sure to find 

Welcome from me. 

But when Love brings 

Heartache or pang, 
Tears, and such things — 

Love may go hang 1 

If Love can sigh 

F r one alone, 
Well plea-ed am I 

To be i hat one. 

But should I see 
Love giv'n to rove 

To two or three, 
Then — good-by Love ! 

Love mutt, in short, 
Keep fond and true, 

Through good repoit. 
And evil too. 

Else, here I swear, 
Young Love may go, 



For aught I care- 
To Jericho. 



THE GARLAND I SEND THEE. 

The Garland I send thee was cull'd from those bowers 
Where thou and I wander'd in long vanish'd hours; 
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays. 
But bears some remembrance of those happy days. 

The mses were gathered by that garden gate, 
Where our meetings, tho' early, seemed always too 

late; 
Where ling'ring full oft through a summer-night's 

moon, 
Our partings, tho' late, appeared always too soon. 

The rest were all cull'd ftom the banks of that glade, 
Where, watching Ihe sunset, so often we've slray'd, 
And mourn'd, as ihe time went, that Love had no 

power 
To bind in his chain even one happy hour. 



HOW SHALL I WOO? 

If I -peak to ihee in friendship's nami 
Thou 'hink'st 1 speak too coldly; 

If I mention Love's devoted li ■me, 
Thou say'st I speak too boldly. 



Fl96 



SACRED SONGS. 



Between these two unequal fires, 
Why doom me thus to hover? 

I 'm a. friend, if such thy heart requires, 
If more thou seek'st, a lover. 

Which shall it be ? How shall 1 woo ? 

Fair one, choose between the two. 

Tbo' the wings of Love will brightly play, 

When first he comes to woo thee, 
There 's a char.ce ihat he may fly away 

As fas' as be flies to thee. 
While Friendship, tho' on foot she come, 

No flights of fancy trying, 
Will, therefore, oft be foui.d at home, 

When Love ab.oad is flying. 
Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 
Dear one, choose between the two. 

If neither feeling suits thy heart, 

Let's see, to please thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 

To mix their charms together; 
One feeling, still more sweet, to form 

From two so sweet already — 
A friendship that like love is warm, 

A iove like friendship steady. 
Thus let it be, thus let me woo, 
Deare=t, thus we HI join the two. 



SPRING AND ADTDMN. 

Every season hath its pleasures ; 

Spring may boast her flowery prime, 
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 

Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time. 
So Life's year begins and closes; 

Days, tho' thon'uing, still can shine; 



What tho' you h gave love and roses, 
Age still leaves us friends and wine. 

Phillis, when she might have caught me, 

All the Spring looked c»y and shy, 
Tet herself in Autumn sought me, 

When the flowers were all gone by. 
Ah, too la'e; — she f uud her luver 

Calm and free beneath his vine, 
Driukii g to tbe Snring-tinie over, 

In his best autumnal wine. 

Thus may we, as years are flying. 

To 'heir flight our pleasures suit, 
Nor regret the blossoms dying, 

While we still may taste the fruit. 
Ob, while days like this are ours, 

Where "s the lip that dares rei.ine ? 
Spring may lake our loves and flow'rs, 

60 Autumn leaves us friends and wine. 



LOVE ALONE. 

If thou would'st have thy charms enchant oar eyes, 
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies: 
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, 
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 

What would the rose with all her pride be worth. 
Were there no sun to call h. r Lrightne-s forth ? 
Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown, 
Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone. 

Fair as thy charms in yonder gla>s appear. 
Trust not their bloom, tbey 'II f.de from year to year 
Would V thou they s'ill should shine as first they sboue 
Go, fix >hy mirror in Love's eyes alone. 



SACRED SONGS. 



TO EDWARD TUITE D ALTON, ESQ. 
THIS FIRST NUMBER OF SACRED SONGS IS INSCRIBED 

BY HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND 
THOMAS MOORE. 
Mayfitld Cottagt, Athbowmc, May, 1S16. 



SACRED SONGS. 

THOU ART, O GOD. 

(AIR.— UNKNOWN. 1 ) 

"The day is thine; the nirhl also is thine : thou hast 
prepared the light and the sou. 



Thou art, God. the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world \vesee; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night. 
Are but reflections caught from Thee. 



» I nave heard that this air is by the late Mrs. 
Sheridan. It is sung to the beautiful old words, " I 
do confess lb u 'rt smooth and fair." 



Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 

When Day, with farewell beam, delaya 
Among the opening clouds of Even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden u.ras into Heaven — 

Those hues, that mace the Sun's decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 

When Night with wings of s'arry gloom, 
O'ershadows all the earn and skies. 

Like some dark, Uautei u» bird, whose plume 
Is sp<rkling with unm. 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine. 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 

When vouthful Spring around us beatbej, 

Thy > 
And evt i ha 

Is born beneath that kin : 
Where'er w 
And all things fair ami bright are 1 bine. 



SACRED SONGS 



197 



THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. 
(AIR. —BEETHOVEN.) 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies,* 

VVhtn hastening fondly home, 
Ne'er stoops to eanh her wing, nor flies 

Where idle warlilers roam. 
But high she shoots through air and lights 

Above all low delay, 
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims her way. 

So grant me, God, from eatery care 

And slain of passion free, 
Al"ft, through Virtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee ! 
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 

My Soul, as home she springs; 
Thy Sunshine on ber joyful way, 

Thy Freedom in her wings 1 



FALLEN IS THY THRONE, 
(AIR. — MARTINI.) 

Fall'n is thy Throne, oh Israel ! 

Silence is o'er Ihy plains ; 
Thy dwellings all lie desolate, 

Thy children weep in chains. 
Where are the dews that fed thee 

On Etham's barren shore? 
That fire from Heaven which led thee, 

Now lights thy path no more. 

Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem — 

Once she was all thy own; 
Her love thy fairest heritage,* 

Her power thy glory's throne.' 
Till evil came, and blighted 

Thy long-lov'd olive-tree;* — 
And Salem's shrines were lighted 

For other gods than Thee. 

Then sunk the star of Soiyma — 



The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and waste her bowers, 

Where once the mighty trod, 
And sunk those guilty towers, 

While Baal reign'd as God. 

« Go"— said the Lord — " Ye Conquerors ! 

"Steep in her blood your swords, 
"And raze to earth her battlements,* 

*' For they are not the Lord's. 
" Till Zion's mournful daughter 

"O'er kindred bones shall tread, 
"And Hinnom's vale of slaughter l 

'• Shad hide but half her dead !" 



' The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an 
elevated pitch, in "order to surmount every obstacle 
between her and the place to which she is destined. 

»"I have left mine heritage; I have given the 
dearly-beloved of my soul into the bands of'her ene- 
mies." — Jeremiah, zii. 7. 

3 " Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory." — Jer. 
xiv. 21. 

* "The Lord called thy name a green olive-tree; 
fair and of goodly fruit," be — Jer. x\. 16. 

* " For he shall be like the heath in the desert. ,; — 
Jer. xvii. 6. 

s « Take away her battlements ; for they are not 
the Lord's." — Jer. v. 10. 

'"Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the 
Lord, that it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the 

_ 17*"~ 



WHO IS THE MAID? 

st. Jerome's love. a 

(AIR. — BEETHOVEN.) 

Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, 

Through cold reproof and slander's blight ? 
Has she Love's roses on her cheeks? 

Is hers an eye of this world's light? 
No — wan and sunk with midnight prayer 

Are the pale looks of her 1 love ; 
Or if, at times, a light be there, 

Its beam is kindled from above. 

I chose not her, my heart's elect, 

From those who seek their M<ker's shrine 
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd, 

As if themselves were things divine. 
No — Heaven but faintly warms the breast 

That beats beneath a broider'd veil ; 
And she who comes in glittering vest 

To mourn her frailty, still is frail.o 

Not so the faded form I prize 

And love, because its bloom is gone; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 

Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, 

So touching as that form's decay, 
Which, like the altar's trembling light, 

In holy lustre wastes away. 



THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW. 
(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

This world is all a fleeting show, 

For man's illusion given; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 

There's nothing true but Heiven! 

And false the light on Glory's plume, 

As fading hues of Even ; 
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, 
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb — 

There's nothing bright but Heaven ! 

Poor wanderers of a stormy day. 

From wave to wave we're driven, 

And Fancy's flash, and Rea-on's ray, 

Serve but to light the troubled way — 

There 's nothing calm but Heaven 1 



OH THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S 

TEAR. 

(AIR. — H A VDN.) 



Oh Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, 
How dark this world would be, 

If, when deceived and wounded here, 
We could not fly to Thee ! 



Valley of the Son of Hinnom.but the Valley of Slaugh- 
ter; lor they shall bury in Tophet till there be no 
place."— Jer. vii. 32. 

8 These lines were suggested by a passage in one of 
St. Jerome's Letters, replying to some calumnious 
remarks that had been circulated respecting his inti- 
macy with the matron Paula: — "Numquid me ves- 
tes sericae, nitentes gemmae, pida facies, aut auri 
rapuit ambitio ? Nulla fuit alia Romas matronarum, 
qua: ineani possit edomare nientein, nisi lugeus atque 
jejunans, flelu pene cascata " — Ejaist. "Sitibiputem." 

9 Ov yap /cpvcod>op£iv rr\v fiangvovaav (5a.— 
Chrysost. Homil. 8. in Epist. ad Tim. 



198 



SACRED SONGS. 



The friends who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep these tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal lhat broken heart, 

Which, like the plants lhat throw 
Their IrHgr-uice from the wounded part, 

Breathes svveeluess out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And even the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 

Is dimm'd and vanish'd loo, 
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our Peace-branch from above? 
Then sonow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 



WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 
(AIR. — AVISON.) 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit'* young bloom, 

Or earih had profaned what was born for the skies. 
Death chill'd the fair founain.ere sorrow had s'ain'd it; 

'T wa> frozen in all the pure light of its course. 
And but sleeps till the sunshine" of Heaven has un- 
cluin'd it, 

To water that Eden where first was its source. 
Weep not for those whom the veil nf ibe tomb, 

In life's happy morning, ha'h hid from our eyes. 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spiii 's young bloom. 

Or earth bad profaned what was born for the skies. 

Mourn not for ber, the young Bride of the Yale,* 

Our gayest and loveliest, lost lo us now, 
Ere life's early lusire had Lime to grow pale, 

And the garland of L .ve was yet fresh on her brow. 
Ob, then was her moment, dear'spiijt, for flying 

From this gloomy world, while its gloom was un- 
known — 
And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, 

Weie echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. 
Weep not for her — in her spiing-'ime she flew 

To that land where the wings of the soul are un- 
furl'd ; 
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew. 

Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. 



THE TURF SHALL BE MT FRAGRANT 
SHfllNE. 

(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine; 
My temple, Lord ! that Arch of thine ; 



I This second verse, which I wrote long after the 
first, alludes to the f .te of a very lively and amiable 
girl, the daughter of the la'e Colonel Bainbringe, wh? 
was married in Ashbourne church. October 31. IM5. 
and died of a fever in a few weeks af'er : the sound 
of her mirringe-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears 
when we heaid of her death. During her last deli- 
rium she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer 
and sweeter than usual, and among them were some 
from the present collection, (particularly, -There's 
nothing bright but Heaven,") which t hi - vety inter- 
esting girl bad often heaid me sing during the sum- 



My censer's breath the mountain airs, 
And silent thoughts my only prayers. 3 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
When murmuring homeward to their caves, 
Or when the stillness of the sea. 
Even more than music, breathes of Thee ! 
I 'II seek, by day, some glade unknown, 
All light and silei.ee. like thy Throne j 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that n atch my rite. 

Thy Heaven, on which 't is bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book. 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

I II read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track,' 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 

There 's nothing bright, above, below, 
From flowers ihtt bloom to s'ars that glow, 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity : 

There's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace hy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn ail bright again! 



SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL. 

Miriam's song. 

(AIR. — AV1SON.*) 

" And Miriam, the Prophetess, tbe sister of Aaron, took 
a timbrel in brr hand; and all tbe women went out after 
her, with timbrels and with dances. " — £zoi. it, 90. 

Sound tbe loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! 
Jehovah has triomph'd — his people are free. 
Sing — for the pride of the Tyrant is bmken, 

HischirkKs, his horsemen, '11 splendid and brave- 
How vain was tbeir boas!, for Ibe Lord bath but 
spoken, 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in tbe wave. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Eg' pt's dark sea; 
Jehovah has triumph °d — bis people are free. 

Praise lo the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! 

H's «n rd was our arrow, his breath was our sword. — 

Who shall ieturn lo tell L. 

Of those she se:. .- of her pride ? 

For the Lord hat!. lis pillar of glory,* 

And all her brave th usau Is are dash'd in the tide. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, 
Jehovah has triumph d — bis people are free 1 



GO, LET ME WEEP. 
(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

Go. let me weep — there 's blis* in tears, 
When lie who sheds them inly feels 

Seme lingering stain of early years 
Effaced by every drop (hat steals. 



» Fii orant tacite. 

s I have so much altered the chane'er of this air, 
which is from the beginnine < f one of Avison's Id- 
f.shioned coocertos. that, without this acknowledge 
ment, it could hardly. I think, be lec^snued. 

* " And it came to pass. that, in the snorning srateh, I 
the Lord looked unto the host of the Egrptiiaa, , 
through the pillar of fire and of tbe ch ud, aud man- , 
bled Ibe host of the Egyptians."' — Er.d. xiv. ii. 



SACRED SONGS 



199 



The fruitless showers of worldly woe 
Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 

While tears that from repentance flow, 
In bright exhilernent reach the skies. 
Go, let me weep. 

Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew 

More idly tlan the summer's wind, 
And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw, 

But left no trace of sweets behind. — 
The vnmest si?h that pleasure heaves 

Is c "Id, is faint to th':se that swell 
The heart, where pure repent. nee grieves 

O'er hours of pleasure, loved t -o well. 
Leave me to sigh. 



COME NOT, OH LORD. 
(AIR. — HAYDN.) 

Come not, oh Lord, in the dread robe of splendour 
Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day of thine ire ; 

Come veil'd in tho-e shadows, deep, awful, but tender, 
Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire ! 

Lord, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy Nation » 
Stood fronting her Fee by the red-rolling stream J 

O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation. 
While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. 

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee, 
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove; 

While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee, 
Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love ! 



WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS. 
(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

Were not the sinful Mary's tears 

An offering worthy Hea'ven, 
When, o'er the faults of former years, 

She wept — and was forgiven ? 

When, bringing every balmy sweet 

Her d «y of luxury stored. 
She o'er her Saviours hall 'w'd feet 

The precious odours pour'd ; — 

And wiped them with that golden hair, 
Where once the diamond shone ; 

Though now those eems of grief were ther* 
Which shine for God alone! 

We>e not those swee's, so humbly shed — 
That hair — those weeping eyes — 

e sunk heart, tl 
Heav 

Thou, that hast slept in error"s sleep, 
Oh, would "si thou wake in Heaven, 

Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 
" Love much''* and be forgiven! 



AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. 
(AIR. — HAYDN.) 

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, 
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 

So, deep in my soul the 'till prayer of devotion, 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, 



My God ! silent, to Thee — 
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 

As s'ill to the star of its worship, thoush clouded, 
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, 
So. dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Tbee, 
My God ! trembling, to Thee, 
True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 



BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 

(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

But who shall see the glorious day 

When, throned on Zion's brow, 
The Lord shall rend that veil away 

Which hides the na'ions now ?3 
When earh no more beneath the fear 

Of his rebuke shall lie;* 
When pain shall cease, and every tear 

Be wiped from every eye.s 

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn 

Beneath the heathen's chain; 
Thy days of splendour shall return, 

And all be new again.* 
The Fount of Life shall then be quaff 'd 

In peace, by all who come ; i 
And every wind that blows shall waft 

Some long-lost exile home. 



• "And it came between the camp of the Egyptians 
and the ramp of Israel ; and it was a cloud and dark- 
ness to them, but it gave light by night to these." — 
Exod. xiv. 20. 

a " Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she 
loved much." — St. Luke, vii. 47. 



ALMIGHTY GODS 

CHORUS OFPRIESTS. 

(AIR. — MOZART.) 

Almiffh'yGod! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,* 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, 
And Love that " fadeth not awav,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded'all,» 
We bless tlie leaves that never fall, 
And trembling sav, — " In Eden thus 
" The Tree of Life may flower for us !" 
When round thy Cherubs — smiling calm 
Without their flames io_ W e wreathe the Palm, 



» " And he will destroy, in this mountain, the face 
of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that 
is spread over all nations." — Isaiah, xjcv. 7. 

«"The rebuke of his people shall he take away 
from off all the earth." — Isaiah, xxv. 8. 

* •' And God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes; neither shall there be any more pain." — Rev. 
xjci. 4. 

s "And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I 
make all things new." — Rev. xxi. 5. 

1 "And whosoever will let bim lake the water of 
life freely. - ' — Rev xxii. 17. 

8 "The Scriptures having declared that the Temple 
of Jerusalem was a type of ihe Messiah, it is natuial 
to conclude that the Palms, which made so conspicu- 
ous a figure in that s'ructure, represen'ed that Life 
and Immortality which were brought fo lizhl bv the 
Gospel."— Observations on the Palm, as a sacred 
Emblem, by W. Tiahe. 

• "And be carved all the walls of the house round 
about wiih carved figures of cherubhns, and palm- 
trees, and open flowers " — 1 Km$s, vi. 29. 

jo ii When the passover of the tabernacles was re- 
vealed to the great lawgiver in the mount, theu the 



200 



SACRED SONGS. 



Oh God ! we fee) the emblem true — 
Thy Mercy is etsrnai too 
Those Cherubs, with theif smiling eyes, 
That crown of Paim which never dies, 
Are but the types of Thee above — 
Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! 



OH FAIR! OH PUREST! 

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER. 1 

(AIR.— MOORE.) 

Oh fair ! oh purest ! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove, 
And lives unseen, and bathes ber wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hovering hawk be near, 
That limpid spring in its mirror clear 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, 
And warns the timorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove; 
Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. 

The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, 
In whose holy mirror, night and day 
Thou 'It study Heaven's reflected ray ; 
And should the foes of virtue dare. 
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly ! 

Bo thou that dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 



ANGEL OF C HARITT 
(AIR.— HANDEL.) 

Angel of Charity, who. from above, 

Contest to dwell a pilgrim here, 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 

And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
When on the -.hrine of God were laid 

First-fruits of all most good and fair, 
That ever blooni'd in Eden's shade. 

Thine was the holiest offering there. 

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given 

But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.* 
But, lonz as Love, Almighty Love, 

Shall on his throne of thrones abide. 
Thou, Charity, shilt dwell above, 

Smiling for ever by His side! 



BEHOLD THE SUN. 
(AIR. — LORD MORNINGTOK, 

Behold the Sun, how bright 

From yonder East he springs, 
As if the soul of life and light 

Were breathing from his wings. 

So bright the Gospel broke 

Upon the souls of men ; 
So fresh the dreaming world awoke 

In Truth's full radiance then. 

Before yon Sun arose, 

Stars cluster'd through the sky — 
But oh how dim, how pale were those, 

To His one Durning eye ! 

So Truth lent many a ray, 

To bless the Pagan's night — 
But, Lord, how weak, how cold were they 

To Thy One glorious Light ! 



LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAT. 
(AIR. — DR. BOYCE.) 

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, 
When we shall see thy Ari^el. hovYing o'er 

This sinful world, with band to heav'B extended, 
And hear him swear by Thee that Time 's no more?* 

When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming rav — 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day? 



When through the world thv awful call hath 
" Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, >e Dead '." * 

And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded. 
The Saviour shall put for'h his radiant head ; * 

While Earth and Heav'n before Him pa^sawav 6 — 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day ? 

When, with a glance, th' Eternal Judge shall sever 
Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, 

And say to those. "Depart from me for ever !» 
To these, '-Come, dwell with me in endless light !" t 

When each and all in silence take their wav — 

Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that "day ? 



OE, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE. 

(AIR. — HAYDN.) 

Oh, teach me to love Tbee. to feel what tbon art, 
Till, fill'd with the one sacred image, my heart 



cherubic images which appeared in that structure 
were no longer surrounded by flames ; fir the taber- 
nacle was a type of the dispensati >n of mercy, by 
which Jehovah confirmed hi* gracious covenant to : 
redeem mankind."— O&jertxi'iaiu oil tht Palm. 

1 In St. Augustine's Treatise upon theadv mtaeesof 
a solitary life, addressed to b\- sister, there is the fol- | 
lowing fanciful passage, from which, the reader will 
perceive, the thousht of this soi le was taken : — " Te, 
soror, nunquam nolo essesecuram. *ed liniere semper- 
que tuam fragilita'em haLere suspectam, ad instar 
pavidae columbae frequentare rivos aquamin e' quisi 
in specuio accipitris cernere supervolantis eftigiem et 
cavere. Rivi aquarum sentenlix snnt scripturarum, 
quae de limpidissimo sapientiae (bnte proflueutes," tc 
fcc. — De Vit. Eremit. ad Sororem. 

* " Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die, 
One lost in certainty, and one in joy." Prior. I 



3 "And the 3.me\ which I saw stand upon the sea 
and upon the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and 
sware by Him that liveth for ever and ever, that there 
should be time no longer." — Rev. x. 5. 6. 

« "Awake, ye Dead, and come to judgment" 

* " They shall see the Son of Man coming in the 
clouds of heaven — and all the angels with him.'* — 
Matt. xxiv. 30. and nv. 31. 

« " From his fice the earth and th; heaven fled I 
away." — Rtv. si. II. 

i " And before Him shall be gathered all nations, 
and He shall separate 'hem one from another. 

••Then shall the King say unto them on his rirht 
hand, G me, ye blessed of" my Fatt.er, inherit the 
kingdom prepared for you, &c. 

'• Then shall He say also unto thern on the left band, 
Depart from me, ye cursed, .fee 

"And these shall go away into everlasting 
ment ; but the righteous into "life eternal."— Aft 



SACRED SONGS. 



201 



Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart, 

Reserved for Thy worship alone. 
In joy and in sorrow, through praise and through 

bl .rue. 
Thus still let me, living and dying the same, 

In Thy service bloom and decay — 
Like some lone al ar, whose votive flame 

Id holiness wasteth away. 

Though born in this desert, and donm'd by my birth 
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, 

On Thee lei my spirit rely — 
Like some rude dial, that, rix'd on earth, 

Still looks for its light from the sky. 



WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 
(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

Weep, weep for him, the Man of God — * 
In yonder vale he sunk to rest; 

But none of earth can point the sod * 
That flowers above his sacred breast. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep! 

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain,3 
His woids refresh'd like Heaven's dew — 

Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again 
A Chief, to God and her so true. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Remember ye his parting gaze, 
His farewell song by Jordan's tide, 

When, full of glory and of days, 
He saw the p'omised land — and died.* 
Weep, children of Israel, weep! 

Yet died he not as men who sink, 
Before our eyes, to soulless clay ; 

But. changed to spirit, like a wink 
Of summer lightning, pass'd away.* 
Weep, cbildieu of Israel, weep ! 



LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY 
BREEZE. 

(AIR. — BEETHOVEN.) 

Like morning, when her early breeze 
Breaks up the surface of the seas. 
That, in those fur rows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light — 

Thy Grace can send ils breathings o'er 
The Spirit, dark and b st before, 
And, Iresh'ning all its depths, prepare 
For Truth divine to enter there. 



Till David touch'd his sacred lyre, 
In silence lay th' unbreathing wire; 
But when he swept its chords along, 
Ev'n Angels stoop'd to hear that song. 

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh, Lord, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless choid — 
Till, waked by Thee, ils breath shall rise 
In music, worthy of the skies! 



COME, YE DISCONSOLATE. 
(AIR. — GERMAN.) 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, 

Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; 
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your 
anguish — 

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. 

Joy of the desolate. Light of the straying, 
Hope, when all others die. fadeless and pure, 

Here S|>eaks the Comforter, in Gnd's name saying — 
•' Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure." 

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, 
What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, 

Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — 
" Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." 



i " And the children of Israel wept for Moses in 
the plains of Moab." — Devi, xxxiv. 8. 

* " And he buried him in a valley in the land of 
Moab : but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto 
this day." — Ibid. ver. 6. 

s " My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech 
shall distil as the dew." — Masts' Song. 

* " I have c msed thee to see it with thine eyes, but 
thou shalt not go over thither." — Deitt. xxxiv. 4. 

* " As he was going to embrace Eleazer and Joshua, 
and was still discoursing with them, a cloud stood 
over him on the sudden, and he disappeared in a cer- 
tain valley, although he wrote in the Holy Books that 
he died, which was done out of fear, lest they should 
venture to say that, becau e of his ext'aordinary 
virtue, he went to God." — Joscphus, book iv. chap. 
•viii. 



AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COME. 
(AIR. — STEVENSON.) 

Awake, arise, thy light is come; s 

The nations, that before outshone thee, 

Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 
The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, 
From ev'ry nook of eanh shall cluster 

And kings and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy lisiug lustre.'' 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, 

Thy exiled sons return to thee, 
To thee return thy home-sick daughters.' 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents, 
Shall lay their treasures down before thee; 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air, and sparkle o'er thee.9 

See, who are these that, like a cloud, i° 
Are gathering from all earth's dominions, 

Like doves, long absent, when allow'd 
Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. 

Surely the isles shall wait for me," 
The ships of Tarshish round will hover, 

To bring thy sons across the sea, 
And waft their gold and silver over. 



« "Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the 
glory of the Lord is risen upon thee." — Isaiah, lx. 

f "And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and 
kings to the brightness of Ihy rising." — ibid. 

8 " Lift up thine eyes round about and see ; all 
they gather themselves together, they come to thee: 
thy sons shall come from afar, and thy daughters shall 
be nursed at thy side." — Ibid. 

9 " The multitude of camels shall cover thee ; the 
dromedaries of Midian and Ephah; all tbey from 
Sheba shall come ; they shall bring gold and incense." 
— Ibid. 



J» " Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships 



202 



SACRED SONGS. 



And Lebanon tby pomp shall grace — » 
The tir, the pine, the palm victorious 

Shall beautify our Holy Place, 
And make the groui.d 1 t.ead on glorious. 

No more sh.li Disc rd haunt thy wa>s,a 
N r ruiu waste Iby cheerle-s nation; 

But Ihou .halt call thy poitais, Praie, 
And thou shalt name thy walls, salvation. 

The sun no more shall make Ihee bright,* 
Nor moon shall lend her lus're to thee, 

Bui God, Himself, shall be tl 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Tby sun shall never more go down ; 

A ra", from heav'n itself 'escend. d, 
Shall ligbt thy everlasting crown— 

Thy days of mourning all are ended.* 

Mro/n, elec', and righteous land ! 

II r Branch, f r ever green and vernal, 
Wfcith I have planted with this liand — 

I*e« thou shall in Life Eterual.* 



THERE IS 
(AIR- 



BLEAK DESERT. 
RESCENTINI.) 



Tfesre is a bleak Desert, where daylight crows weary 
Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary — 

What may that 1> 
•Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come 
Are lost, like that daylight, for 't is not their home. 

There is a lone Pilgrim, before whrse faint eyes 
The water he pants for but sparkles and liies — 

Who may Hat Pilejiai be? 
T is Man, hapless Man. through 'his life tempted en 
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. 

There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert 

stealing 
To pure lips alone its refreshmen' revelling — 

What may that Fou> t-. 
Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs m 

ground. 
By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found." 



There it a fai 
To point wher 



i the spell 
I well - 



Tis F»ith, humble Faith, who hath learn'd 

where'er 
Her wand bends to worship, the Truth mutt be i 



of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their 
silver and their gold with them." — Isaiah, Ir. 

* " The glory of Lebaoon shall come unto thee 
(be fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the bos together, to 
beautify the pHce of my sanctuary, a:.d I will make 
the place of my feet glorious." — Ibid. 

»" Violence shall no more be hennd in II 
wasting nor destruction within thy Iwwders; but thou 
shalt call thy walls, Salvation, and tby gates. Praise.' 
— Ibid. 

* " Thy sun shall be no more thy lieht by day 
neither f.>r briehtness shall the moon give lirht un'o 
Ibee : but the Lord shall be unto Ihre an everlasting 
light, and thy God thy glor;.'" — /itd. 

« » Thy sun shall no more go down ; for the Lord 
shall be thine everlasting lieht, and the days of thy 
mourning shall be ended.'' — Ibid. 

» " Thy people also shsll be all riehteous ; they 
shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my 
planting, the work of my hands.'' — Ibid. 

« In singing, the following line had better be 
adopted,— 

" Can but by the gifted of Heaven be found." 



SINCE FIRST THT WORD. 
(AIR.— NICHOLAS FR.EEMAK.) 

Since fir t Thy Word awaked mv heart 
Like i.ew life dawning o'er n.e. 

Where'er I turn mine eyes, Tbou art, 
All light and love before n*. 

Nought "else I feel, or hear or see- 
All ootids of earth 1 sever — 

Thee, O God, ai d only Thee 
1 live for, i.ow and ever. 

Like him whose fetters dropp'd away 

When lieh' shone o'er his prison,'' 
My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray, 

Hath from her chains arisen. 
And shall a sool Thou bid-t be free, 

Return to bondaee ? — never 1 
Thee, U God, ai.d only Thee 

I live for, now and ever. 



HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE. 
(AIR. RODSSEAC.) 

Hark ! t is the breeze of twili e ht calling 

Evrth's wearv eh 
Wh.le. round the couch of Na-ure falling, 

Gently the night's soft curtains close. 
Soon o'er a world, in sler \ 

Numberless stars* through vooder dark, 
Shall look, like eves of Cherubs s 

From out the veils that bid the Ark. 

Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepesf, 

Thou who. in silence thr ned sJ 
Tlirrughout all lime, unwearied, keenest 

Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and love. 
Grant tint, benea'h 'hire 

Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn, 
May. in their darkness. > 

Like ** sealed fountains," "rest till dawn. 



WHERE IS TOUR DWELLING, TE SAINTED ? 

(AIR — HASSE.) 

Wl ere is your dwelling, ye Sainted 

right 
Than fancy or hope ever panted, 
Walk ye in rrtory and light ? 

- same kii rd m i 
Breathes there a soul tha' (nay aare 
Look to that » 
Or hope to dwell with you there? 






- 
f weepies; 
Cbaven'd freen evil'to good — 

.Crescent, 
ctows 

r,e Present, 

«posM» — 

• et air? 
Sav. t»v rited, 

Brrght souls, to dwell with you there ? 



* "And, 
him, sad a 

fell off fr. n; 



behold, the angel of the Lord ca«je mpcm 
light shined in the pri«on. and his rhaias 
i his hands.* — Jctt, 



SACRED SONGS. 



203 



HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE'S WING. IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER 



(All 



ANONYMOUS.) 



How lightly mounts the Mi.se's win?, 
Whose theme is in the skie 

Like morning larks, thai sweeter sing 
The neirer Heav n ihey riie. 

Though Love bis magic lyre may tune, 
Vet ah, the flow'rs he round it w. ea'hes 

Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon 
Whose madness in their odour breathes. 

How purer far the sacred lute, 

Rouud which Devotion lies 
Sweet flow'rs that turn to heav'nly fruit, 

And palm thai never dies. 

Though War's high-sounding harp may be 
Most welcome to the hero's ears, 

Alas, his chords of vie ory 
Are wet, all o'er, with human tears. 

How far more sweet their numbers run, 
Who hymn, like Saints above, 

No victor, but th' Eternal One, 
No trophies but of Love ! 



GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 

(AIR.— STEVENSON.) 

Go forth to the Mount— bring the olive-branch home,! 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 
From that time. 3 when the moon upon Ajalon's vale, 

Looking motionless down.s saw the kings of the 
earth, 
In the presence of Gtd's mighty Champion, grow 
pale — 

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth! 
Go forth to the Mount— bring the olive-branch home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 

Bring myrtle and palm— bring the boughs of each tree 
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.* 
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, 

With a light not their own, through the Jordan's 
deep tide, 
Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on — * 

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride ! 
Go forth 10 the Mount — bring the olive-branch home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 



AYDN.) 



* "And that they should publish and proclaim in 
all their cities, arid in Jerusalem, saying. Go forth 
unto the mount, and fetch olive-branches," &c. &c. — 
Aeh. viu. 15. 

a "For since the days of Joshua the son of Nun 
unto that day h^d not the children of Israel done so : 
and there was very gre-it gladness." — Ibid. 17. 

a u Sun, stand thou still upon Gibenn ; and thou, 
Moon, in Ihe valley of Ajalon." — Josh. x. 12. 

* " Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and 
myrtle- branches, and palm-braoches, and branches of 
th'ick trees, to make booths." — Neh. viii. 15. 

* "And Ihe priests that bare Ihe ark of the cove- 
nant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the 
midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on 
dry ground." — Joih. iii. 17. 



Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 

Love, with deaihless wing, shall waft her 
To those she long hath niourn'd for here ? 

Hearts, from which 't was death to sever, 
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shalt meet us and be lost no more. 

When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heav'D, where are they. 

Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, 
Blest, and thinking bliss would stay ? 

Hope still lifts ber radiant finger 

Pointing to th' eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal \et Ibey linger, 

Looking back for us to come. 

Alas, alas — doth Hope deceive us? 

Shall friendship — love— shall all those ties 
That bind a moment, and 'hen leave us, 

Be found again where nothing d.es ? 

Oh, if no other boon were given, 
To keep our hearts from » rung and stain, 

Who » ould not try to w in a Heaven 
Where all we love shall live again? 



WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 
(AIR.— NOVELLO.) 

" War against Babylon ! " shout we around,* 

Be our banners through earth unfurl'd ; 
Ri=e up, \e nations, ye kings, at Ihe sound — '' 

" War against Babylon !» shoul through the world ! 
Oh, thou, that dwelled on many waters^ 

J by day of pride is ended uow ; 
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters 

Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over thy brow ! 
War, war, war against Babylon 1 

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,* 

Sei the standard of Gd on hiih ; 
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields, 

"Zion"our watch woid, and "vengeance " our cry ! 
Woe ! v»oe ! — the time of ;hy visitation io 

Is come, proud Land, tby doom is cast — 
And the black surge of desolation 

Sweeps o'er thy guiliy head, at last! 

War, war, war against Babylon ! 



6 "Shout against her round about." — Jer. 1. 15. 

1 "Set up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet 
among the nations, prepare the nations against her, 
call together against her the kingdoms," &c. &c — 
Ibid. li. 27. 

8 "Oh,"thou, that dweliest upon many waters. Ihv 
end is come."— Ibid. 13 

9 "Make bright the arrows ; gather the shields 

set the stai.dard upon the walls of Babylon." 

— Ibid li. 11, 12. ' 

»o«W*oe unto them! for their day is come, the 
time of their visitation ! V — Jbid 1. 27. 



J 



204 



THE SUMMMER FETE. 



THE SUMMER FETE 



TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. NORTON. 

For the groundwork of the following Poem I am 
indebted to a memorable Fete, given some years since, 
at Boyle Farm, the seat of the late Lord Henry Fitz- 
gerald. In commemora'ion of that evening — of 
which the lady to whom these pages are inscribed 
was, I well recollect, one of the most distinguished 
ornaments — I was induced at the time to write some 
verses which were af erwards, however, thrown aside 
unfinished, on my discovering that the same task had 
been undertaken by a noble poet,' whose playful and 
happy jeu-d'tsprit on the subject has since been pub- 
lished. It was but lately, that, on finding the frag- 
ments of my own sketch among my papers I thought 
of founding on them such a de-crip: ion of an imagi- 
nary Fete as might furnish me with situations for the 
introduction of music 

Such is the origin and object of the following Poem, 
and to Mrs. Norton it is, with every feeling of admi- 
ration and regard, inscribed by her father's warmly 
attached friend, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

Sloperton Cottage, November, 1S31. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



" Where are ye now, ye summer days, 

"That once in?pired the poet's lavs? 

" Blest time ! ere England's nymphs and swains, 

" For lack of sunbeams, trw.k to coals — 
"Summers of light, undimm'd by tains, 
"Whose only mocking trace remains 

" In watering-pots and parasols." 

Thus spoke a young Patrician maid, 
As, on the morning of tha' Fete 
Which hards unborn shall celebrate, 

She backward drew her curtain's shade, 

And, closing one half dazzled eye, 

Peep'd with the other at the sky — 

Th' important sky, whose light or gloom 

Was to decide, this day, the doom 

Of some few hundred beauties, wits. 

Blues, Dandies, Swains, and Exquisites. 

Faint were her hopes ; for June had now 

Set in wi-h all his usu<l rigour ! 
Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing how 
To nurse a hud, or fan a bough, 

But Eurus in perpetual vigour; 
And, such the biting summer air, 
That she, the nymph now nestling there — 
Snig as her own bright gems recline, 
At night, within their cotton shrine — 
Had, more than once, been caught of lata 
Kneeling before her blazing grate, 
Like a young worshipper of fire. 

Withhands uplifted to the tlanie. 
Whose glow, as if to woo them nisher. 

Through the white fingers flushing came. 

Bot oh! the lieht, the unhoped-for light, 
That now illumed this morning's heaven! 

Up sprung lanthe at the sight. 
Though — hark ! — the clocks but strike eleven 



Lord Francis Egerton. 



And rarely did the nymph surprise 
Mankind so early with her eyes. 

Who now will say that England's sun 

(Like England's self, these spendthrift days) 
His stock of weal h ha'h near outrun, 

And must retrench his golden rays- 
Pay for the pride of sunbeams past, 
And to mere moonshine come at last? 

" Calumnious thought !» lanthe cries, 

While coming mirth lit up each glance, 
And, prescient of the ball, her eves 

Alieady had begun to dance : 
For brighter sun than that which now 

Sparkled o'er London's spires and ft 
Had never bent from heaven his brow 

To kiss Firenze's City of Flowers. 

What must it be — if thus so fair 

Mid the smoked groves of Grosvenor Square- 

What must it be wheie Thames is seen 

Gliding between his banks of ereen, 

While rival villas, on each side, 

Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, 

And, like a Turk letween two rowt 

Of Harem beau'ies, on he goes — 

A lover, loved for es'n the grace 

With which he slides from their embrace. 

In one of those enchanted domes, 

One, the most flowery, cool, and bright 
Of all by which that river roams. 

The Fete is to be held to-niebt — 
That Fete already link'd to fame, 

Whose cards, in many a fair one's sight 
(When look'd for long, at last they came,) 

Seem'd circled with a fairy light;— 
That Fete to which the cull, the flower 
Of England's beauty, rank and power, 
From the yung spin-ter, just come out, 

To the old Premier, too long in — 
From legs of far descended gout. 

To the last new-musiachio"d chin — 
AH were convoked by Fashions spells 
To the small circle w here she dwells, 
Collec'ins nighty, to allure us. 

Live atoms, which together hurl'd, 
She, like another Epicurus, 

Sets dancing thus, and calls " the World." 



Behold how busy in those I 

(Like May-flies, in and out of flowers,) 

The countless menials swarming run, 

To furni-h forth, ere set of sun, 

The banquet-table richly laid 

Beneath von aw nines lengthen'd shade. 

Where fruits shall tempt, and wines entice, 

And Luxury's self, at Gunter's call. 
Breathe from'her summer-throne of ice 

A spirit of coolness over all. 

And now the important hour drew nicti. 
When, 'neath the flu-h of evening's sky, 
The west-end '• world'' for mirth let loose, 
And moved, as he of Syracuse i 
Ne'er dreamt of moving worlds, by force 
Of four-horse power, had all combined 
Through Grosvenor Gate to s; eed their course, 



» Archimedes. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



205 



Leaving that portion of mankind, 

Whom the j- call "Nnbody," behind;— 
No star for Loudon's feasts to-day, 
No moon of bea ,ty, new this May, 
To lend the night her cresceu! ray ;— 
Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, 
But veteran belles, and wits gone by, 
The relics of a past beau-monde, 
A world, like Cuvier's, long dethroned ! 
Ev'n Parliament this evening nods 
Beneath th' harangues of minor gods, 

On half its usual opiate's share ; 
The zreat disi-ensers of repose, 
| The first-rate furnishers of piose 

Being all call'd to — prose elsewhere. 

Soon as through Grosvenor's lordly square * 

That last impregnable redoubt, 
Where, guarded with Patrician care, 

Primeval Error still holds out — 
Where never gleam of gas must dare 

'Gaiust ancient Darkness to revolt, 
Nor smooth Macadam hope lo spare 

The dowagers one single jolt ; — 
Where, far too stalely aud sublime 
To profit by the lights of time, 
Let Intellect march how it will, 
They stick to oil and watchmen still: — 
Soon as through that illu-trious square 

The first epistolary bell, 
Sounding by fits upon the air, 

Of parting pennies rung the knell ; 
WarnM by that tell-tale of the hours, 

And by the day-light's weltering beam, 
The young lanth'e, who. wirfi flowers 

Half crown'd, had sat in idle dream 
Before her glass, scarce knowing where 
Hei lingers roved through that bright hair, 

While, all capriciously, she now 

Dislodged some curl from her white brow, 
And now again replaced it there; — 
As though her ta»k was menit to be 
One endless change of ministry — 
A routing-up of Loves and Graces, 
But to plant others in their places. 

Meanwhile— what strain is that which floats 

Through the small boudoir near— like notes 

Of some young bird, its task repea'ing 

For the next linnet music-meeting? 

A voice it was, whose gentle sounds 

Still kept a modest octave's bounds, 

Nor ye- hid ventured to exalt 

Its rash ambition to B alt, 

That point towards which when ladies rise, 

The wise man takes his hat and — flies. 

Tones of a harp, too, zently played, 

Came with this youthful voice communing; 
Tones true, for once, without the aid 

Of tha' inflictive process, tuning — 
A process which must oft have given 

Poor Milton^ ears a deadly wound; 
So pleased, among the joys of Heaven, 

He specifies " harps ever tuned " » 
She who now sung this gentle s'rain 

Was our young nymph's s'ill younger sister - 
Scarce ready yet for Fashion's train 

In their light legions to enlist her, 
But counted on, as sure to bring 
Her force into the field next spring. 



t I am not certain whether the Dowagers of this 
Square have yet yielded to the innova ions of Gas and 
Police, but at the time when the above lines were 
written they still obstinately persevered in their old 
regime ; and would not suffer themselves to be either 
well guarded or well lighted. 

» their golden harps they took — 

Harps ever tuned. Paradise Lost, book iii. 



The song she thus, like Jubal's shell, 
Gave forth "so sweetly and so well," 
Was one in Morning Post much fan.ed 
From a divine collection, named. 

" S ngs of the Toiiei " — every Lay 
Taking Fur subject of its Muse, 

Some branch of feminine array, 
Some item, with full scope, to choose, 
From diamonds do»n lo dancing shoes; 
From the last hat that Herbault s bands 

Bequeatb'd to an admiring world, 
Down to the latest flounce that s ands 
Like Jacob's Ladder — or expands 

Far forth, tempestuously unfurl'd. 
Speaking of one of the-e new Lays, 
The Morning Pos' thus sweetly >ays : — 
" Not all that breathes from Bishop's lyre, 

" That Barnett dieams or Cooke conceives, 
" Can match for sweetness, strength, or fire, 

" This fine Cantata upon Sleeves. 
"The very notes themselves reveal 

"The cut of each new sleeie so well; 
" A flat betrays the ImLeciUes.* 

" Light fugues the flying lappets tell ; 
" While rich ca'hedral chords awake 
" Our homage for the Manches d'Evtque. n 

T was the first opening song — the Lay 

Of all least deep in loilet-lore, 
That the young nymph, to while away 

The tiring-hour, thus warbled o'er: — 



SONG. 



Array thee, love, array tbee, love, 

In all thy best array thee ; 
The sun 's'below — the moon 's above — 

And Night and Bliss obey thee. 
Pu' on thee all that 's bright and rare. 

The rone, the wreath, the gem. 
Not so much gracing charms so fair, 

As borrowing grace from them. 
Array thee, love, array thee, love, 

In all that's bright airay thee ; 
The sun 's below — the moon *s above — 

And Night and Bliss obey thee. 
Put on the plumes thy lovfr gave, 

The plumes, that, proudly dancing. 
Proclaim to all, where'er they wave, 

Victorious eyes advancing. 
Bring forth the robe, »h se hue of heaven 

From 'heedeiives such light. 
Tint Iris would give all l.er seven 

To boast but one I 
Array Ihee, love, array Ihee, love, 

&c'. &c. ic. 
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 

Through Pleasure's circles hie thee. 
And hearts, » here'er thy footsep* move, 

Will be>t, when they come nigh thee. 
Thv every word shall be a spell, 

Thy every look a iay. 
And tracks of w ondering eyes shall tell 

The glory of thy way' 
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 

Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where'er thy foots'eps move, 

Shall beat when they come uigh thee. 



Now in his Palace of the West, 
Sinking lo slumber, the bright Day, 

Like a tired monarch f nn'd m rest, 
Mid the cool airs of Evening lay ; 



* The name given to those large sleeves that Uxhg 
loosely. 



18 



206 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



While round his couch's golden rim 

The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept— 
Struggling each other's light 10 dim, 

And catch his la-t smile ere he slept. 
How gay. as o'er the gliding 1 hames 

The golden eve its lustre pour'd, 
Shone out the high-born knights and dame* 

Now grouped around that festal board; 
A living mass of plumes and flowers, 
As i hough they 'd robb'd both birds and bower* — 
A pe pled rainbow, swarming through 
Wilh habitants of every hue ; 
While, as the sparkling juice of France 
High in the crystal brimmers flowed, 

Each sunset ray that mixed by chance 
With the wine's spark. es, showed 

How sunbeams may be taught to dance. 

If not in written form exprest, 
>T was known, at least, to every guest, 
That, though n .t bidden to paade 
Their scenic powers in masquerade, 
(A pastime little found to thrive 

In the bleak fog of England's skies, 
Wliere wir 's the thing we best contrive, 

As masqueraders, to disguise.) 
It yet was hoped — and well that hope 

Was answered by the young and gay- 

That. in (he toilet's task to-day, 
Fancy should lake her wildest scope; — 
Thai rhe r.pl milliner should be 
Let loose through fields of poesy, 
The tailor, in inventive trance, 

Up to the heigh's of Epic clamber, 
And all the regions of R niance 

Be rans .eked by the femrru dt i 



Accordingly, with gay Sultanas, 
Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalanas — 
Circassian slaves whom Lo*e would pay 

Half his maternal realms 10 ransom ; — 
Young nuns, whose chief religion lay 

In l-iokir.g most profanely handsome; — 
Muses in muslin — pastoral maids 
With hats from the Arcadr-ian shades, 
And fortune-tellers, rich, t was plain, 
As fortune-Aunters form'd (heir train. 

With these, and more such female groups, 

Were mixed no less fant stic Ir. ops 

Of male exhibilers — all willing 

To look, even more than usual, ki'ling; — 

Beau tyrans, smock-faced braggaJ 

A' d brigands, charmingly ferocious ; — 

M. P.'s turned Turks, good Moslems then, 

Who, last night, vied for the Greeks; 
And Friars, staunch No-Popeiy men, 

In close confab with Whig Cacique*. 

But where is she — the nvmph, whom late 

We I. ft before her glass delaying, 
Liku Eve, when b\ the lake she sate. 

In the clea- wave her charms surveying, 
And saw in that first glassy mirror 
The first fair face that lured to error. 
" Where is she," a-k'st thou ?— watch all looks 

As cent'ring to one point they bear, 
Like sun flowers by the «ides of brooks, 

Turn'd to the sun — and she is there. 
Ev'n in di-guise, oh never doubt 
By her own light you 'd track her out : 
As when the moon, cose shawIM in fog. 
Steals as she thinks, through heaven incog., 
Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, 
At every step, detects her my. 

But not in dark disguise to-night 

Hath our young heroine veil'.! her light ; — 

For see, she walk' the earth. Love's own, 

His wedded bride, by holiest vow 
Pledged in Olympus, and made known 



To mortals by the type which now 
Hangs glittering on her snowy brow, 
That butierfly, mysterious trinket, 
Which means the Soul (tbo' few would think it), 
And sparkling thus on brow so white, 
Tells us we 've Psyche here to-night ! 

But hark ! some song hath caught her ears — 

And, lo, how pleased, as though she 'd ne'er 
Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 

Her goddess-ship approves the air; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain, 
Inspired by nought but pink champagne, 

Her bu lerfiy as gaily nods 
As though she sate with all her train 

At some great Concert of the Gods, 
With Phoebus leader — Jove direcor, 
And half the audience drunk wilh nectar. 

From a male group the carol came 
A few gay youths, whom lound the board 

The last-tried flask's superior fame 
Had lured to taste the tide it pour'd ; 

And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 

Seem'd grandson lo the Teian sire, 

Thus gaily sung, while, to his song, 

Replied iu ch, rus the gay throng : — 



SONG. 

Some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine, 

As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see; 
Bu< as I'm not particular — wit, love, and wine, 

Are for one night's amusement sufficient fol me. 
Nay— humble and strange as my tas'es may appear — 

If driv'n to ihe vocal, 1 could nonage, rbank Heaven, 
To put up with eyes si.ch as beam round mt here, [ 

And such nine as we're sipping, six day* out of 
seven. 
So pledge me a bumper — your sages profoui d 

Maybe blest, if they will, on their own paent plan: 
But a» we are rut sages, why — send the cup round — 

We must only be happy Ihe best way we can. 

A rewa.d by some king was once r.ffer'd, we're told, j 

To whoe'er c >uld invent a new bliss for mankind; j 
But talk ofneic pie. su ■ es 1 — grve me but the old, 

And I'll leave your inventors all new ones they find. 
Or should 1, in quest of fresh realms of bliss, 

Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day, 
Let the rich ros> sea I embark on be ihis. 

And such eyes as we 've here be he stars of my way 
In the mean ime. a bumper — your angels, on'high, 

Mav hive pleasures unknown In life's limited span 
Bi.t as we are not Aide's, why— let the flask fly — 

We must only be b.| py ail ways that we can. 



Now nearly fled was sunse 's light, 

Leaving but so much of is team 
As gave to objects, lite so bright. 

The c loming of a shadowy dream ; 
And ihere "as still whe-e daj 

A flush that spoke him Inth't • die — 
A last link of his glory yrt, 

Bind ng o^rtler ear ii and sky. 
Say, why is it that tnrlitr! ' 
Bee me- even br ws U.e tei 
That dimness wi h i's s"f ei mg touch, 

Can bring rut grace, unfel' bet ore, 
And charms we ne'er can see loo much, 

Wh n s<c but half enchant the more? 
Atas. it is that every joy 
In fulness find* its worst alroy, 
Ar.d half a bliss, but hoped 
Is sweeter than the « h"le possess 'd ; — 
Tha' Beauty, when leas' sho 

A creature most idea! g» 
And rhere's no light from moon or sua 
Like that Imagination throw*;— 






THE SUMMER FETE. 



207 



l is, alas, that Fancy shrinks 

Even from a bright lea.i y, 
And turning in'v, feels and thinks 

Far heavenlier things than e er will be. 

Such was ih' effec' of twilights hour 

Ou the fair groups thai, r und ard round, 
From gtade to grot, from bank <o bower, 

Now wander"d through this fairy ground; 
And ihus did Fat.cy — ai.d champagne — 

Work on the sight their dazzling spells, 
Till nymphs that lonk'd. a! noon-lay, plain, 

Now brigh'en'd, in the gloom, to'belles; 
And the brief interval of t me, 

' f wis- after dinner and before, 
To dowagers brought back their prime, 

And shed a halo round two-score. 

Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, 

I he ear, the fancy quick succeed ; 
And now along the waters fly 

Light gondnles, of Venetian breed, 
Wi'h knights and dames, who, calm reclined, 

Lisp ou' love-sonne;s as they gl.de — 
As'onishing old Thames to find 

Such doing* on bis moral tide. 

So bright was still that tranquil river, 
With the las' shaft from Daylight's quiver, 
That many a group, in turn, were seen 
Embarkii g on its wave serene ; 
And, 'mong the rest, in chores gay, 
A band of mariners, f om th' isles 
Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, 
As smo.'ith they floated, to the play 
Of their oars' cadence, sung this lay:- 



TRIO. 

Our home is on the sea. boy, 
Our home is on the sei ; 
When Nature gave 
The ocean-wave. 
She mark'd i r for the Free. 
Whatever stoim* befall, boy, 
Whatever storms befall, 
The island bark 
Is Freedom's ark, 
And floats her safe •.hrough all. 

Behold yon sea of isles, boy, 
Behold yon sea of isles, 

Where every shore 

Is sparkling o'er 
With Beautv's richest smile*. 
For us hath Freedom claim 'd, boy, 
For us hath Freedom claim'd 

Those ocean-nests 

Where valour rests 
His eagle wing untamed. 

And »hall the Moslem dare, boy, 
And shall the Moslem dare, 

While Grecian hind 

Can wield a brand, 
To plant his Crescent there ? 
No — by our father?, no, boy, 
No, by the Ctoss we show — 

From Maina's rills 

To Thracia's hills 
All Greece re-echoes " No !" 



Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the mind 
A minute come, and go again, 

Ev'n so, by snatches, in the wind, 
Was caught and lost that clnral strain, 

Now full, now faint upon the ear, 

As the bark floated far or near. 



At length when, lost, the closing note 
Had down the waters died along, 

Forth from another faiiy boat, 

Freighted with music, came this scog. 



SONG. 

Smoothly flowing through verdant vales, 

Gentle river, thy current runs, 
Shel'er'd safe frr>m winter gales, 

Shaded cool from summer suns. 
Thus our Youth's sweet moments glide, 

Fenced with flow'ry shelter round ; 
No rude tempest wakes the tide, 

All its path is f-iry ground. 

But, fair river, the day will come, 

When. woo'd by whisp'rii g groves in rain, 
Thou 'It leave those banks, >hy ^aded home. 

To mingie with he stormy n ain. 
And thou, sweet Y. uth, too s no w ilt pass 

Into the world's ui shelter'd sea, 
Where, once thy wave bath inix'd, alas, 

All hope of p'eice is lost for thee. 



Next turn we to the gay saloon, 
Resplet den' as a summer noon, 

Where, 'neath a pendent wreath of lights, 
A Zodiac of flowers and tapers — 
(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds 
Its glory o'er ynurg dar.cers' heids)— 

Quadrille performs her mazy rites. 
And reigns supreme o'er slides and capers; — 
Working to death each opera strain, 

As, with a foot that ne'er reprses, 
She jigs through sacred and prolane. 

From " Maid and Magpie r up to -'Moses; " — » 
Wearing out tui.e, as (as' as shoes, 

Tiil fagg'd Rossini scarce respires; 
Till Mayert.-eer for mercy sues, 

And Weber at her feet' expires. 

And now the set hath ceased — the bows 
Of fiddlers t<ste a brief repose, 
While light along the painted floor, 

Arm within arm, the couples stray, 
Talking their s'ock of n .things o'er, 

Tiil — nothing 's lef , at last, to eay. 
When, lo ! — most c pporlunely sent — 

Two Exquisites, a he at d she, 
Ju*t brought frim Dandy land, and meant 

For Fashion's grand Menagerte, 
Enter'd the room — and scaice were there 
When all flock'd r: und hem, glad to stare 
At any monsters, any whe e. 

Some thought them perfect, to their tastes; 
While others hinted that the wais s 
(That in particular of ihe he thing) 
Left far too ample room for b eati.ing : 
Whereas, to meet these c>i ics' wishes, 

The isthmus there should be so small, 
That Exquisites, at las', like fishes. 

Must nuuage not to breathe at all. 
The female (these si me critics said), 

Though or hodox frm toe to chin, 
Yet lack'd that spacious width of head 

To hat of toadstool much akin — 
That build of bonnet, whr.se extent 
Should, like a doctrine of d-sent, 

Puzzle church-doors to let it in. 



i In England the partition of this opera of Rossini 
was transferred to the story of Peter he Hermit; by 
which means the indecorum of giving such names as 
'• Xloyse " "Pharan,"' &c. to the dances selected 
from it (as was done in Paris), has been avoided. 



208 



THE SUMMMER FETE. 



However — sad as 't was, no doubt, 

That nymph so -mart should go about, 

With head unconscious of the place 

It ought 10 (ill in Infini'e .Space — 

Yet all allow'd thai, of her kind, 

A prttiier si.ow 't was bard to fii.d ; 

While of ihai doub'ful genus, "dressy men," 

The male was thought a first-rale specimen. 

Such Savans, too, as wish'd to trace 

The manners, hatits, of this race — 

To know what rank (if rank at all) 

'Along reas'uing things to ihem should fall — 

What sort of notions" heaven imparts 

To high-built he ds and ii e ht-laced hearts, 

And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 

Abhors restraint, can act in stays — 

Might now, if gifted with discerning, 

Find opportunities of learning: 

As the-e two cr»a'ures — from their pout 

And frown, 'twas plain —had just fall'n out ; 

And all their little ihoughts, of course, 

Were stirring in full fret and force; — 

Like mites, through micro-cope espied, 

A world of nothings magnified. 

But mild the vent such beings seek. 

The tempest of their souls to speak: 

As Opera swains to fiddles sigh, 

To fiddles fight, to fidd.es die, 

Even so this tender couple set 

Their well-bred woes to a Duet. 



WALTZ DUET. i 



Long as I waltz'd with only thee, 

Each bl'ssful Wednesday that went by, 
Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee 
Adorn'd a youth so blest as I. 
Oh ! ah ! ah ! oh ! 
Those happy days are gone — heighho ! 



Long as with thee I skimni'd the ground, 

Nor yet was scorn'd for Lady Jane, 
No blither nymph tetotuni'd round 
To Coliinei's immortal strain. 
Oh ! ah ! fcc. 
Those happy days are gone — heighho ! 

H E . 
With Lady Jane now whirl'd about, 

I know no bounds of time or breath ; 
And, should the charmer's head hold out, 
Mv heart and heels are ners till death. 
Oh ! ah ! &c. 
Still round and round through life well go. 

SHE. 
To Lord Fi'znoodleS eldest son, 

A youth renown'd for waisc: ats smart, 
I now have given (excuse the pun) 
A vested intere-t in my heart. 
Oh! ah! &c. 
Still round and round with him I'll go. 

B E. 

What if, by fond remembrance led 

Again to wear our mutual chain, 

For me thou cut's! Filznoodle dead, 

And I levant from Lady Jane. 

Oh ! ah ! ic. 

Still round and round again we '11 go. 



SHE. 
Though he the Noodle honours give, 

And thine, deir youth, are not so high, 
With thee in endless waltr I 'd live. 

With ihee, to Weber's Stop-Waltz, die! 
Oh ! ah ! &c. 

Thus round and round through life we 11 go. 
[Exeunt waltzing. 



» It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that 
this Duet is a parody of the often-translated and paro 
died ode of Horace, "Donee gratus eram tibi," £c. 



While thus, like moles that dance away 
Existence in a summer ray, 
These gay thin/s, bom but to quadrille, 
The ciicle of their doom fulfil — 
(That dancing doom, whose law decrees 
That they should live, on the alert toe, 
A life of ups-aud-downs, like keys 

Of Bread wood's in a long concerto : — ) 
While thus the fiddle's spell, within, 
Calls up its realm of restless sprites, 
Without, as if some Mandarin 

Were holding there his Feast of Lights, 
Lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers, 
Broke on 'he e>e, like kindling flowers, 
Till, budding into light, each tree 
Bore its full fruit of brilliancy. 
Here shone a garden— lamps all o'er, 

As th 'Ugh the Spirits of ihe Air 
H >d lak'u it in their beads to pour 

A shower of summer meteors there ; — 
While here a lighted shrubbery led 
To a small lake that sleeping lay, 
Cradled in foliage, but, o'er-head, 

Open to heaven's sueet breath and ray; 
While round its rim ' here burnme s ood 

Lamps, with young flowers be-ije them bedded, 
That shrunk from such warm neighbourhood ; 
And, looking bashful in Ihe flood, 

Blu-h'd to behold them elves so wedded. 
Hither, to thi» embower'd reireaf, 
Fit but for nights so still and sweet : 
Nights, such as Eden's calm recall 
In its first lonely hour, when all 
So silent is. below, on high. 
Thai if a star falls down the sky, 
Tou alnns' think you hear it fall — 
Hi'her, to this recess, a few. 

To shun the dancer-' » ildering noise, 
And give an hour, eie night-time flew, 

To muse's more ethereal joys. 
Came, with the r voices — reaJy all 
As Echo, waiting for a call — 
In hymn or ballad, dirge or g ee. 
To weave their mingling minstrelsy. 
And, first, a dark ey'd nymph, array'd — 
Like her. w horn Art hath dcahle-s made, 
Bright Mona Lisa'^— with that biaid 
Of hair ac oss the brow, and one 
Small gem that in list ceuire st.one — 
With lace, too, in its foim re enilling 
Da Vinci's Beauties — the daik etes. 
Now lucid, as th'ouet, c r >stal tremblii g, 

Now soft, as if SLflused will, si»hs — 
Her lu'e. that dung be.ide her. to! k, 
And, bending o'er it w ith shy look, 
More beautiful, in shadow -bus. 
Than when with life most luminous, 
PassW her light tiiger o'er the chords, 
And :ung to (hem these mournful words : — 



SONG. 

Bring hither, bring thy lute, while day is dying — 
Heie will I lay me, and list o thy song; 



* The celebrated pnrtri.it by Liouardo da Vinci, 
which he is said to have occupied four years is paint- 
ing. — yatari, to!, vii. 



THE SUMMER FETE, 



209 



Should tones of other days mix with its sighing, 

Tones of z light heart, now bauish'd so long, 
Chase them away — they bring but pain, 
And let thy theme be woe again. 

Sing on, thou mournful lute —day is fast going, 
Soou will its light from thy chords die away ; 

Oue little gleam in the west is still glowing, 
When that haih vanish'd, farewell to thy lay. 

Mark, how it fades! — see, it is fled ! 

Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. 



The group, that late, in garb of Greeks, 

Sung their light chorus o'er the tide- 
Forms, such as up the wooded creeks 

Of Helle's shore at noon-day glide, 
Or, nightly, on her glistening sea, 
Wo.o the bright waves wilh melody — 
Now liuk'd their triple league again 
Of voices sweet, and sung a strain, 
Such as, had Sappho's tuneful ear 

But caught it, on the fatal sleep, 
She would have paused, entranced, to hear, 

And, for that day, deferr'd her leap. 



SONG AND TRIO. 

On one of those sweet nights that oft 
Their lustre o'er th' ^gean fling, 

Beneath my casement, low and soft, 
1 heard a Lesbian lover sing ; 

And, listening both with ear and 'bought, 

These sounds upon the night-breeze caught — 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
"■Who gazes at this hour on thee !•» 

The song was one by Sappho sung, 
In ihe first love-dreams of her lyre, 

When words of passion from her tongu* 
Fell like a shower of living fire. 

And still, at close of every strain, 

I heard these burning words again — 
" Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who listens at this hour to thee ! n 

Once more to Mona Lisa turn'd 

Kach asking eye — nor turn'd in vain; 

Though the quick, transient blush that burn'd 
Bright o'er her cheek, and died again, 

Show'd with what inly shame and fear 

Was utter'd what all loved to hear. 

Yet not to sorrow's languid lay 
Did she her lute-song now devote; 

But thus, with voice that, like a ray 
Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float- 
So rich wilh climate was each note — 

Call'd up in every heart a dream 

Of Italy with this soft theme : — 



SONG. 



Oh, where art thou dreaming, 

On land, or on sea ? 
In my lattice is gleaming 

The watch-light for thee; 
And this fond heart is glowing 

To welcome thee home, 
And the night is fast going, 

Eut thou art not come : 

No, thou eom'st not ! 

T is the time when night-flowers 
Should wake from their rest; 

'T is the hour of all hours, 
When the lu'e singeth best. 



But Ihe flowers are half sleeping 
Till thy glance they see; 

And the hush'd lute is keeping 
Its music for thee. 

Yet, thou eom'st not I 



Scarce Dad the last word left her lip 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 
Fantastic, up the green walk came, 
Frank'd in gay vest, to which the dams 
Of every lamp he pass'd, or blue, 
Qr green, or crimson, lent its hue; 
As though a live caineleon's skin 
He had despoil'd, to robe him in. 
A zone he wore of clattering shells, 

And from his lofty cap, where shone 
A peacock's plume, there dangled bells 

That rung as he came dancing on. 
Close after him, a page — ii. dress 
And shape, his miniature express — 
An ample basket, fill'd with store 
. Of toys and trinkets, laughing bore ; 
Till, having leach'd this verdant &&>l t 
He laid it at his master's feet, 
Who, half in speech and bill in song, 
Chaunted this invoice to the throng : — 



SONG. 

Who 11 buy ?— 't is Folly's shop, who >U buy ? — 

We've toys to suit all ranks and ages; 
Besides our u>ual f. ols' supply, 

We 've lots of playthings, too, for sages. 
For reasoners, here 's a juggler's cup, 

That fullest seems when nothing's in it; 
And nine-pins sel, like systems, up, 

To be knock'd down the following minute. 
Who 11 buy ? — 't is Folly's shop, who 'II buy ? 

Gay caps we here of foolscap make, 

For bards to wear in dog-day weather; 
Or bards the bells alone may take, 

And leave to wits the cap a< d feather. 
Tetotums we 've for patriots got. 

Who court the mob wilh amies humble; 
Like theirs the patriot's dizzy lot, 

A glorious spin, and then — a tumble. 

Who'll buy, &c. &c 

Here, wealthy misers to inter, 

We 've shrouds of neat post-obit paper ; 
While, for their heirs, we : ve qiu'cAsilver, 

That, fa*t as ihey can wish, will caper. 
For aldermen we 've dials true, 

That tell no hour but that of dinner; 
For courtly parsons sermons new, 

That suit alike both saint and sinner. 

Who'll fc:iy, &c.&c 

No time we've now to name our terms, 

But, whatsoe'er the whims that seize you, 
This oldest of all mortal firms, 

Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, should you wish a darker hue 

Of goods than we can recommend you, 
Why then (as we with lawyers do) 

To Knavery's shop next door we 'II send vnu. 
Who 'II buy, &c. &c. 



While thus the blissful moments roll'd, 

Moments of rare and llee'ing light, 
That show themselves, like grains of gold 

In the mine's rtfu-e, few and bright; 
Behold where, opening far away, 

The long Conservatory's range, 
Stripp'd of 'he flowers it wore all day, 

But gaining lovelier in exchange, 



!>} * 



210 



THE SUMMER FETE, 



Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware, 
A supper sucb as Gods mighi share. 

Ah much-lov'd Sopper! — blithe repast 
Of other limes, now dwindling fast, 
Since Dinner far into the night 
Advanced the march of appetite ; 
Deploved his never-ending forces 
Of various vintage and three courses, 
And, like those Goths who play'd the dickens 
With Rome and all her sacred chickens, 
Put Supper and her fowls so whi'e, 
Legs, wings, and drumsticks, ail to flight. 

Novr waked once more by wine — whose tide 
Is the true Hipiiocrene, where glide 
The Muse's swans with happiest wing, 
Dipping their bills, before they sing — 
The minstrels of the tible greet 
The listening ear with descant sweet : 



SONG AND TRIO. 



THE LEVEE AND C O 17 C H E B , 

Call the Loves around, 

Let the whispering sound 
Of their wings be heard alone, 

Till soft to rest 

My Lady blest 
At this bright hour hath gone. 

Let Fancy's beams 

Play o'er her di earns, 
Till, touch'd with light all through, 

Her spirit be 

Like a summer sea, 
Shining and slumbering too. 
And, while thus hush'd she lies, 
Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 
'Good evening, good evening, to our Lady's bright 
eyes " 

But the day-beam breaks, 

See, our I .ady w <kes ! 
Call the Loves around once more,' 

Like stars that wait 

At Morning's gale. 
Her first steps to adore. 

Let the veil of night 

From her dawning sight 
All gently piss away, 

Like mists that flee 

From a summer sea, 
Leaving it full of day. 
And, while her last dream flies, 
Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 
» Good morning, good morning, to our Lady's bright 
eyes." 



SONG. 

If to see thee be to love thee, 

If to love thee be to prize 
Nought of earth or lieav'n above thee, 

Nor to live but for those eyes: 
If such love to mortal given. 
Be wrong to eanh, be wrong to heaven, 
'T is not for thee the fault to "blame, 
For from those eyes the madness came. 
Forgive but thou the crime of loving, 

In this heart more pride 'I will raise 
To be thus wrong, with thee approving, 

Than right, with alia world to praise! 



But say, while light these songs resound. 
What means that bu?z of whisperne round, 
From lip to lip — as if the Power 
Of Mystery, in this gay hour, 



Had thrown some secret (as we fling 
Nuts among children) tr> that ring 
OF rosy, restless lips, tn be 
Thus scrambled for so wantonly ? 
And, mark ye, still as each reveals 
The mystic news, her hearer s'eals 
A look tow'rds yon enchanted chair, 

Where, like the Lady of the Masque 
A nymph, as exuuis'eiy fair 

As Love himself for bride could ask, 
Sits blushing deep, as if aware 
Of the wing'd secret circling there. 
Who is this nymph ? and what, oh Muse, 

What, in the name of all odd things 
That woman's res'less brain pursues, 

What mean these mystic whisperings? 

Thus runs the tale: — yon blushing maid, 
Who sits in beauty's light array'd, 
While o'er her leans a tall young Dervise, 
(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is 
Learning by heart the Marriage Service,) 
Is the bright heroine of our song. — 
The Love-wed P ? yche, whom so long 
We've miss'd among this mortal train, 
We thought her wing'd to heaven again. 

But no — earth still demands her smile; 
Her friends, the Gods, must wait awhile. 
And if, for maid of heavenly bir h, 

A young Duke's proffer'd heart ar.d hand 
Be things worth waiting for on earth, 

Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-li' shade. 

For love concerns expressly meant, 
The fond proposal first was made, 

And love and silence blu-h'd consent. 
Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, 
Enchanters, house-maids, Turks, Hindoos,) 
Have beard, approved, and blest the lie; 
And now, hadst tbou a poet's eye, 
Thou imgo'V behold, in lb' air, above 
That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, 
Holding, as if to drop it down 
Gently upon ber curls, a ciown 



And set in gold like that which shine* 
To deck the Fairy of the Mines : 
In short, a crown all glorious — such as 
Love orders when he makes a Duchess. 

But see, *t is morn in heaven : the Sun 
Up the bright orient h»th begun 
To canter his immortal lean.; 

And, though not yet arrived in sight, 
His leaders' nostrils send a s'eam 

Of radiance forh, so rr>sy bunt 

As makes their onward' path all light 
What 's to be done > if Sol will be 
So deuced early, so must we : 
And when 'he day thus shines outright, 
Ev'n dearest friends mrst bid g»«d nigh'. 
So, farewell, scene of mirth and masking, 

Now almost a by -tone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale ; 
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps, 
Scarcely knowing fla's from sharps; 
Mothers who, while bored you keep 
Time bv nodding, nod to * 
Heads of hair, that stood last night 
Crept, crispy, and upright. 
But have now, alas, one sees, a 
Leaning like the lower rf Pin ; 
Fare ye well — thus sinks aw av 

All that >s mighty, all that s bright } 
T\re and Sidon had their 

And even a Ball — has but its nijbt I 



END OF VOL. IV. 



PREFACE TO THE FIFTH VOLUME. 



211 



PREFACE TO THE FIFTH VOLUME. 



In spite of the satirist's assertion, that 



1 shall yet venture to prefix to this Volume a few in- 
troductory pages, not relating so much to the Songs 
which it coutaii a as to my own thoughtsaud recollec- 
tions respecting song-writing in general. 

The do e alliance known to have existed between 
poetry and music, during the infancy of both these 
arts, has sometimes led 10 the co: elusion that ihey are 
essentially kiudied to each other, and that the true 
poet ought to be, if not practically, at least in taste 
and ear, a musician. That such was the case in the 
early limes of ancient Greece, and that her poets then 
not only set their own verses to music, but sung them 
at public festivals, there is every reason, froni all we 
know on the subject, to believe. A similar union be- 
tween the two arts attended the dawn of modem lite- 
rature, in the twelfih century, and was, in a certain 
degree, continued down as far as the time of Petrarch, 
when, as it appears from his own memorandums, that 
poet used to sing his verses, in composing them ; ' and 
when it was the custom with all writers of sonnets and 
canzuni to prefix to their poems a sort of key-note, by 
which the intonation in reciting or chanting them 
was to be regulated. 

As the practice of uniting in one individual, — whe- 
ther Bard, Scald, or Troubadour,— the chaiacter and 
functions both of musiciau and poet, is known to have 
been invaiiably the mark ofa rude state of socie'y, so 
the gradual separation of these two callings, in accord- 
ance with that great principle of Political Economy, 
the divi-ion of labour, his been found an equally sure 
index of improving civilization. So far, in England, 
indeed, has this partition of workmanship been car- 
ried, that, with the signal exception of Milton, there 
is not to be found, I believe, among all the eminent 
poets of England, a single musician. It is but fair, at 
the same time, to acknowledge, that nut of the works 
of the>e very poets might be produced a select num- 
ber of songs, surpissing, in fancy, grace, and tender- 
ness, all that the language, perhaps, of any other 
country could furnish. 

We witness, in our own times, — as far as the know- 
ledge or prac ice of music is concerned, — a similar 
divorce between the two arts; and my friend and 
neighbour, Mr. Bowles, is the only distinguished poet 
of our day whom I can call to niiiid asheing also a 
musician s Not to dwell further, however, on living 
writers, the 9trong feeling, even to tears, with which 
I have seen Byron listen to some favourite melody, 
has beei elsewhere described by me; and the musical 
taste of Sir Walter Scott 1 ought to be the last person to 
call in question, after the very cordial tribute he hns 
left on record to my own uutulored minstrelsy.3 But 



» The following is a specimen of these memoran- 
dums, as given by Foscolo : — " 1 must make ihese two 
verses over ag'in, singing them, and I must transpose 
them— 3 o'clock, A. M. 19lh October." Frequently 
to sonnets of that time such notices as the following 
were prefixed :— hitonatum per Francum"— "Scrip- 
tor dedit sonuin." 

1 The late Rev. William Crowe, author of the 
noble poem of ■' Lewisden Hill," was likewise a mu- 
sician, and hns left a Treatise on English Versification, 
to which his knowledge of the sister art lends a pecu- 
liar interest. 

So little does even the origin of the word " Iyrick," 
as applied to poetry, seem to be present to the minds 
of some writers, that the poet. Young, has left us an 
Essiy on Lyric Poetry, in which (here is not a single 
allusion to Music, from beginning to end. 

3 Life by Lockhart, vol. vi. p. 123. 



I must say, that, pleased as my illustrious friend ap- 
peared really to be, when I first sung for him at Ab- 
botsford, it was not till an evening or two after, at his 
own hospitable supper-table, that I saw him in his true 
sphere of musical enjoyment. No sooner .had the 
qitaifch taken its round, after our repast, than his 
riend, Sir Adam, was called upon, with the general 
acclaim of Hie whole table, for the srng of •' Hey 
tuttie tattie," and gave it out to us with all the true 
national relish. But it was during the chorus that 
Scott s delight at this festive scene chiefly showed 
itself. At the end of every verse, the whole company 
from their seats, and stood muud the table with 
arni6 crossed, so as to grasp the hand of the neighbour 
on each side. Thus interlinked, we continued to 
keep measure to the strain, by moving our arms up 
and down, all chanting forth v ciferously, "Hey 
tuttie tattie, Hey tuttie tattie." Sir Walter's enjoy- 
ment of this old Jacobi'e chorus, — a little increased, 
doubtle-s, by seeing how I entered into the spirit of it, 
— gave to the whole scene, I confess, a zest and charm 
in my eyes such as the finest musical performance 
could not have bestowed on it. 

Having been thus led to allude to this visit, I am 
tempted to mention a few other circumstances con- 
nected with it. From Abbotsford I proceeded to 
Edinburgh, whi'her Sir Walter, in a few days after, 
followed; and during my short stay in that city an 
incident occurred, which, though already mentioned 
by Scott in his Diary,* and o»»ng i's chief interest to 
the connexion of his name with it, ought not to be 
omitled v am<>ng these memoianda. As 1 liad expressed 
a desire to visit the Edinburgh theatre, which opened 
but the evening before my departme, it was proposed 
to Sir Walter and myself, by our friend Jeffrey, that 
we should dine with him at an early hour for that 
purpose, p n d both were good-natured enough to ac- 
compauy me to the theatre. Having found, in a 
volume s sent to me by some anonymous correspond- 
ent a more circumstantial account of the scene of that 
evening than Sir Walter has given in his Diary, I 
shall here avail m\ self of its graphic and (with one 
exception) accunte details. After adierting to the 
sensation poduced by the appearahce of the late 
Duchess of St Albans in one of the boxes, the writer 
thus proceeds: — "There was a general buzz and 
stare, for a few seconds; the audience then turned 
their backs to the lady, and their attention to the 
stage, to wait till the first piece should be over ere 
they intended faring again. Just as it termina'ed, 
another party quie ly glided ino a box near that filled 
by the Duchess. One plea-ing female was With the 
three male comers. In a minute the cry ran round :— 
'Eli, yon 's Sir Walter, wp Lockhart'an' his wife,*' 
and wha's the wee bit bodie wi' the pa»kie een ? 
VVow, but ir 's Tarn Moore, just — Scott, Scott ! 
Moore, Moore!'— with shouts, cheers, bravos, and 
applause. But Scott would not rise to appropriate 
these tributes. One could see that he urged Moore 
to do so; and he, ihough nndestly reluctant, at last 
yielded, and bowed hand i n heart, with much anima- 
tion. The cry for Scott uas then redoubled. He 
gathered himself up. and, with a benevolent bend, 
acknowledged this de-eived welcome. The orches- 
tra played alternately Scotch and Irish Melodies." 

Among the choicest of my recollections of that 



« ■' We went to the theatre together, and the house 
being luckily a good one, received T. M. with lap- 
ture. I could have hugged them, for it paid back the 
debt of the kind reception 1 met with in Ireland." 

» Written by Mr. Benson Hill. 

6 The writer was here mistaken. There was one 
lady of our party ; but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lockhart 
uas pre-ent. 



212 



PREFACE TO THE FIFTH VOLUME. 



dying visit to Edinburgh, are the few days I passed 
wiih Lord Jetfiey at his agreeable retreat, Craig Crook. 
I had then recently written the words and music of a 
glee contained in this volume, ' Sliip ahoy !'' which 
there won its first honours. So often, indeed, was I 
called upon to repeat it, that the upland echoes of 
Craig Cro k ought long to have had its buiden by 
heart. 

Having thus got on Scottish ground, I find myself 
awakened to the remembiai.ee of a name which, 
whenever song-writing is the theme, ought to rank 
second to none in that sphere of poet.cal fame. Robed 
Burns was wholly un-kilied in music; yet the rare 
art of adapting words successfully to notes, of wed- 
ding verse in congenial union \wtb melody, which, 
were it not for his example, 1 should say none but a 
poet versed in the sisier-art ought to anempt, has yet, 
by him, with the aid of a music, to u hich my own 
country's sir, ins are al >■ f c mparable, been exercised 
with to workmanly a hand, as well as with so rich a 
variey of passion, | '.avfulness. and power, as no song- 
writer, perhaps, but himself, has ever yet displaced. 

That Burns, however untaught, was yet, in ear and 
feeling, a musician, » is clear from the skill with 
which he adapts his verse to the structure and cha- 
racter of each different strain. Still more strikingly 
did he prove his fi ness for this peculiar task, by the 
sort of instinct with which, in m-re th^n one in- 
stance, he di.-cerned the real and innate sen iment 
which an air was calculated tocwivev, though alway- 
before aw >ciaied w'i h winds expressing a to ally dif- 
ferent feeling. Thus the air of a ludicr.ius old song. 
" Fee him, father, fee him," has been made the 
medium of one of Burns'- m-it pathetic etfusior s ; 
wlnle, still more marvellously, "Hey tuttie taitie' 
has been elevated by him iuto that heroic strain, 
'•Scots, wha hae mp Wallace bled ; "—a song which, j 
id a great national crisis, would be if mere avail than j 
all the eloquence of a Demosthenes. ■* 

It was impossible that the example of Burns, in 
these, his higbe inspirations, should not materially 
contribute to elevate the character of English song- 
writing, and even to leid to a re-union . f the gifts 
which it require*, if not, as of old. id the same indi- 
vidual, yet in that perlect rympathy between poet 
and mu-ician which aim st am uuts to identity, and 
of which we have seen, in our own times, so inter- 
etti g an example in the few songs bearing iheui.i'ei 
names of ll, se two sister mu e-, Mr. Ark w right, 
and he late Mrs Hemans. 

Very different was the state of the song-department 
of English |icesv at the time when first I tried my 
novice hand at tiie lyre. The divorce between song 
aid sense had then reached its utmost range; and to 
all verses connected with music, from a Birth-day 
Ode down to the libretto of the 'as' new opera, might 
fairly be applied the solution Figaio gives of the 
quality of the words of songs, in general, — "Ce qui 
lie vaut pas la peine d'etre dil. on le ch<nle." 

It may here be suggcs'ed that ihe convivial lyrics of 
Captain Morris pre-ent an exception to the general 
character I have given of the songs of this period ; 



I It appears certain, not" ilhs'ai ding, that he was, 
in his ynu'h, wholly insensible to music. In speak- 
ing of him and his' brother, Mr. Mmdoch, their pre- 
ceptor, says, "Roller's ear, in particular, was re- 
markably dull and his voice untunable. It wa« long 
before I could get him to disliuguish one tune from 
another." 

» I know not whether it has ever been before re- 
marked, that the well-known lines in one of Burst's 
most spirited songs. 



may possibly have been suggested by the following 
passage in Wvcherlcy's play, 'be "Country Wife:" 
— '■ I weigh Ihe man. not his title ; 'i is not the 
King'- stamp can make the meal better." 



and, assuredly, hid Morris written much that at all 
a; preached the follow ing verses of his " Reasons for 
Drinking," (which I quote Trom recollection,) few 
would have equalled him either in fanci, or in that 
ligh'er kind of pathos, which come*, as in this in- 
stance, like a few melancholy n-.te? in the middle of 
a gay air, throwing a soft and passing shade oier 
mirth: — 

"Mr rouse, too, when her wings are dry, 

1 flight* will take; 

But round a bowl abe 'II dip anil fly, 

Like swall' »s rour.ii a lake. 
If then Ihe nymph mutt have her share. 

Before she 'II blew her swain. 
■Why, t*«i I ibink's a reason lair 
To rill my glass again. 

"Then, many a lad I Uk'disdead, 

And mai.y a lasc growa uld ; 
And, as the lessor, strikes my bead. 

My weary heart Brows cotd. 
But wine awhile holds off despair. 

Nay, bids ( bopr remain: — 
And iriai 1 think's a nana Cur 

To fill my glass again." 

How far my own labours iD Ibis field — if, indeed, 
the gathering of such idle flowers nay be so desig- 
na ed — lave heiped to advance, or even kept pace 
wi'h the progiessive Improvement I have here de- 
scribed, it is no! f r me to pre-ume to decide. 1 only 
know hat in a sfrcug and inborn feeling for music 
lies the source of whatever 'a en' I u.-y have shown 
eal compos tion ; and that it was the effort to 
Iran-tale into language the emotions and passions 
which mu-ic af pea ed to me 'o expre-s, that Erst led i 
to my w riling any poetry at all deserving of the name. 
Drvd'eo has happily described music as being •' io- 
ar iculate poetry ; " and 1 have alwajs fell, in adapt- 
ing woids to an expressive air. tla' 1 was but bestow- 
ing upon it the gift i f anicjlation, and thus enabling 
it to speak to others all thM was conveyed, iu iuj 
wordless eloquence. In n,\ 

Owing to the space I wuj led tn devole to my Irish 
reminiscences, in our last Volume, I found myself 
obliged to postpone some recollections, nf a very dif- 
ferent de-cription, respecting the gala at Boyle Farm, 
by which my poem, entitled The Summer Fete, w>s 
-uggesied. Id an old letter of my own. 'o which 1 ; 
have l.ad access, giving an account of this brilliant . 
festival to a friend in lieland, I find s< me n - 
dums which. besiJc 
the poem, conaic 5 
the first appearar : 
mos' successful of all my 

Epicurean. I shall g<ve my extiac's from this letter, 
in their original diary-like form, without alteration. 
or dressing : — 

Joe30, 1837.- Day thre - e. Was 

w ith Lord E sex » a - 'hrre o'clock, and s arti 
half an hour af er. The whole rr-a 
carriages 1 

Ijdv de R-os has lr„'. for the occa< 
the five 1 -erneW, 

. subscribing four or five hundred pounds 
e»ch towirds it. The ar^ngrmeuts all ir, 
best taste. The pavilion for quadn.lcs. 00 the b r.k 
of the river, wi'h steps defending to rhe na'rr, 
quite eastern—like svhat one sees in Danel's pictures. 
Towards five 'be elite of the t»y world was g n. ni 
bled— the wome 1 all looking their bes', and scarce a 
single ugly face to be found. About half put five, 
sat down to dinner, 450 UDder a tent on the lawn, and 
fify to the Royal Table in the onstrratr n. The 

musicians sui g during dinner, and there 



* I cannot let pas the incidental meniion here of 
this social and public-spiited nobleman, wi'h. at ex- 
pressing my strong sen-r of his kindly qualities, and 
lamenting the Iota which not 01.lv society', but the 
cause of sound and progressive Political Refom, has 
sus'aioed by his iea'h. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



213 



were, after dinner, gondolas on 'he river, with Cara 
dori, I)e Bcgnis, Velluti, &c, singing barcarolles and 
row ing off occasionally, so as to let their voices die 
away and again return. After these succeeded a 
par.y in dominos, Madame Vestris, Fanny Ayton, 
A:c, who rowed ah. nit in the same manner, and sung, 
among other thing*, my gondola song. "Oh, come to 
me when daylight sets." The evening was deliciou-, 
and, as soon as it grew dark, ihe proves were all 
lighted up with colouied larri| s, in diriment shapes 
and devices. A little lake near a grotto look my 
fancy paiticularly, Ihe shrubs all round being illumi- 
nated, and the lights reflected in 'he water. Six- nd- 
twenty of Ihe prettiest gitls of the world of f shion, 
the F * * * * t * r*, Br » d * * * lis, De R * * s's, 
Miss F * * Id * * * g, Miss F * x, Miss R * ss * 11, 
Miss B * * ly, were dressed as Rosieres, and opened 
the quadrilles in the pavilion VVhile talk- 
ing with D— n (Lord Fs. brother), he said to me, •• I 
never read any thing so touching as the death of 
your heroine." " What ! " said I. '• have you got so 
fai already?"* "Oh, I read it in the Literary 
Gazette." This anticipation of my catastrophe is 
abominable. Soon after, the Marquis P— lin— a said 
to nie, as he and I and B— m stood together, looking 
at the gay scene, "This is like one of your Fetes." 
"Oh, yes," said B— m, thinking he alluded to Lalla 
Rookh, "quite oiienial." •' Non, non," replied 
P—lm— a "Jeveux dire cette Fete d'Athenes, dout 
j'ai lu la description dans la Gazette d'aujnurd'hui." 
Respecting the contents of the present Volume I 
have but a few more words to add. Accustomed as I 
have always been to consider my songs as a sort of 
compound creations, in which the music forms no less 
essential a part than the verses, it is with a feeling 



» The Epicurean bad been published bat the day 
before. 



which 1 can hardly expect my unlyrical readers to 
understand, that I see such a swa.m of songs as crowd 
these pages all separated fioin the beautiful airs which 
have formed hitherto their chief ornament and 
strengih — their " decus et tutamen." But, indepen- 
dently of this uneasy feeling, or fancy, (here is yet an- 
other inconvenient consequence of the divorce of Ihe 
words from the music, which will be more easily, 
perhaps, comprehended, and which, in justice to my- 
self, as a metre-monger, ought to be noticed. Those 
occasional breaches of the laws of rhythm, which the 
task of adapting words to airs demands of the poet, 
though very frequently one of Ihe happiest results of 
his skill, become blemishes when the verse is sepa- 
rated from the melody, and require, to justify them, 
the presence of he music to whose wildness or sweet- 
ness the sacrifice had been made. 

lu a preceding page of this preface, I have men- 
tioned a Treaiise by Ihe late Kev. .Mr. Crowe, on 
English versification; and I remember his telling- me, 
in reference to the point I have just touched upon, 
that, should ai.other edition of that work be called for, 
he meant to produce, as examples of new and anoma- 
lous forms of versification, Ihe following songs from 
the Irish Melodies: — "Oh ihe days are gone when 
Beauty bnghl" — "At the mid hour of night, when 
stars are weeping, 1 fly," -~. and, " Through grief and 
through danger thy smile hath cheered my way." a 



3 I shall avail myself of ihis opportunity of noticing 
the charge brought by Mr. Burning ag.iinst Sir John 
Steven«on, of having made alterations in many of Ihe 
airs that formed our Irish Collection. Whatever 
changes of ihis kind haie been ventured upon (and 
they "are but few and slight,) Ihe responsibility for 
them rests solely with me; as, leaving the Harmo- 
nist's department to my friend Stevenson, 1 reserved 
the selection aud management of the melodies entirely 
to myself. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



In thus connecting together a series of Songs by a 
thread of poetical narrative, my chief object has been 
to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a 
greater number of persons to join in ihe performance, 
by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel will- 
ing or competent to take a part, as singers 

The Island of Zea, where the scene is laid, was 
called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birth-place 
of Simonides, Bacchy tides, aud other eminent peison.. 
An account of its ptesent state may be found in the 
Travels of Dr. Clarke, who says, that " it appeared 
to him to be the best cultivated of any of the Grecian 
Isles."— Vol. vi. p. 174. T. M. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE, 

FIRST EVENING. 

"The sky is bright — the breeze is fair, 
"And the mainsail flowing, full and free — 

•• Our farewell wotd is woman's pray'r, 
" And the hope before us — Liberly ! 

" Farewell, farewell. 
"To Greece we give our shining blades, 
"And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids !" 

" The moon is in Ihe heavens above, 
" And the wind is on the foaming sea — 

•' Thus shines the star of woman's love 
•' On the glorious strife of Liberty ! 
" Farewell, farewell. 



" To Greece we give our shining blades, 

"And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids J 

Thus sung they from the bark, that now 
Turn'd to Ihe sea i's gallant prow, 
Bearing within it hearts as brave, 
As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave; 
And leaving on lhat islet's shore, 

Where still the farewell beacons burn, 
Friends, lhat shall many a day look o'er 

The long, dim sea for their return. 
Virgin of Heaven! speed their way — 

Oh, speed their way, — the chosen flow'r, 
Of Zea 's youth, the hope and slay 

Of parents in their wintry hour, 
The love of maidens, and ihe pride 
Of the young, happy, blushing bride, 
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died — 
All, all are in that precious bark, 

Which now, alas, no more is seen — 
Though every eye s'ill turns to mark 

The moonl'ight spot where it lud been. 
Vainly y u look, ye maidens, sires. 

And mothers, your beloved a>e gone ! — 
Now may you quench those signal fires, 

Whose ligh' they lnnglook'c) back upon 
From their dark deck — watching the flame 

As fast it I Jd fioni their view, 
With thoughts, that, but for manly shame, 

H 'd made ihem droop and weep like you 
Home to your chambers I home, and pray 
For the bright coming of that day, 



214 



EVENINGS IN GREECE, 



When, bless'd by heaven, the Cnss shall sweep 
The Crescent from ihe .Egean deep, 
And your b ave warriors, has ening back, 
Will bring such glories in their track, 
As shall, for many an age to come, . 
Shed light around their name and home. 

There is a Fount on Zea's isle, 
Round which, in s ,fi iujuria; ce, smile 
All the sweet flowers, of eveiy kind. 

On which the sun of Greece looks down, 

Pie sed as a lover on the crown 
His mistress for her brow ha'h twined, 
When he beholds each floweret there, 
Himself had wish'd her most to wear; 
Here bloom 'd the lauiel-rose,' who=e wreath 

Hang- radiant r >uud the Cypriot shrines. 
And here those brambie-tlowers, that breathe 

Their odour into Zante's wines: 3 — 
The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, 

To grace their floral diadems. 
The lovely maids f Paimos weave : 3 — 

And ilia f ir plant, whose tangled sterna 

Shine l,ke a Nereid's hair,* when spread, 

Dishevell'd, o'er her azure bed ; — 

All these b: ight children ' f the clime, 

(Each at its own most genial time, 

The summer, or Ihe year'* sweet prime), 

Like beautiful eanh-sWs, adorn 

The Valley, where that Fount is born: 
While round, to grace its cradle green, 
Groups of Velani oaks are ^een, 
Towering on every verdant height — 
Tall, shadowy, in'lhe evenmj light, 
Like Genii, se' to watch ihe birth 
Of some enchanted child of earth — 
Fair oaks, thai over Zea's vales, 

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd ; 
While Commerce, fr in her thousand sails, 

Scatters their fruit throughout the world ! * 

'T was here — as soon as prayer and sleep 
(Those truest friends to all wh" weep) 
Had ligh en'd every heart, and made 
Ev'u sorrow wear a softer shade — 
T was here, in this secluded spot. 

Amid wlose breathings c lm and sweet 
Grief might be soothed, if no: forgot, 

The Zean nymphs resolved to meet 
Bach evening now, bv the same light 
That saw their farewell tears that night; 

And try, if sound of lute a 

If wandering mid the moonlight flowers 

In various talk, could cbann along 
With lighter step, 'he lingeiing boars, 

Till tidings ol that Bark should come. 

Or Victory wafi their wariurs home! 

When first they met — the wonted smile 
Of greeting having gleam'd awhile — 
T would touch ev'n Moslem heart to tee 
The sadness ilia' came suddenly 
O'er their young b'ows, » hen thev look'd round 
Upou that bright, encb.nted gn uild ; 
And thought, how many a 'ime. wuh those 

Who n iw were gone to the rude wars, 
They there h 'd me', at evening's close, 

And danced till morn ouishone ihe s ars ! 



» ■' N'erium Oleander. In Cyprus it retains its an- 
cient name, RhoJoJphne, aud the Cypriots adorn 
their churches with Ihe flowers on feast-days."— Jour- 
nal of Dr. Sibthorpt, IValpoWt Turkey. 

aid. 

s Lnnicera Caprifolium, used by the girls ol Pa'mos 
fiv garlands. 

i « Cuscutta europaea " From the twis'ing and twin- 
ing of the -.terns it is compared by he Greeks to Ihe 
dishevelled hair ot the Nereids."— ffuiiioJe'i Turkey. 
' * '' The produce of the island in these acorns alone 
amounts annually tt fifteen thousand quintals." — 
Clarke'* Travels. 



But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse 
Of sorrow o'er such youthful breas's — 

The bieath from her own blushing lips, 
Tha' on the maiden's mirror rests, 

Not swifter, lighter from the glass, 

Than sadness from her brow doth pass. 

Soon did they now, as round the Well 
They sat, beneath the rising moon — 

And some, with voice of awe, would tell 

Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell 
In holy founts — while some would tune 

Their idle lutes, that now bad lain, 

For days, wi'hout a single strain ; — 

And others, from the rest apart, 

With laugh that told tholUhteu'd heart, 

Sat, whispering in each others ear 

Secrets, that ail in turn would hear; — 

Soon did they rind this thoughtless play 

So swiftly steal their griefs away. 

That many a nymph, though pleased the while, 
Reproacb'd her own forge "ful smile, 

And sigh'd to think she could be gay. 

Among these maidens there was one, 

Who to Lcuc dia * late bad been 
Had stood, beneath the evening v.», 

On its white lowering cliffs, and seen 
The very spot where Sappho sung 
Her s»a -like music, ere she sprung 
(Still holding, in that fearful leap, 
By her loved lye,) into the deep, 
And dying quench'd the fatal bre, 
At once, of boh her heart and lyre. 

Mutely they lis'en'd all — and well 
Did the young traiell'd maiden -ell 
Of the dread height to which that steep 
Beetles above the eddying deep i — 
Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling lound 

rnful soui.d — 

Still blooming on that fea'ful place — 
As if call'd up by Love, to gace 
Ttie imm-rt il spot, n'er which the last 
Bright footsteps of his mart) r pass'd I 

While fresh tc every listener's thought 
These legends of Leucadia brought 
All that ' : - liame 

Is kept alive, sill wateb'd by Fame — 
The maiden, tuning her soft lute. 
While all the rest stood round her, mu'e, 



Thus sketch d the 
Thit o'er the tendi 
And, in a voice, a 
Fancv might deem 
One of those fervii 
Which s ill. 



iient of soul, 



Greek Fire, 



Undying, ev'n benea'h the wa 
Burn on thro' Time, and u 



SONG. 

As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid 
In love-sick languor hung her head. 

Cnknow mg where" her lingers stray d. 
She weeping turu'd away, and sa'id, 



6 Now Santa Maura — the island, ..- 
cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea. 

l " I he precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about ' 
one hundred and fourteen ft er, which 

is of a pr, found depth, as appears from the dark Hue 
colour and the eddy that plays round the pointed and 
j r -cks." — Uooduson'i Ionia* UUt. 
I * See Mr. Goodisson's verv interesting description 
I of »H these 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



215 



"Oh, my sweet Mother — t is in vain 
** I cannot weave, as once I wove — 

" S" wilder'd is my heart and hrain 

" Witli thinkiug of lhat youth 1 love ! " < 

Again the web she tried to trace, 

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread ; 
While, looking in her mother's face, 

Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, 
"Oh, my sweet Mother — 't is in vain — 

" I cannot weave, as once I wove — 
"So wilder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love! » 



A silence follow'd this sweet air, 

As each in lender musing stood, 
Thinking, with lips that moved in pray'r, 

Of Sappho and that fearful flood : 
While some, who ne'er till now had known 

How much "heir hearts resembled hers, 
Felt as they made her griefs their own, 

That Uiey, too, were Love's worshippers. 



At leng'h a murmur all but mute, 
So faint it was, came from the lute 
Of a young melancholy maid, 
Whose nngeis, all unceitain. play'd 
From chord to chord, as if in chase 

Of some lost melody, some strain 
Of otlier times, whose faded trace 

she sought among those chord* again. 
Slowly the half-forgotten theme 

(Though born in feelings ne'er forgot) 
Came to her memory — its a beam 

Falls broken o'er some sh.ided spot ;— 
And while her lute's sad symphony 

Fill'd up each sighing pause between ; 
And Love himself might weep to see 

What ruin comes where he ha'h been — 
As wither'd still the grass is found 
Where fays have danced their merry round - 
Thus simply to the listening throng 
She breath d her melancholy sung : — 



SONG. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the long day, 
Lonely and wearily life wears away. 
Weeping for ihee, my love, through the long night - 
No rest in darkness, no joy in light ! 
Nought left but Memory. whose~dreary tread 
Sounds through this ruin'd heart, where all lies dead- 
Wakening the echoes of joy long fled ! 



Of many a stanza, this alone 
Had scaped oblivion — like the one 
Stray fragment of a wreck, which thrown, 
With the lost ves-el's name, ashore, 
Tells who they were that live no more. 

When thus the heart is in a vein 
Of tender thought, the simplest strain 
Can touch it with peculiar power — 

As when the air is warm, the scent 
Of the most wild and rus'ic flower 

Can fill the whole rich element — 
And, in such moods, the homeliest tone 
That 's link'd wi'h feelings, once our own- 
With friends or joys gone by — will be 
Worth choirs of loftiest harmony! 

But some there were, among the group 
Of damsels there, too light of heart 

To let their spirits longerdroop 
Ev'n under music's melting art : 



And one upspringing, with a bound, 
From a low bank of flowers, look'd round 
With eyes that, though so full of light, 

Had still a trembling tear within ; 
And, while her fingers, in swift flight, 

Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, 
Thus sung the song her lover late 

Had sung to her — the eve before 

That joyous night, when, as of yore, 
All Zea met, to celebrate 

The Feast of May, ou the sea-shore. 



SONG. 



When the Balaika * 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
I'll dance the Romaika 

By moonlight with thee. 
If waves then, advancing, 

Should steal on our play, 
Thy while feet, in dancing. 

Shall chase them away.* 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou 'It dance the Romaika, 

My own love with me. 

Then, at the closing 

Of each merry lay, 
How sweet t is, reusing, 

Beneah the night ray ! 
Or if, declining. 

The moon leave the skies. 
We'll talk by the shiuins 

Of each other's eyes. 

Oh then, how featly 

The dance we 'II renew, 
Treading so fleetly 

Its light mazes through : * 
Till stars, looking o'er us 

From heaven's high bow'rs. 
Would change their bright chorus 

For one dance of our 3 ! 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou "It dance the Romaika, 

My own love, wi'h rue. 



How changingly for ever veers 

The heart of youth, 'twixt smiles and tears! 

Ev'n as in April, the light vane 

Now points to sunshine, now to rain. 

Ins'ant this lively lay dispell'd 

The shadow from each blooming brow, 
And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held 

Full empire o'er each fancy now. 



» I have attemp'ed, in these four lines, to give some 

idea of tint beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning 

i rXvicua parte, which represents so truly (as Warton 

| remarks) "the languor and lisllessness of a person 

| deeply in love." 



* This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a sylla- 
ble ; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it " Ba- 
lalaika." 

» " I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing 
the Romaika upon the sand ; in some of those groups, 
the girl who led them chased the retreating wave." — 
Douglass on the Modern Greeks. 

* "In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglass) 
they begin in slow and solemn step till they have 
gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more 
sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes set- 
ting" to tier partner, sometimes darting before the rest, 
and leading them through the most rapid revolutions ; 
sometimes crossing under the hands, which are held 
up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness and 
intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she coo- 
ducts her companions, while~their business is to follow I 

j her in all her movements, without breaking the chain, ! 
I or losing the measure." 



216 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



But sjy — what shall the measure be? 

"Shall we the old Rnmaika tread, 
(Some eager ask'd) •' as anciently 

" 'T was by the maids of Delus led, 
■ When, slow at fiisi, then circling fast, 
"As the giy spirits rose — at last, 
" With hand in hand, like links, enlock'd, 

"Through the light air the) seem d to flit 
"In labyrinthine maze, tha^ mockd 

" The'dazzled eye that follow'd it ?" 

Some call'd aloud " the Fountain Dance!" 

While one young, dark-ey'd Amaz n, 
Whose step was au-like, aud who^e glance 

Flash d like a -aire in ti.e MM, 
Sportively said, "Shame on these soft 
"And languid strains we hear so oft. 
" l)<ush ers of Freed m ! have not we 

"Leam'd from our lovers and our sires 
"The Dance of Greece, while Greece was free — 

" That Uai.ce, where neither flutes nor lyres, 
" Bui sword and shield clash on the ear 
" A music t\ rants quake to bear ? » 
" Heroines of Zea, aim with me, 
" Aud dance the dance of victory '." 

Thus saying, she, with playful grace, 
Loo-ed the wide hat. that o er her face 
(From Anatolia » came the maid) 

Hung, shadowing each sunny charm ; 
And, with a fail young armourer's aid, 

Fixing it on her rounded arm, 
A mimic shield with pride di play'd ; 
Then, springing tnw'rds a grove that spread 

Its canopy of foliage near, 
Pluck'd off a lance-like twig, and said, 
" To arms, to arms !" while o'er her head 

She waved the light bianch, as a spear, 

Promp'Iy the laughing maidens all 
Obeyed their Chief \ heroic call;— 
Round tlie shield-arm of each was tied 

Hat, turbin, shawl, a- chance might be ; 

The grove, their verdant armoury, 
Falchion aid lance' alike supplied; 

And as their glossy locks, let free, 

Fell down their shoulders ca>e]r»-ly, 
You might have dieam'd you nw a throng 

Of youthful Thyads. by'the beam 
Of a M iy m on, bounding 

Peueus" silver-eddied * stream 1 

And now they stepp'd, with measured tread. 

Martially, oler the shining field; 
Now, to the mimic combat led 
(A heroine at each squadron': bead,, 

Struck lance to lance and sword to shield: 
While still, through every varying feat, 
Their voices, heard in contrast sweet 
With some, of deep but s flen'd sound, 
From lips of aged sires around. 
Who smiling wa'ch'd 'heir children's play- 
Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay : — 



Such were the sounds, to which the warrior boy 
Danced in those happy days, when Greece was fiee; 
When Sparta's youth, ev'n in the hour of joy. 
Thus train'd their steps to war and victory. 
"Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 
"Now here — now there — retreat — advance!*' 
Such was the Spat tan wairiore' dance. 

"Grasp the falchion —gird the shield — 
"Attack — defend — do all, bu' yie.d.." 

Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glorious night, 
Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea 

That morning dawn'd by whose immortal light 
They nobly died for thee and liberty ! 4 

'Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

"Now here — now theie— retreat — advance!" 

Such was the Spartan heroes' dance. 

Scarce had they closed this marial lay 
When, flinging their light -pears away, 
The c inbatan s, in broken ranks. 

Ah breathless from the war-field fly; 
And down, upon the vehet banks 

And flowery slopes, exhaus'cd lie, 
L'ke ro.-y huntresses of I hrace, 
Resting at sunset from ibe cinse. 

" Fond girls ■" an aged Zean *aid — 

One who, himself, had fought aud bled, 

And n w, with feelings, ha:f <lc f. 

Half sadness, waich'd their mimic tight — 

"Fond ma ds ! who thus with War can jest — 

" Like Love, iu Mars s helmet drest, 

" Whei , in his childish innocence, 

"Pleaded with the shade that helmet flings, 
" He thinks not of the bio. d, that iheucc 

•' Is dropping o'er bis snowy wings. 
"Ay — true i' is. young |jtnot ■ 

" If Honour's arm still won the fiay, 
«' If luck but shone on righte us blades, 

'* War uere a game for guds to play ! 
" But, no, alas! — hear oue, who well 

'• Hath track'd the fortunes o! the brave — 
•'Hear nu, in mournful ditty, tell 

" What glory waits Ibe patriot's grave : — 



"Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

'' Now here — now there — retreat — advance !' 

« For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De 
Guys, Sec. — It appears from Apuleius (lib. X.) that 
this war-dance was among the ancients, sometimes 
performed by females. 

* See the costume of the Greek women of Natolia 
in Castellan's Mwurs des Othomant. 

* The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this 
dance. 

* Homer, II. 2. 753. 



SONG. 



As by the shore, at break of day, 
A var*|Uish'd Ch^ef expiring lay, 
L'pon the >ands, with broken sword, 

He 'raced his farewell to the Free; 
And, there, the last unfinish'd word 

He dying » rote was ■ Liberty I" 

At uie-ht a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell 
Of hint who thus for Freedom fell ; 
The word- he wrote, ere evem. g came, 

Weie enver'd by the sounding sea ; — 
So pass a" ay the cause aid n me 

Of him who dies for Liberty ! 



That tribute of sutdued applause 
A chann'd, but timid, auJience 

That murmur, which a min«.f'el dia*ws 
Fmui hears, tha' feel, bu' fear to praise, 

Follow'd tl i pause 

Of sirence af er i', II 

Like a hVd spell on every tongue. 

At length, a low and tremulous ?onnd 
Was heard Tom m d«t a gronp, lhat round 
A bash! ' i hide 

Herblu ■ ed — 

Like rosr^ • a veil 

iugale, 



> It is -aid lhat Leonidas and his i 
ploved themselves, on the c 
and the gymnastic exercises of their eoan'ry. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



217 



Whose trembling notes steal out between 
The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen. 
And, while that voice, in tones that more 

Through feeling than through weakness err'd, 
Came, w ith a stronger sweetness, o'er 

Th' attentive ear, this strain was beard; — 



SONG. 

I saw, from yonder silent cave,' 

Two Fountains running, side by side, 
The one was Mem'rv's limpid wave, 

The other cold Oblivion's tide. 
•« Oh Love !" said I, in thoughtless mood, 

As deep I drank of Leihe*s stream, 
" Be all my sorrows in this flood 

"Forgotten like a var,ish'd dream !" 

But who could bear that gloomy blank, 

Where joy wns lost as well as pain? 
Quickly of Mem'ry's fount I drank, 

And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, "Oh Lo\e! wha'e'er my lot, 

♦'Still let this soul to thee be true — 
" Rather than have one bliss forgot, 

" Be all my pains remember'd too !" 



The group that stood around, to shade 
The blushes of that bashful maid, 
Had, by degrees, as came the lay 
More strongly forth, retired away, 
Like a fair shell, wh^se valves divide, 
To show the fairer pearl inside : 
For such she was — a crea'ure, bright 

And delicate as those day-flow'rs, 
Which, while they last, make up, in light 

And sweetness, what they want in hours. 

So rich upon the ear had grown 
Her voice's melody — ils tone 
Gathering new courage, as it found 
An echo in each bosom round — 
That, ere the nymph, wih downcast eye 
Still on the chords, her lute laid by, 
"Another Song," all lips exclaimed, 
And each some matchless f.ivourie named ; 
While blushing, as her fingers ran 
O'er the sweet chords, she thus began : — 



SONG. 

Oh, Memory, how coldly 

Thou paintest joy gone by: 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 

But mournfully shine and die. 
Or, if some lints ihou keepest, 

That former days recall, 
As o'er each line thou weepest 

Thy tears efface them all. 

But, Memory, too truly, 

Thou paintest grief that 's past ; 
Joy's colours are fleeting. 

But 'ho<e of Sorrow last. 
And, while thou bring'st before us 

Dark pictures of past ill, 
Life's evening, closing o'er us, 

But makes them darker still. 



So went the moonlight hours along. 
In this sweet glade ; and so, with song 



* "This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of 
Trophonius, and the Fountains of Memory and Obli- 
vion, just upon the wa'er of Hercyna, which flows 
through stupendous rocks." — Williams's Travels in 
Greece. 



19 



And witching sounds — not such as they, 
The cymbalists of Ossa, play'd, 

To chase the moon's eclipse away,^ 
But soft and holy — did each maid 

Lighten her heart's eclipse awhile, 

And win back borrow to a smile. 

Not far from this secluded place, 

On the sea-shore a ruin stood ; — 
A relic of th' exiinguish'd race, 

Who once look'd o'er that foamy flood, 
When fair Ioulis,3 by the light 
Of golden sunset, on the sight 

Of mariners who sail'd ihat sea, • 
Rose, like a city of chrysolite, 

Call'd from the wave by witchery. 
This ruin — now by barbarous hands 

Debased into a mo'ley shed, 
Where the once splendid column stands 

Inverted on its leafy head — 
Fortn'd, as they tell, in times of old, 

The dwelling of that bard, whose lay 
Could melt 10 tears ihe stern and cold, 

And sadden, mid their mirth, the gay — 

Simonides,* whose fame, through years 
And ages past, still bright appears — 
Like Hesperus, a star of tears ! 
•T was hither now — to catch a view 

Of the white waters, as they play'd 
Silently in the light— a few 

Of the more re-tless damsels strayed ; 
And some would linger 'mid the scent 

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed 
The ruin'd walls; while others went, 

Culling whatever floweret bloom'd 
In the lone le<fy space between, 
Where gilded chambers once had been ; 
Or, turning sadly to the sea, 

Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest 
To some brave champion of the Free — 
Thinking, alas, h iw cold might be, 

At that still hour, his place of rest 1 
Meanwhile there came a sound of song 

From the dark ruins — a faint strain, 
As if some echo, that among 
Those minstrel halls had slumbered long, 

Were murmuring into life again. 

But no — the nymphs knew well the tone- 

A maiden of their train, who loved, 
Like the night-bird, to sing alone, 

Had deep into those rui s roved, 
And there, all other thoughis forgot, 

Was warbling o'er, in lone delight, 
A lay lhat. on lhat very spot. 

Her lover sung one moonlight night : — 



Ah ! where are they, who heard, in former hours, 
The voice of Song in these neglected bow'rs? 
They are gone — all gone '. 

The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, 
That all. who heard him, wish'd his pain their own- 
He is gone — he is gone '. 

And she, who, while he sung, sat lis'ening by, 
And thought, to strains like these 't were sweet to die — 
She is gone — she too is gone ! 



» This superstitious custom of the Thessalians exists 
also, as Pietio delta Valle tells us, among the Persians 

3 An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which were 
of marble. Its remains (says Clarke) "extend from 
the shore, quite into a valley watered by the streams 
of a fountain, whence loulis received its name." 

* Zea was the birth-place of this poet, whose verses. 
are by Catullus called "tears." 



218 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



'T is thus, in future hours, some bard will say 
Of her, who hears, and him, who sings this lay — 
They aie gone — they both are gone! 



The moon was now, from heaven's steep, 

Bending In dip her silvery urn 
Into ihe bright and silent deep — 

And the young nvmphs, on their return 
From those romantic ruins, found 
Their other playmates, ranged around 
The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn.i ere sunk the moon 
To that fair«Fouiitain. by whose stream 
Their hearts had form d so many a dream. 

Who has not read the tales, that tell 
Of old Eleusis' sacred Well, 
Or heard what legend-sings recount 
Of Syra, and its holy Fount,* 
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock 

Into the laps of living flowers — 
Where village maiden', loved to flock, 

On sunmier-niitiis, and, like the Hours, 
Link'd in harmoriio'i- dance and song, 
Charm'd the unconscious night along; 
While holy pilgrims, on their way 

To Delos' isle, stood looking on, 
Eiichmtel wi h a scene so gay, 

Nor sought their boats, till morning shone. 

Such was the fcene this lovely g'ade 
And its fair inmates now dUplay'd, 
As round ihe Fount, in licked ritig, 

They went, in cadence slew t'jd light, 
And thus to that enchante ! 

Warbled their Fareweil £>» .ne night: — 



SONG. 
Here, while the moonlight dim 
F-tlls on that rn ssy brim, 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea ! 
Nothing but Music's strain, 
When Lovers part in piin. 
Soothes, till thev meet again. 

On, Maids of "Zea! 

Fright Fount, so clear and cold 
Round which the nymphs of old 
St >od, with their locks of gold, 

Fountain of Zea 1 
Not even Catiaiy, 
Famed though its streamlet be, 
Murmurs or shines like thee, 

Ob, Fount of Zeal 

Thou, while our hymn we sing, 
Thy silver voice shall bring, 
Answering, answerms, 
Sweet Fount of Zea ! 



> These "Songs of the Well," as they were called 
among the ancients, still exist in Greece. Dt Guy 
tells us that he hit seen '• the young « omen in Prince's 
Island, as-emb ed in the evening at a public well, 
suddenly strike up a dance, while others sung in coo- 
cert to them." 

» '■ The Inhabitants of Syra, both ancient a-d mo- 
dem, may be considered as the worshipper" of water. 
The old fountain, at which the nvmphs of the Hand 
assembled in the earliest ages exi-ts in its original 
state ; Ihe same rendezvous as it was formerly, whe- 
ther of love and galhntry, or of e"ssiping and tale- 1 
telling. It is near to he town, and the most limpid 
water gushes continually from he solid rock It is 
regarded by Ihe inhabia'nts with a degree of religious 
veneration; and they preser.e a traJiion, that the j 
pilgrims of old time, in their way to Dels, resorted i 
hither for purifica ion." — Clarke. 



Tut, of all rills that run, 
sparkling by moon or sun, 
Thou art the fairest one, 
Bright Fount of Zea! 

Now, by those stars that glance 
Over heav'n's still expanse, 
Weave we our mirthful dance, 

Daughters of Zea ! 
Such as, in former days, 
Danced they, by Diau's rays, 
Where the Eurotas strays.3 

Oh, Maids of Zea ! 

But when to merry feet 
Hearts with no echo beat, 
Say, can the dance be sweet ? 

Maidens of Zea ! 
No, nought but Music's strain, 
When lovers part in pain. 
Soothes, till thev meet again, 

Oh, Maids of Zea i 



SECOND EVENING. 



BO KG. 

When evening shades are falling 

O'er Ocean s sunny sleep, 
To pilgrims' hearts recalling 

Their home beyond the deep; 
When, rest o'er all descending, 

The shores with gladness smile, 
And lutes, their echoes blending, 

Are beard from isle to isle, 
Then, Mary, Star of the Sea * 
We pray, we pray, to thee ! 

The noon-day tempest over, 

Now Ocean toils no more, 
And wings of halcyons hover, 

Where all was strife before. 
Oh, thus may life, in closing 

lis short tempestuous day, 
Beneath heaven's smile reposing, 

Shine all its storms away: 
Thus. Mary, Siar of the Sea, 
We pray, we pray, to thee ! 



On Helle's sea the light grew dim, 
As the last sound- of that sweet hy mo 

Floa'ed alooe its azure tide — 
Floated in light, as if the lay 
Had mix'd with sunset's fading ray, 

And light and song together died. 
So soft through evening's air had breath'd 
That choir of youthful voices, wreath'd 
In many linked harmony, 
That b'ats. then hurrying o'er the sea. 
Paused, when they reacbM this fury shore, 
And linger'd till the strain was o'er. 

Of those young maids who 're met to fleet 
In song" and dance this evening's hours, 

Far happier now the bosoms beat, 

I han when they last adorn "d these bowers; 

For tidings of glad sound had come, 
At break of day. fiom the far isles — 

Tidings like breath of life to some — 

That Zea s sons would soon ■ ing home, 
Crown'd with the light of Victory's smiles; 

» '• Qualis in Eurotje ripis, aut per juga Cyothi 

Exercet Diana choros."— f'a-gii. 
«One of the titles of the Virgin: — "Maria i!!n- 
jinatrix, sive Stella Maris." — Iridor. 






EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



219 



To meet that brightest of all meeds 
That wait on high, heroic deeds, 
When gentle eye, that sc nee. (or tears, 

Could trace the warri rs parting track, 
Shall, I fee a misty morn thu clears, 
When the long absent sun api ears, 

Shine out, all bliss, to bail him back. 

How fickle still the youthful breast ! — 

More fond of change than a young moon, 
No j y so new was e'er possest 

But Youth wonld leave for newer soon. 
These Zean nymphs, though bright ibe spot, 

Where first they held their evening play, 
As ever fell lo fairy's lot 

To wanton o'er by midnight's ray, 
Had now exchanged thai s^elter'd scene 

For a wide glade beside the sea — 
A lawn. Whose sof, expanse of green 

Tunt'd to Hie west suu smilingly, 
As though, in conscious beauty bright, 
It joy'd to give him light for iiih ." 

And ne'er did evening more serene 

Look down f om beaten on lovelier scene. 

Calm lay the fiord around, while fleet, 

O'er 'he blue shinii g element, 
Light barks, as if with fairy feet 

That sti.-r'd n^t the hush'd waters, went ; 
Some that, ere rosy eve fell o'er 

The blushing wave, with mainsail free, 
Had put forth fr m the Attic shore, 

Or the near Ule of Ebony ; — 
Some. Hydriot barks, 'ha' deep in caves 

Beneath Carolina's pillar'd cliffs, 
Had all day lurk'd, aid o'er the waves 

Noi shot their long and dart-iike skiffs. 
Woe to he craf', ho never fleet, 
These sea-hawks in thei course shall meet, 
Laden with juke of Lesbian vines, 
Or rich from Naxns' emery mines ; 
For not more sure, when owlets t'.ee 
O'er the dark crags of Pendelee. 
Do'b the night-fa con mark his prey, 
Or pounce on it more fleet than they. 

And what a moon now lights the glade 

Whe-e hesey ung island nymph: ate met ! 
Full-orb 'd, ye' pure, as if no shade 
Had louch'd its virgin lustre yet ; 
And freshly bright, as if just made 
By love's ••wn hands, of new-born light 
htol'n from his nio her's star to-night. 

On a bold rock, that o'er the flood 
Jutted from that soft glade, there stood 
A Ch>pel. fmnting towards the sea, — 
Built in some by -gone cen ury. — 
Where, nightly, as the seaman's mark, 
When waves rose high or clouds were dark 
A lamp, bequeath d by some kind Saint, 
Shed o'er the wave i's glimmer taint, 
Waking in way-worn men a sigh 
And pra>er to heaven, as they went by. 
T was there, around that rock-built shrine, 

A group of maidens and their *ires 
Had stood to wa'ch the day's decline. 

And, as (be light ell o'er the.r lyres, 
Sung to the Qneen-S'ar of the Sea 
That soft and boly melody. 

But lighter thoughts and lighter song 

Now woo 'he c <ming hou ■ 

For, mark, where smooth 'he herbage lies, 

Ton gay pavilion. currainM deep 
With si;ken folds, through which bright eyes, 

From time 'o lime, are seen to peep ; 
While twinkling lighs that, to ani f: o, 
Beoea'h those veils, like meteors go, 
Te 1 of some spells at work, and keep 
', foung fancies cham'd in n.u e suspense, 
i Watching %'hat next may shine from thence. 



Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen 

Thai mvs'.ic curtain b.ckward drew, 
And all, that late bnt shone between, 

In half-c-ught gleams, now burst to view 
A picture t was of the early days 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immoTtal Mind were bers 
That made mankind her worshippers: 
While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone 
With glory' lent by heaven alone: 
Nor temples c o» n'd her nameless hills, 
Nor Muse immortalised her rills,- 
Nor aigbt but the mute poesy 
Of sun.'and sars and shining sea 
Ilumed that land of bards to be. 
While, pre-cient of the gifted race 

1 hat yet would realm so blest adorn, 
Nature took pains to deck the place 
Where glorious Art was to be bora. 

Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and tier hills portrayed ; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age. 

Ere yet the simple violet braid,' 
Which then adorn'd her. had shone dow» 
The glory of earth's lof'ies' crown. 
Wh:~e yet tindream'd, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine — 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To all but life, in shapes divine; 
Till deified the quarry shone 
And all Olympus stood in stone ! 

There, in the foreground of that scene, 

On a soft bank of living green, 

Sate a young nymph, wi'h her lap full 

Of newlygatber'd flowers, o'er which 
She graceful lean'd. in'enl lo cull 

All that was there of hue most rich, 
To form a wrea'h, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by, 
With pallet mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. 

The wreath was form'd ; the maiden raised 

Her speaking eye- to his, while he — 
Oh not upon trie flowers now gaz'd, 

But on that bright look's wi'cr.erv. 
While quick, as if but then the thought, 
Like light, had reach'd bis soul, he caught 
His pencil i p, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love-look drew : 
And. as bis raptured -ask went on. 
Aid forth each kindling feature shone, 
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, 

From lips as moonlight fresh and pure. 
Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there, 

And sung the Birth of Portraiture? 



SONG. 



As once a Grecian maiden wove 

Her garland mid the summer bowers, 
There s'ood a youth, with eyes of love, 

To walch her while she wreath'd the flowers. 
The youth was skill'd in Painting's art, 

But ne'er had studied woman's brow, 
Nor knew w hat magic hues the heart 

Can shed o'er Nature's charms, till now. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that "s fair aid bright below. 



» "Tiole'-crowned Athens." — Pindar. 

a The whole of this scene was suggested by Pliny's 
account of 'he artist Pausias and his mistress Ghcera, 
Lib. 35. c 40. 



220 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



His hand had pictured many a rose. 

And sketch'd the rays thai light ihe brook; 
But what were these, or what were those, 

To woman's blush, to woman's look? 
" Oh, if such magic pow'r there be, 

" This, this," he cried, " is all my prayer, 
"To paint that living light I see, 

• And fix the soul th it sparkles there." 

His piayer, as soon as breaih'd, was heard; 

His pallet, tmieh'd by L->ve, grew waim, 
And Paiming satv her hues iransferr'd 

From lifeless flower- to woman's form. 
Still as fiom tint to tint he stole, 

The fair design shone out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul, 

Where only colours glow'd before 

Then first carnations learn'd to speak, 

And lilies into life were brought; 
While, mantling en the maiden's cheek, 

Young ruses kindled into thought. 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 

Upon the locks of Beauty threw; 
And vi .lets, traiisform'd to eye>, 

Enslnin'd a soul within their blue. 

CHORUS. 

Bl'st be Love, to whom we owe 
All that 's fair and bright below. 
Sang was cold and Painting dim 
Till song and Pain' lug linr.."u from him 



Soon as the scene had closed, 1 cheer 

of gewle voices, old and 
Rose fr>ni the group! 'hat shod to bear 

This tale uf yore so apll) 
And while some nymph*, in h ste to tell 
The workers of that fairy rpell 
How crnwn'd wuh praise tlieir task had been, 
Stele in behind the curtain'd scene. 
The res', in happy converse s'ray'd — 

Talking tha' ancient love- ale o'er — 
Some, to the groves that skirt the glade, 

Some, to the chapel by the than, 
To In. k what lights were on the sea, 
And think of the' absent silently. 

But soon that summons, known so well 

Through bower and hall, in Eastern lands. 
Whose sound, more sure than gong or bell, 
I/) vers and slaves alike commands. — 
The clapping of young fema e hands. 
Calls back the groups from rock and field 
To see some new -firm \l scene leveal'd ; — 
And fleet and ragrr, down the slopes 
Of the ereen glade, like antel-pes. 
When, in iheir ihiist. they hear the sound 
Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. 

Far different now the scene — a waste 
Of Libyan s sinds, b\ moonlights ray; 

All ancient well, whereon «ere traced, 
The warning words, for such as s'ray 
Unarmed there, " Drink and a» av :" » 

While, near it, from the nicht-ray screeu'd, 
And like his bells, in hush'd repose, 

A camel slept — yiuue as if wean'd 
When last the "star, Canopus, rose.4 



1 The traveller Shaw mentions » beautiful rill in 
Barbary, which is received into a large basin callej 
Shrub iccc krul, "Drink and away"— there being 
great danger of mee ing with thieves and assassin*, in 
such places. 

» The Arabian shepherd has a peculiar ceremony in 
•reaning the young camel: when the proper time 
arrives, he turns Ihe ennel towards the rising s'ar, 
Canopus, and says, " Do you see Canopus ? from this 



Such was the back-ground's silent scene ;— 

While nearer lay" fast slumbering too, 
In a rude ten', with brow serene, 

A youth whose cheeks of way-worn hue 
And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale 
Tha he had been to Mecca's Vale : 
Haply in pleasant dreams, ev'n dow 
Thinking the long-wish'd hour is come 
When, o'er the well. known porch at borne, 
His hand shall hang Ihe aloe bough — 
Trophy of his accomplish'd vow. 3 

But brief his dream — frr now the call 

Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, 
" Bind on your burdens." * wakes up all 

The « idelv slumbering caravan ; 
And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear 

Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, 
The sfing of one who, lingering near, 

Had watch'd bis slumber, ebeeriy breaks. 



SONG. 

Up a' d march ! the timbrel's sound 
Wakes the slumbVii.g c imp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest bath gone, 
Armed alrej er, up, and on ! 
Long and weary is our way 
d'er Ihe burning sands to-day; 
But to pilgrim's h»r>ieward feet 
Ev'n ihe desert's path is sweet. 

When we lie at dead of nieht, 
Loking up o heaven's light. 
Hearing but the uatchraau's tone 
Faintly c ine."* 

- us come 

i -ning sets, 
:. u, ail ihe minarets. 

Cheer thee! — soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o'er he K 
Kindling quick from man k 

i van:*. 
Think srl 

, 10 see, 

Murmui'd ou' by \>>.c<rs dear. 



So pass'd the desert d'eam ai 
Fleeting as his who heard 111 

The tfx 
While si 

On to ihe j y that yet »a"s 
Fancy, who baih i 
But builds her bower in seen 



moment you taste not another drop of milk. — Ri- 
cJiardien. 

a •• Whoever re»urns from a pilgrimage to Mecca 
hangs this plant (the mitre shaped Aloe) over his 
street door, as a token of his having performed this 
holy y uruey." — Ha- 

* This form of notice to the caravans to prepare for 
marching was applied by Hafiz to the necessity of re- j 
linquisfaiog the pleasures i i 'roaring I 
for death : — " For me what mom is there for plea- 
sure in the bower of Beauty, when every momeni the ' 
bell makes proclamation, 'Bind on your hardens ?*" 

* The watchmen, in the camp of the carat ana, go I 
their rounds, en ing one after anothe 
ic&c 

6 " It w»s customary 
fires on tha monn'aj 
notice of the approach 
the Nile." 



me alter another, " boa m one," 1 1 

an." says Irwin, "to ligM up | 
«. within'vieworCosseir. togiasa 
h of the caravans thai came sVosa ' 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



221 



Walking for ever in a light 

That flows from regions out of sight 

But see, by gradual dawn descried, 
A mountain realm— rugged as e'er 
Upraised io heav"n its summits bare, 

Or told to earth, with frown of pride, 
Tint Freedom's falcon nest was there, 

Too hirli far hand of lord or king 

To hood her brow, or chain her wing. 

>T is Mama's land — her ancient hills, 

The abode of nymphs ' — her countless rill* 

And torrents, in ibeir downward dash 

Shining, like silver, through the shade 
Of the sea-pine and flowering ash — 

All with a truh so fresh pourtray'd 
As wants but touch of lite to be 
A wot Id of warm reality. 

And now, light bounding forth, a band 

Of mouu'aineers, all smiles, advance- 
Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 

Link'd in the Ariadne dance ; o 
And while, apart from that gay throng, 
A minstrel youth, in v*ried song. 
Tells of the loves, the joys, the" ills 
Of these wild children of the hills, 
The rest by turns, or fierce ur gay, 
As war or sport inspires the lay, 
Follow each change that wakes the strings, 
And act what thus' the lyrist sings : — 



SONG. 



No life is like the mountaineer's, 

His home is near the sky, 
Where, throned above this world, he hears 

Its strife at dis'ance die. 
Or, <h>uld the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, "We come — we come," 
Each crag that towers in air 
Gives answer, •' Come who dare!" 
While, like tiees, from dell and dingle, 
Swift the swarming warriors mingle, 
And their cry " Hurra!" will be, 
"Hurra, to victory !" 

Then, when battle's hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lever, 

VVilh the nymph, who 11 soon be bride, 

Seated blushing by his side,— 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's, 

Hrs home is near the sky, 
Where, throned above this world, he hears 

I's s'rife at dis'ance die. 
Nor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerly runs — 

Ev'n winter, bleak and dim. 

Brings joyous hours to him ; 
When, his rifle behind him flinging, 
He watches the roe-buck springing, 
And away, o*er the hills away 
Re-echoes his glad " hurra." 

Then how blest, when night is closing, 

By the kindled hearth reposing, 

To his rebeck's drowsy song, 

He beguiles the hour along ; 

Or, provoked by merry glances, 

To a brisker movement dances, 



* — — virginibus bacchata Laconis 

Taygeta. . Virg. 

a See, for an account of this dance, De Guy's Tra 
vels. 



19 



Till, weary at last, in slumber's chain 

He dreams o'er chase and dance again, 

Dreams, dreams them o'er again. 



As slow that minstrel, at the close, 
Sunk, while he sung, to feign'd repose, 
Aptly did they, whose mimic art 

Follow'd the changes of his lay, 
Pourtray the lull, the nod, the start, 

Through which, as faintly died aw*y 
His lute and voice, the minstrel pass'd, 
T ill voice and lute lay hush'd at last 

But now far other song came o'er 

Their startled ears — song that, at first, 
As solemnly the night-wii.d bore 

Across the wave its mournful burst, 
Seem'd to the fancy, like a dirge 

Of some lone Spirit of the Sea, 
Singing o'er Helle's ancient surge 

The requiem of her Brave and Free. 

Sudden, amid their pastime, pause 

The wondering nymphs ; and, as the sound 
Of that strange music nearer draws, 

With niuteenquiring eye look round, 
Asking each O'her what can be 
The source of this sad minstrelsy? 
Nor longer can they doubt, the song 

Comes from some is'and-bark, which DOW 
Courses the bright waves swift along, 

And soon, perhaps, benea'h the brow 

Of the Saint's Rock will shoot its prow. 

Instantly all, with hearts that sigh'd 
Twixt fear's and fancy's influence, 
Flew to the rock, and "saw from thence 
A red-siil'd pinnace tow'rds them glide, 
Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, 
Scaner'd the moonlight's smiles away. 
Soon as the mariners saw that throng 

From the clifl' gazing, young and old 

Sudden they slack'd their sail and song, 

And, while their pinnace idly roll'd 

On the light surge, these tidings told: 

T was from an isle of mournful name, 
From Missolonghi, last they came — 
Sad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet 
O'er him, the'noblest S'ar of Fame 

That e'er in life's young glory set ! — 
And now were on their mournful way, 

Wafting the news through Helle's isles ; — 
News that would cloud ev'n Freedom's ray, 

And sadden Victory 'mid her smiles. 
Their tale thus told, and heard, with pain, 
Out spread the galliot's wings again j 
And, as she sped her swift career, 
Again that Hymn rose on the ear — 
" Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! " 

As oft 't was sung, in ages flown, 
Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed 

A tyrant's blood, pour'd out his own. 



SONG. 



Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 3 

No, deare-t Harmodius, no. 
Thy soul, to reilns above us fled, 
Though, like a star, it dwells o'erhead, 

Still lights this world below. 
Thou art not dead — 'hou art not dead 1 

No, dearest Harmodi is, no 
Through isles of light, where heroes tread 

And flowers ethereal Slow, 

3 *i\ra9' 'Ag/toSi' ovituj rtOvrjicas. 



222 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



Thy god-like Spirit now is led. 
Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed, 

Forgets all taste of woe. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

The myrtle, round that falchion spread 
Which struck the immortal blow, 

Throughout all time, with leaves unshed — 

The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread — 
Kound Freedom's shrine shall grow. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 
I\o, dearest Harmodius, uo. 

Where hearts like thine have broke or bled, 
Though quench'd tlie vital glow, 

Their memory lights a llame, instead, 

Which, ev'n from out the narrow bed 
Of death its beams shall throw. 

Thou art noi dead — thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, do. 

Thy name, by myriads sung and said, 

From age to age shall go, 
Long as the oak and ivy wed. 
At bees shall haunt Hymettus' head, 

Or Helle's waters flow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead J 

.No, dearest Harmodius, do. 



'Mong those who lingerM listening there,— 

Listening, with ear aud eye, as long 
As breartl of night could tow'rds them bear 

A murmur of that m uruful song,— 
A few there were, in whom the lay 

Had call'd up feelings far too sad 
To pass with the brief strain anay, 

Or turn at oDce to theme more glad ; 
And who, in mood untuned to meet 

The light laugh of the happier tiain, 
Waoder'd to seek some moonlight seat 
Where they might rest, in converse sweet, 

Till vanish'd -miles should come again. 
And seldom e'er bath noon of eight 
To sadness lent more soothing light. 
On one side, in the daik blue sky, 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jove himself, while, on the o her, 

'Mong tiny sars that round her gleam'd, 
The young moon, like be Roman mother 

Among her living "jewels," beamed. 

Touch'd by the lovely scenes around. 

A pensive maid — one who, though young, 
Had known what 't was to see unwound 

The ties by which her heart had clung — 
Waken'd her s >li tamb.ura's sound, 

And to its faint accords thus sung: — 



SONG. 

Calm as. beneath its mother's eyes, 
In sleep the smiling infant lies. 
So, watch'd by all the stars of night, 
Von landscape sleeps in light. 
And while Hie night-breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain, 
Loved voice*, l°sl f" r many a day, 

Seem whispering rouid asain. 
Oh youth ! oh love ! ye dreams, that shed 
Such glory once — where are ye fled? 

Pure ray of light that, down the sky, 
Art pointing, like an angel's wand, 

As if to gtiideto realms that lie 
In that bright sea b uy ni l : 



Who knows but, in some brighter deep 
Than even that Iraoquil, moon-lit main. 

Some land may lie, wheie those who weep 
Shall wake to smile again ! 



With cheeks that had regain'd their power 
And play of smiles, — and each bright eye, 

Like violets after morning's shower, 
The brighter for ihe tears gone by, 

Back to the scene such smiles should grace 

These wandering nymphs their path retrace. 

And reach the spot, with raplure new 

Just as the veils asunder flew, 

And a fresh vision burst to view. 

There, by her own bright Atlic flood, 
The bh.e-ey'd Queen <.f Wi>dnm stood;— 
Not as she haunts the sage's dreams, 

Wi'h brow unveil'd, divine, severe; 
But softeu'd. as on b rds sbr beam«, 

When fresh from Poesy's high sphere, 
A music, do! her own, she brings. 
And, through the veil which Fancy flings 
O'er her stern features, gently sings. 

But who is he — that urchin nigh, 

With quiver on Ihe rose-trees hung, 
Who seems just dropp'd from yondei sky, 
And stands to watch thai maid, with eye 

So full of thought, for one so young? — 
That child — but, silence ! lend thine ear, 
Aud thus in song the tale thou 'It hear : — 



SONG. 



As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 

Who should be see, ai that soft hour. 
But young Minerva, gravely playing 

Her flute within an olive bower. 
I need not say, 1 is love's opinion 

That, grave or merry, good or ill, 
The sex all bow to his dominion, 

As woman will be woman still. 

Though seldom yet the boy hath given 

To learned dames his smiles or signs. 
So hands"me Pallas look'd, that even. 

Love qui'e forgot the maid was wise. 
Besides, a youth of bis discerning 

Knew well that, by a shady rill. 
At sunset hour, u ha'e'er her learning, 

A woman will Le woman sill. 

Her flute he praised in terms extatic. — 

Wishing it dumb, nor cared how soon ;— 
For Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, 

Te Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he found face to flatter, 

The nymph found breath lo shake and IhrOl 
As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 

Woman, at heart, is woman still. 



Love chanred his plan, with warmth exchimi 

'• How rosy was her lips' soft dye !■ 
And much ti,a flute, the flatterer.' blaming, 

For twisting lips so sweet awry. 
The nymph look d down, beheld her features 

Reflected in the passing rill. 
And started, shock d— fo>, ah, re creatures! 

Ev'n when divine, you 're women still. 



Quick from the Mpe it made so odious 

That g<acele-* flute the Goddess took. 
And, while yet fill'd with breath melodi 

Flung it mto Ihe j 
Where, as i's vr*il 

Adown the current, tain - and shrill, 
T wis heard in ph, 

" Woman, alav \ 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



223 



An interval of dark repose — 

Such as the summer lightning knows, 

'Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright 

The quick revealuient comes and goes, 
Opening each time the veils of night, 
To show, within, a world of light — 
Such pause, so brief, now pnss'd between 
This la.*t gay vision and the scene, 

Which now its depth of light disclosed. 
A bower -it seem'd, an Indian bower, 

Within whose shade a n\mph reposed, 
Sleeping away noou's sunny hour — 
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves 
Her mansion of sweet Duiva leaves, 
And there, as Indian legends say, 
Dreams the long summer hours away. 
And mark, how charm'd this sleeper seems 
With some hid fancy — she, too, dreams ! 
Oh for a Wizard's art to tell 

The wonders that now bless her sight 1 
>T is done — a truer, holier spell 
Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell 

Thus brings her vision all to light s 



SONG. 



" Who comes so gracefully 

"Gliding along, 
" While the blue rivulet 

" Sleeps to her song ; 
* Song, richly vying 
u WiFh the faint sighing 
u Which swans, in dying, 

" Sweetly prolong f 

So sung the shepherd-boy 
Bv the stream's side. 

Watching that fairy boat 
Down the flood glide, 

Like a bird winging, 

Thr ugh the waves bringing 

That Syren, singing 
To the hush'd tide. 

" Stay," said the shepherd-boy, 

" Fairy-boat, stay, 
"Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 

" Linger, a day.'' 
But vain his pleading, 
Past him, unheeding. 
Song and boat, speeding, 

Glided away. 

So to our youthful eyes 
Joy and'hope shone ; 

So, while we gazed on them, 
Fast they few on ; — 

Like flowers, declining 

Ev'n in the twining. 

One moment shining, 
And, the next, gone '. 



Soon as the imagined dream went by, 
Uprose the nymph, wilh anxious eye 
Tutn d to the clouds, as though some boon 

She waited from that sun-bright dome, 
And marvell'd that it came nofsoon 

As her young thoughs would have it con 
But joy is in her glance! — <he wing 

Of a white bird is seen above; 
And oh. if round his neck he bring 

The long-wish'd tidings from her love, 
Not half so precious in her eyes 

Ev'n that high-omen'd bird » would be, 
W|k) dooms the brow o'er which he flies 

To wear a crown of Royalty. 



She had herself, last evening, sent 

A winged messenger, whose flight 
Through the clear, roseate element, 

She watch 'd till, lessening out of sight, 
Far to the golden West it went, 
Wafting to him, her distant love, 

A missive in that language wrought 
Which flowers can speak, when aptly wove, 

Each hue a word, each leaf a thought. 

And now — oh speed of pinion, known 

To Love's light messengers alone! — 

Ere yet another evening takes 

Its farewell of the golden lakes, 

She sees another envoy fly, 

With the wish'd answer, through the sky. 



SONG. 

Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air wing 
tog, 

Swill hast thou come o'er the far-shining sea, 
Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing 

Lovers written vows from my lover lo me. 
Ob, in thy absence, what hours did I numtx-! — 

Saying'oft, " Idle bird, how could he rest r* 
But thou art come at last, take now thy slumber, 

And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best. 

Yet dost thou droop — even now while I utler 

Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away ; 
Cheer thee, my bird — were it life's ebbing flutter, 

This fondling bosom should wo it to stay. 
But no— thou 'rt dying — thy lasl task is over — 

Farewell, sweet martyr, to Love and lo me '. 
The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my 
lover, 

Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee. 



While thus this scene of song (their last 
For the sweet summer season) pass'd, 
A few presiding nymphs, whose care 

Watch'd over all, invisibly, 
As do those guardian sprites of air, 

Whose watch we feel, but cannot see, 
Had from the circle— scarcely miss'd, 

Ere they were sparkling there again — 
Glided, like fairies, to assist 

Their handmaids on the moonlight plain 
Where, hid by intercepting shade 

From the stray glance of curious eyes, 
A feast of frui s and wines was laid 

Scon to shine out, a glad surprise ! 

And now the .moon, her ark of light 

Steering through Heav'n, as though she bore 
In safety through that deep of night. 
Spirits of earth, the good, the bright, 

To some remote immortal shore, 
Had half-way sped her glorious way. 

When, round reclined on hillocks green, 
In groups, benea'h that tranquil rav, 

The Zeans at their feast were seen. 
Gay was the picture — every maid 
Whom late the lighted >cene display'd, 
Still in her fancy garb array'd ; — 
The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here 

Be-ide the nymph of India's sky; 
While there the Mainiote mountaineer 
Whisper'd in young MinervVs ear, 

And urchin Love stood laughing by. 

Meantime the elders round the board, 
By miith and wit them-eives made young, 

High cups if juice Zacyn'hian pour'd, 

And, wlnle the flask went round, thus sung; - 



224 



EVENINGS IN GREECE 



SONG. 

TJp with the sparkling brimmer, 

Up to the crystal rim ; 
Let not a inoon-l earn glimmer 

'J'wixt the flood and brim. 
When hath the world -el eyes on 

Aught to match this light, 
Which, o'er our cup's horizon, 

Dawns in bumpers blight? 

Truth in a deep well Iieth — 

So the wise aver: 
But Truth Hie f .ct denielh — 

Water suits not her. 
No. her abode's in brimmers, 

Like thi» mighty cup — 
Waiting till we, good swimmers, 

Dive to bring her up. 



Thus circled round the song of glee, 
And all was tunef .1 mi-th the while, 
Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile, 

As trx'd they gaze upon the sea, 

Turns into paleness suddenly ! 

What see they there? a bright blue light 
That, like a me eor, gliding o'er 

The distant wave, grows on the sight, 
As though '( were wing'd to Zea s shore. 

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze, 

It seem'd the night-light, far away, 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 

Of pine lorch, luring on his prey j 
While others, as, Iwixl awe and mirth, 

They breath'd the bless d Panaya's> name, 
Vow'd that such light was not of earth, 

Rut of thai drear, ill-omen'd flame, 
Which mariners see on sail or mast, 
When Dea'h is coming in the blast. 
While marveling thus ihey stood, a maid, 

Who sate apar'. with downcast eye, 
Nor yet bad, like the lest, surveyed 

That coming lieh' which now was nigh, 
Soon as it met her sight, with cry 

Of pain-like joy. " ' I is he ! »t is lie ! " 
Loud slie exctami'd, and, hurrviug by 

The assembled Ihr .ni. rush'd t >w'rds the sea. 
At bun>t so wild, atarm'd. amazed. 
All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed 
Into each other's eyes, to seek 
What meant such mood, in maid so meek? 

Till now, the tale wa« known to few, 
But now from lip to lip it (lew : — 
A youth, the flower of all the band, 

Who late had left 'his sunnv shore, 
When last he kis>M tint maiden's hand, 

Lingering, to kiss it "'e r and o'er, 
By his sad brow too plainly told 

The ill-omen'd th 'light which cross'd him then, 
That once those hands should lose their hold, 

They ne'er would meet i.n earth again ! 
In vain Ins mistress, s>J a- he. 
But with a heart from Self as free 
As generous woman's only is. 
Veil'd her own fears to banish his: — 
With frank rebuke, but still more vain, 

Did a rough warrior, w bo stood by, 
Call lo his mind this martial strain. 

His favourite once, ere Beautv's eye 

Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh : — 



SONG. 

March ! nor heed those arms that bold thee, 

Though so fondly close they come j 
Closer still will Ihey enfold thee. 

When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. 
Dost thou dote on woman's brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath? 
March ! — one hour of victory now 

Wins tbee woman's smile till death. 

Oh. whit bliss, when war is over. 

Beauty's long-mtss'd smile to meet, 
And, when « reatbs our temples cover, 

Lay them shining at her feet. 
Who would not. that hour to reach, 

Breathe out life's expiring sigh, — 
Proud as waves that on the beach 

Lay their war-crests down, and die. 

There ! I see thy soul is burning— 

She hetself, who clasps thee so. 
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad retnrning, 

And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given, 

One last glowing tear and then — 
March ! — nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 

Brings thee to those arms again. 



« The name which the Greeks give to the Tirgit 
Marv. 



Even then, ere loth their hands could part, 

A promise the yoa'h gave, which bore 
Some balm unto the maiden's heart, 

Tha\ soon as the fierce htht was o'er, 
To home he 'd speed, if safe and free — 

Nay. ev'n if dying, still would come, 
So the blest word of " Victory 1" 

Might be the last he 'd breathe at borne. 
" By day,*" he cried, " thou It know my bark ; 
" But, should I come through midnight dark, 
"A blue light on the prow shall tell 
" That Greece hath won, and all is well ! " 

Fondly the maiden, every night, 
Had stolen to seek ha' promised lirht ; 
Nor long her eyes had now been turu'd 
From watching, when the signal burn'd. 
Signal of joy — for her, for alt — 

Fleetly the boat now nears the land, 
While voices, from the shore-edge, call 

For tidings of the long-* ish'd baud. 

Oh, the blest hour, when those who've been 
Through peril's paths by laid or sea, 

Lock'd in our arms again are seen 
Smiling in glad security ; 

When heart to heart we fondlv strain, 
Questioning quickly o'er aixi o'er — 

Then hold them "ff, to gaze agam, 
And a-k. th uzh answer VI oft before. 
If they, iixdojL. are ours once more ? 

Such is the scene, so full of joy, 
Which welcomes now this warrior-boy, 
As fa hers, sisters, friends all run 
Bounding to meet him — all but one, 
Wbo, slowest on his neck to fa'l, 
Is yet the happiest of them all. 

And now behold him, circled round 

With bramins faces, at that b a'd. 
While cups, with liurcl foliage crown'd, 

Are to the comitis warriors pnur'd — 
Connn». a« he the 

With bl I 
Wi'h heirts unt 
And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal. 

" Ere mnrn,' 1 said he, — and. while be spoke, 
Tum'd to the east, « here, clear, and pale, 

The star of dawn alreid* broke — 
" We 'I i greet, on yonder wave, tbeir sail !" 



LEGENDARY BALLADS, 



225 



Then, wherefore part? all, all agree 

To wait them here, beneath this bower; 
And thus, while even amidst iheir glee, 
Eich eye is turn'd to watch ihe sea, 
With socg they cheer the anxious hour. 



SONG. 



" 'T is the Vine ! 't is the Vine !" said the cup-loving 
boy, 

As he saw it spring bright from the earth, 
And call'd ihe young Genii of Wit, Love, and Joy, 

To witness and hallow its birth. 
The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flamed 

Till the sun-beam thai kiss'd it look'd pale: 
">Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" ev'ry Spirit ex- 
claim'd, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 

First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit flew, 
While a light on the vine-leaves there broke. 

In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew 
T was the light from his lips as he spoke. 



" Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried, 
"And the fount of Wit never can fail :" 

"'Tis the Vine; 'tis the Vine !" hills aud valleys 
reply, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 

Next, Love, as he lean'd o'er the plant to admire 

Each tendril and cluster it wore, 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire, 

As made the tree tremble all o'er. 
Oh, never did flower of the earth, sea, or sky, 

Such a soul-giving odour inhale: 
" T is the Vine ! 't is the Vine !" all re-echo the cry, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !" 

Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die, 

Came to crown the bright hour with his ray; 
And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his eye, 

When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say ; — 
A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around 

Till, like music, it swell'd on the gale; 
«"Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vinel" laughing myriads 
resound, 

- Hail, hall to the Wine-tree, all hail !» 



LEGENDARY BALLADS 



TO THE MISS FEILDINGS, 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 

BY THEIR FAITHFUL FRIEND AND SERVANT, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE VOICE. 

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, 
When love, only love, was the light of her ways; 
And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, 
It whisper'd her name from the garden below. 

" Alas," sigh'd the maiden, " how fancy can cheat ! 
«* The world once had lips that could whisper thus 

sweet ; 
" But c>ld now they slumber in yon fatal deep, 
"Where, oh, that beside them this heart too could 

sleep ! " 
She sunk on her pillow — but no, 't was in vain 
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again ! 
She flew to the casement — but, hush'd as the grave, 
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave. 

" Oh, sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she 

said, 
" From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead !" 
And 6leep came around her — bu 1 , starting, she woke, 
For still from the garden that spirit Voice spoke ! 

*• 1 come," she exclaimed, " be thy home where it 
may, 

" On earth or in heaven, that call I obey ; " 

Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beat- 
ing fast 

And loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past. 

Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone; 
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on ; 
But whither >he wander'd. by wave or by shore, 
None ever could tell, for she came back no more. 



No, ne'er came she back,— but the watchman who 

stood, 
That night, in the tower which o'ershadows the flood, 
Saw dimly, 't is said, o'er the moon-Jighted spray, 
A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. 



CDPID AND PSYCHE. 

They told her that he, to whose vows she had listen'd 
Through night's fleeting hours, was a Spirit un- 
blest; — 

Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten'd, 
And evil the lips she in darkness had prest. 

" When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, 
"Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies; 

"And there, as the light o'er hisdark features shineih, 
"Thou'lt see what a demon bath won all thy sighs!" 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, ye' fearing. 
When calm lay the slee|>er she stole wilt her light; 

And saw — such a vision ! — no image, ap| earing 
To bards in their day-dreams, was ever sc bright. 

A youth, but just passing from childhood's fw« 

morning, 

While round him still linger'd its innocent ray; 

Though gleams, from beneath bis shut eyelids gave 

warning- 

Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay. 

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, 
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine, 

His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it 
Seem'd 'fresh from the breeze of some garden divine. 



226 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, 
What late was but love is idola'ry now; 

But, ah — in her tremor the fatal lamp raising — 
A sparkle dew from it and dropp'd on his brow. 

All 's lost — with a start from his rosy sleep waking, 
The Spirit fiash'd o'er tier his g auces of hie ; 

Then, slow from the clasp of hertsowy arms breaking, 
Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire : 

1 Farewell— what a dream thy suspicion haih broken! 
'• Thus ever Atiectiou's fond vision is crost ; 
Dissolved aie her spells when a doubi is but spoken, 
" And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost ! " 



HERO AND LEANDER. 

" The night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, 
"There gleame'h no mo n in the misty sky, 

" No star over Helle's sea ; 
"Yet, yer, there is shining one holy light, 
" One love-kindled star through the deep of night, 

" To lead me, sweet Hero, 10 thee !" 

Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, 
S'iL fixing hi- gaze on that dis'aut beam 

No eye but a lover's could see ; 
And s ill, as the surge swept over his head, 
" To-night," he said ter.derlv. " living or dead, 

"Sweel Hero, I'll rest with thee!" 

But fiercer around him the wild waves speed; 
Oh, Love ! in that h ur of thy votary's need, 

Where, where could thy Spirit be? 
He snuggles— he sinks— while he hurricane's breath 
Bears rudely away his last farewell in death — 

" Sweet Hero, I uie for thee ! " 



THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. 

"Tell me. kind Seer, I pray thee, 
•' So may the sars obey thee, 

" So may e ch airy 

" Moon-elf and fairy 
"Nightly their homage pay thee! 

trhal spell, ab ve. below, 
" In stars tha' wink or flowers that blow 

•' 1 may discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me. or no, 
" Whether my love loves me."' 

" Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 
"Hath charms no gold could buy thee; 

" Its rein enchanted, 

" Bv moon-elves planted, 
" Will all' thou seek'si supply thee. 
" Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, 
"Bring theiice their fairest leaf below; 

"And thou 'li di cover, 

" Ere night is over, 
•' Whether thy I've loves thee or no, 
" Whether thy love loves thee." 

" See, up the dark tree going, 

" With blossoms round me blowing, 

" From thence, oh Father, 

«- This leif 1 ga'her, 
" Fairest thai thee is growing. 
"S»T, by what sign i now shall know 
"If in this leaf lie bliss or woe, 

"And thus discover 

"E'e night is o\er, 
" Whether my love 1 >ves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves inc." 



Fhere' moonbeam ue"er had dwelling, 



." Dip in its water 
'• Tha- leaf, oh Daughter, 
" And mark the ale '1 is telling ; 1 
" Watch thou if pale or bright il grow, 
'■ List thou, the while, that fountain's flow 
"And \h >\x 'it discover 
" Whether thy lover, 
" Loved as he is, loves thee or do, 
" Loved as he is, loves thee." 

Forth flew the nymph, delighted, 
To seek that fount benighted ; 

Bu', scarce a minute 

The leaf lay in it, 
When, In, is bloom was blighted ! 
And as she askd, with voice of woe — 
Listening, the while, that fountain's flow - 

'•Shall I recover 

" Mi truant lover?" 
The fountain seem'd to answer, " No ;" 
The fountain answered, "No." 



CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 

A hun'er once in that grove reclined, 

To shun the noon's bright eje. 
And oft he wooed the wandering wind, 

To cool his Lrow with its sigh. 
While mute lay even the wild bee's hum, 

Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, 
His song was still "Sweet air, oh ; 

While Echo answered, "tome, snect Air!" 

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise ! 

What meaneth that ru»tli: g spray ? 
"'Tis he white-liom'd doe," the Hunter cries, 

"I have sought since break of day." 
Quick o'er the sunny glade he sprii gs. 

The arr ■ sounding bow, 

"Hilliho — hilliho'.'' lie ga 

While Echo sighs forth "Hilliho!" 

Alas, 1 was not the white-horn'd doe 

He saw in the r s ling grove, 
But the bridal veil, as pure a- snow, 

Of his oun young wedded lore. 
And, ah. too sure that arron 

For pale at his feet be sees her lie;— 
"Idie, I die," was all she said. 

While Echo murn.ur'd, " 1 die, I die !" 



YOUTH AND AGE. 3 

" Tell me, what 's Love ?" said Touth, one day 
To droopii.g Age ,y. — 

" It is a sui 

ch repent i' ce dear doth pay; 
"Repentance! Repentance! 
"And this is Love, as wise men say." 



"Tell me. 




Love?" said Youth once more, 


Feartul, ve 




C-. 






• •» iod. 






eaves behind ? 








"And this i 




is o'er." 



1 » The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat 
similar to this; and we find the Emperor Adrian, 
when he went to consult the Fountain of Cas'alia, 
plucking a bay-leaf and di| ping it into the sacred 
water. 

I 3 The ->ir, 10 which I have adapted these words, 
; sed by Mrs Aikwright 10 some old ve'sea, 
•' Tell me \>hat\- love, kiinj shepherd, piay ?" and it 
has been my object to retain as much of the 
and phraseology of the original uords as i^osaibie. 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



22 1 ; 



"Tell me, what's Love ?" said Youth, again 
Tmsting the bliss, but not the pain. 
'•Sweet as a May tree's rented air — 
"Mark ye what bitter fruit 't will bear, 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
" This, this is Love — sweet Youth, beware." 

Just then, young Live himself came by, 
And :ast on Youth a smiling eye ; 
Who could resist that glance's ray? 
In vain did Age his warning say, 
"Repenance! Repentance !" 
Youth laughing went with Love away. 



" Such," quoth the Youth, " is Woman's love!" 
Then, darting forth, with furious bound, 

Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove, 
And strew'd it all in fragments round. 

MORAL. 

Such ills would never have come to pass, 
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; 

The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, 
And the Knight still thought his Lady true. 



THE DYING WARRIOR 

A wounded chieftain, lying 
By the Danube's leafy side, 

Thus faintly said, in dying, 
"Oh! bear, thou foaming tide, 
" This gift to my lady-bi ide." 

T was then, in life's last quiver 
He flung the scarf he wore 

Into the foaming liver, 
Which, ah too quickly, bore 
That pledge of one no more ! 

With fond impatience burning, 
The Chieftain's lady stood, 

To watch her love returning 
In triumph down the flood, 
From that day's field of blood. 

But, field, alas, ill-fated ! 

The lady saw, instead 
Of the bark whose speed she waited, 

Her hero's scarf, all red 

Wilh the drops his heart had shed. 

One shriek — and all was over — 
Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; 

The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal-flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding-sheet.' 



THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

" Come, if thy magic Glass have power 

"To call up forms we sigh tn see; 
"Show me, my love, in that rosy bower, 

" Where last she pledged her huth to me." 

The Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, 
Where lone and pale in her bow'r she lay ; 

"True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, 
" She 's thinking of one, who is far away." 

But, In ! a page, with looks of joy, 

Brings tidings to the Lady's ear ; 
" T is," said the Knight. " the same bright boy, 

" Who used to guide me to my dear." 

The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree, 

Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flower; 
"Such." he exclaim'd, '• was the gift that she 

" Each morning sent me from that bower !" 

She gives her page the blooming rose, 

With looks that sav. " Like lightning, fly!" 

" Thus," thought the Knight. " she soothes her woes, 
* By fancying, still, her true-love nigh." 

But the page returns, and — oh, what a sight, 

For trusting lover's eyes to s^e ! — 
Leads to that bower another Knight, 

As young and, alas, as loved as he ! 



THE PILGRIM. 

Still Ihus, when twilight gleam'd, 
Far off his Castle seem'd, 

Traced on the sky ; 
And still, as fancy bore him 
To those dim towers before him, 
He gazed, with wishful eye, 

And thought his home was nigh. 

'« Hall of my Sires!" he said, 
" How long, with weary tread, 

"Musi I toil on? 
" Each eve, as thus I wander, 
" Thy towers seem rising yonder, 
"But, scarce hath daylight shone, 

" When, like a dream, thou 'rt gone ! 

So went 'he Pilgrim still, 
Down dale and over hill, 

Day after day ; 
That glunpse of home, so cheering, 
At twilight still appearing, 
But still, with morning's ray, 

Melting, like mist, away ! 

Where rests the Pilgrim now ? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 

Closed his career; 
That dream, of fancy's weaving, 
No more his s'eps deceiving, 
Alike past hope and fear. 

The Pilgrim's home is here. 



THE HIGH-BORN LADYE. 

Id vain all the Knights of the Underwald wooed her, 

j Tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; 

Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels 

they sued her, 

But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. 

u Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling, 

"That Knight must the conqu'rorof conquerors be; 
"He mu-t place me in halls fit for mouarchs to dwell 

" None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye !■ 

Thus spoke the proud damsel, wilh scorn looking 

round her 
i On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree; 
■ Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, 
I And worshipp'd at distance the high-born Ladye. 

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo hei, 
With plumes on his heim like the foam of the sea; 

His vizor was down — but, with voice that tbriU'd 
through her, 
He whisper'd his vows to the high-born Ladye. 

"Proud maiden! I come with high spousals to grace 

thee, 
I "In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see; 
"Enthroned in a hall fit for monarch* 1 'II place thee, 
" And mine thou 'rt for ever, thou high born Ladye! 1 * 



228 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



The maiden she smiled, and in jewels array'd her, 
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she ; 

And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd 
her 
In pomp to bis home, of that high-born Ladye. 

" But whither," she, starting, exclaims, " have you 

led me? 

*' Here 's nought but a tomb and a dark cypress tree; 

" Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed 

me?" 

With scorn in her glance said the high-born Ladye. 

•<>Tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest 
creatures" — " 
Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see ; 
But she sank on the ground — 'twas a skeleton's fea- 
tures, 
And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye ! 



THE INDIAN BOAT. 

'T was midnight dark, 

The seiman's bark, 
Swift o'er the waters bore him, 

When, through the night, 

He spied a light 
Shoot o'er the wave before him. 
44 A fail ! a sail 1" he cries ; 

"She comes from the Indian shore, 
"And to-night shall be our prize, 
" With her freight of golden orei 

"Sail on ! sail on ! » 

When morning shone 
He saw the gold still clearer; 

But, though so fast 

The waves he pas-'d, 
That boat seem'd never the nearer. 

Bright daylight came, 

And still the same 
Rich bark before him floated ; 

While on the prize 

His wishful ey<-s 
Like any young lover's doated : 
''More sail! more sail !" he cries, 

While the waves o'ertop the mast 
And his bounding galley flies. 
Like an arrow before the blast 

Thus on, and on. 

Till day wa- gone, 
And the moon through heaven did hie 1 

He swept the main, 

But all in vain, 
That boat seem'd never the nigher. 

And many a day 

To night eave way, 
And many a morn succeeded : 

While still his flight. 

Through day and night, 
That restless mariner speeded. 



Who knows — who knows what seas 

He is now careering o'er? 
Behind, the eternal breeze, 
And that mocking bark, before! 

For, oh, till sky 

And ear;h shall die, 
And their death leave none to rue it, 

That boat must flee 

O'er ihe boundless sea, 
And that ship in vain pursue it. 



THE STRANGER. 

Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger 
Who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted ground; 

Where of:en, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger 
Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. 

None e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken lady, 
Her language, though sweet, none could e'er un- 
derstand ; 

But her features so sunn'd, and her eyelash so shady, 
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land. 

T was one summer night, when the village lay sleep 
ing, 
A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears; 
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half weep- 
ing. 
Like music that Sorrow had sleep'd in her tears. 

We thought t was an anthem some angel had sung 
us :— 

But, soon as the day-beams had gush'd from on high, 
With wonder we saw this bright s'ranger among us, 

All lovely and lone, as if stray d from the sky. 

Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended, 
For pale was her cheek, wrh that spirit-like hue. 

Which comes when the day of this world is nigh 
ended, 
And light from another already shines through. 

Then her eyes, when she sung — oh, but once to have 
seen them — 
Left though's in the soul that can never depart ; 
While her looks and her voice made a language be- 
tween them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to the heart 

But she pass'd like a day-dream, no skill could restore 
her — 

Whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast ; 
She died wiih the same spell of mystery oVr her, 

That 60ng of past days on ber lips to the last. 

Nor ev'n in the grave is her sad heart reposing — 
Still hovers the spirit of grief round her ' 

For oft, when Ihe shadows of midnight are dosing. 
The same strain of music is beard through the 
gloom. 



MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 229 



A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

These verses were written for a Benefit at the Dub- 
lin Theatre, and were spoken by Miss Smith, with a 
decree of success, which they owed solely to her ad- 
mirable manner of reciting them. I wroie them in 
haste; and it very rarely happens that pcetry, which 
h is est but little labour to the writer, is productive 
of any great pleisure to the reader. Under this im- 
pression, I certainly should not have published them 
if they had not found their way into some of the news- 
papers, with such an addition of errors to their own 
original sock, that I thought it but fair to limit their 
responsibility to those faults alone which really belong 
to them. 

With re-pect to the title which I have invented for 
this Poem. 1 feel even more than the scruples of the 
Empeior Tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon of 
the Roman Senate for using ''the outlandish term, 
monopoly." But the truth is, having written the 
Poem with the sole view of serving a Benefit, I 
thought that an unintelligible word of this kind would 
not be without its attraction for the multitude, with 
whom, " If 't i< not sense, at least 'I is Greek." To 
some of my readers, however, it may no be superflu- 
ous to say, that by " Melologue," 1 mean that mix ure 
of recitation and music, which is frequently adopted in 
the performance of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and 
of which the most striking example I can remember 
is the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of Ra- 
cine. ' T.M. 



MELOLOGUE. 

A SHORT STRAIN OF MUSIC FROM THE 
ORCHESTRA. 

There breathes a language, known and felt 

Far as the pure air spreads its living zone; 
Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt, 
That language of the soul is felt and known. 
From those meridian plains, 
Where oft, of old, on some high tower, 
The soft Peruvian 'poui'd his midnight strains, 
And cill'd his distant love with such sweet power, 

Tha'i when she heard Ihe lonely lay, 
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away, 1 
Trttlie bleak climes of polar night, 
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The L'ipland lover bids his rein-deer fly, 
And sings along the lengthening waste of snow, 
Giily as if the blessed light 
Of vernal Phoebus burn'd upon his brow; 
Oh Music ! thy celestial claim 
Is stiil resistless, still the same; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o'er ils realm presides, 
The spell-bound tides 
Of human passion rise and fall for thee! 

GREEK AIR. 

Li-t ! M is a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Ilissus' silvery springs, 



» '• A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian 
woman in the streets of Cozco, and would have taken 
her to his home, but she cried out, ' For God's sake, 
Sir, let me go ; for that pipe which you hear in yonder 
tower, calls me with great passion, and I cannot refuse 
the summons ; for love constrains me to go, that I may 
be his wife, and he my husband.'" — Garcilasso de la 
Vega, in Sir Paul Rycaut's translation. 



She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn, 
And by her side, in Music's charm dissolving, 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, 
Dreams of bright days that never can return ; 
When Athens nursed her olive bough, 

With hands by tyrant power unchain'd ; 
And braided for the muse's brow 
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd. 
When heroes trod each classic field 

Where coward feei now faintly falter; 

When every arm was Freedom's shield, 

And every heart was Freedom's altar ! 

FLOURISH OF TRUMPETS. 

Hark, t is the sound that charms 

The war-steed's wakening ears ! — 
Oh I many a mother folds her arms 
Round her boy-soldier when that call she hears; 
And, though her fond heart sink with fears, 
Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 
With valour's fever at the sound. 
See, from his native hills afar 
The rude Helvetian (lies to Mar; 
Careless for what, for whom he fights, 
For slave or despot, wrongs or rights 

A conqueror oft — a hero never — 
Yet lavish of his life-blood still; 
As if 't were like his mountain rill, 

And gush'd for ever ! 

Tes, Music, here, even here, 
Amid this thoughtless, vague career, 
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power. — 

There 's a wild air which oft, among the rocks 
Of his own loved land, at evening hour, 
Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their 
flocks, 
Whose every no'e hath power to thrill his mind 

With lenderest thoughts ; to bring around his knees 
The rosy childien who'm he left behind, 
And fill each little angel eye 
With spe king tears, that ask him why 
He wander'd from his hut lor scenes like these. 
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar; 

Sweet notes of home, of love, a>e all he hears ; 
And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before, 
Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears. 

SWISS AIR. — " RANZ DES VACHES." 

But, wake the trumpet's blast again, 
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 
Oh War, when truth thy arm employs, 
And Freedom's spirit guides the labouring storm, 
'T is then thy vengeance lakes a hallovv'd form, 

And. like Heaven's lightning, sacredly destroys. 
Nor, Music, through thy breathing sphere, 
Lives there a sound more graeful to the ear 
Of Him who made all harmony, 
Than the bless'd sound of fetteis breaking, 
And the first hymn that man, awaking 
From Slavery's slumber, bieaihes to Liberty. 

SPANISH CHORUS. 

Hark! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
Bursts Ihe bold, en'husiast strain, 
Like morning's music on the air; 
And seems, in every note, to swear 
By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, 

By brave Gerona's deathful story, 
That, while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, 

That blood shall slain the conqueror's glory. 



20 



230 



SET OF GLEES. 



SPANISH AIR. — " YA DESPERTO. 

But ah ! if vain the patriot's zeal, 
If neither valour's force nor wisdom's light 
Can break or melt ihat blood-cemented seal, 
Which shuts so close ihe book of Europe's right ■ 

What sung shall then in sadness tell 



Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, 
Of buried hopes, remeniher'd well, 

Of ardour queuch'd, and honour faded? 
What muse shall mouru the breathless brave, 

hi sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine? 
What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave ? 
Oh Erin, Thine ! 



SET OF GLEES : MUSIC BY MOORE. 



THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 

When o'er the silent seas alone, 
For days and nights we 've cheerless gone, 
Oh they who've felt it know how sweet, 
Some sunny m irn a sail to meet. 

Sparkling, at once is ev'ry eye, 

" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !" our joyful cry ; 

While answering back the sounds we hear, 

" Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !" what cheer ! what cheer ? 

Then sails 

Kind word: 

And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 

To sail o'er silent seas again. 



HIP, HIP, HURRAH! 

Come, fill round a bumper, 611 up to the brim, 

He who shrinks from a bumper I pledge not to him ; 

Here 's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what 

hue. 
Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true. 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full wine 
Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may 

sin. e ; 
Here 's " the friends of our youth — tho' of some 

we're bereft, 
May Ihe links that aie Inst but endear what are left !" 
Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra 1 

Once more fill a bumper — ne'er talk of the hour; 
On hearts thus united old Time has no pow'r. 
May our lives, tho', alas '. like the wine of to-night, 
They must soon have an end, to the last flow as 
bright. 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Quick, quick, now, I '11 give you, since Time's glass 

will run 
Ev'n fa-ter than ours doth, three bumpers in one; 
Here 's 'he poet who sings — heie 's Ihe warrior who 

fishts — 
Here's the statesman who speaks, in the cause of 

meu's righs ! 

Chaige ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra ! 

Come, once more, a bumper! — then drink as you 

please, 
Tho', who could fill half-way to toa-t such as these? 
Here's our next joyous meeting — and oh when we 

meet. 
May our wine be as bright and our union as sweet ! 
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! 



HUSH, HUSH! 

" Hush, hush !" — how well 
That sweet word sounds, 

When Love, the little sentinel, 
Walks his night-rounds ; 



Then, if a foot but dare 

One rose-leaf crush, 
Myriads of voices in the air 

Whisner, -'Hush, hush!" 

»' Hark, hark, 't is he !» 

The night elves cry, 
And hurh their fairy harmony, 

While he ste.lsbv; 
But if his silv'ry feet 

One dew-drop brush, 
Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 

Whispering, "Hush, hush!" 



THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
H E. 

On to the field, our doom is seal'd, 

To conquer or be slaves: 
This sun >hall see our nation free, 

Or set upon our graves. 



Farewell, oh, farewell, my love, 
May Heaven thy guardian be, 

And send bright angels from above 
To bring thee back to me. 

H E. 

On to the field, the battle-field, 

Where freedom's standard waves, 
This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 

Or shine upon our graves. 



THE WATCHMAN 
A TRIO. 
WATCHMAN. 
Past twelve o'clock — past twelve. 
Good night, good night, my dearest - 

How fas' the moments fly ! 
Tis time to part, thou hea'rest 
That hateful watchman's cry. 

WATCHMAN. 

Past one o'clock — past one. 
Yet s'ay a moment longer — 

Alas'! why is it so, 
The wish to stay grows stronger, 

The more 't is time to go ? 

WATCHMAN. 
Past two o'clock — past two. 
Now wrap thy cloak about thee — 

The hours must sure go wrong. 
For when they 're p»st without thee 

They 're, oh, ten times as long. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



231 



WATCHMAN. 
Past three o'clock — past three. 
Again that dreadful warning ! 

Had ever lime such flight? 
Aud see Ifir sky, h is morning — 

bo now, indeed, good night. 

WATCHMAN. 
Past three o'clock — past three. 
Good night, good night. 



SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE? 

Say, what shall we dance? 
Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, 
To music of Italy, Greece, or Snaiu? 

bay, what shall we dance? 
Shall we, like those who rove 
Through bright Grenada's grove, 
To the light Bolero's measures move? 
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay, 
And thus to its sound die away ? 

Strike ihe gay chords, 
Let us hear each sir.nn fiom ev'ry shore 
That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. 



Hark ! 't is the light march, to whose measured time, 

The Polish lad), by her lover led, 

Delights through gay saloons with step untired to 

tread, 
Or sweeier still, through moonlight walks 
Whose shadows serve to hide 
The blush that 's raised by him who talks 
Of love the while by her side, 
Then comes ihe smooth wal.z, to whose floating sound 
Like dreams we go gliding around, 
Say, which shall we dance ? which shall we dance? 



THE EVENING GDN. 

Bememher'st thou that setting sun, 

The last 1 saw wilh thee, 
When loud we heard the evening gun 

Peal o'er the twilight sea? 
Boom ! — the sounds appear'd to sweep 

Far o'er the verge of day, 
Till, into realms beyond the deep, 

They seem'd to die away. 

Oft, when the toils of day are done, 

In pensive dreams of thee, 
I sit to hear thai evening gun, 

Peal o'er Ihe stormy sea. 
Boom ! — and while, o'er billows curl'd, 

The distant sounds decay, 
I weep and wish, from this rough world 

Like them to die away. 



BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. 



TO-DAY, DEABEST ! IS OUBS. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours ; 

Why should Love carelessly lose it? 
This life shines or low'rs 

Just as we, weak mortals, use it. 
'T is time enough, when its flow'rs decay, 

To Ihmk of the I ho ins of Sorrow; 
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day, 

May wither before to-morrow. 

Then why, dearest! so long 

Let the sweet moments fly over 
ThniMii now, blooming and young, 

ThWhast me devoutly thy lover, 
Jet Tune from both, in his silent lapse, 

Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps, 

Or I less in love to-morrow. 



WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS. 

When on Ihe lip the sigh delays, 

As if 'I would linger there for ever ; 
When eyes would give the world to gaze, 

Yet still look down, and venture never ; 
When, though wilh fairest nymphs we rove, ■ 

There 's one we dieam of more than any — 
If all this is not real love, 

'Tis something wond'rous like it, Fanny! 

To think and ponder, when apart, 

On all we've got lo say at meeting; 
And yet when near, wilh heart to heart, 

Sit mute, and listeu lo their beating: 
To see but one bright object move, 

The only moon, where stars are many- 
If all this is not downright love, 

I prithee say what is, my Fanny ! 



When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 

Though Reason on Ihe darkest reckous ; 
When Passion drives us to Ihe west, 

Though Prudence lo the eastward beckons; 
When all turns round, below, above, 

And our own heads ihe most of any — 
If Ihis is not stark, staring love, 

Then you and I are sages, Fanny. 



HEBE, TAKE MY HEABT. 

Here, lake my heart— 't will be safe in thy keeping, 

While 1 go wand'riug o'er laud and o'er sea ; 
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping. 

What need I caie, so my heart is with thee? 
If, in the race we are destined to run, love, 

They who have light hearts the happiest be, 
Then, happier still must be they who have none, love, 

And that will be my case when mine is with tbee. 
It mal'ers not where I may now be a rover, 

I care not how many bright eyes 1 may see ; 
Should Venus herself come and ask me to love her, 

I'd tell her 1 couldn't — my heart is with thee. 
And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonder — 

For, even should Fortune turn truant to me, 
Why, let her go — I've a treasure beyond her, 

As long as my heart's out at int'rest with thee ! 



OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTEB NAME. 

Oh, call it by some better name, 
For Friendship sounds too cold. 

While Love is now a worldly tame, 
Whose shrine must be of gold ; 



232 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



And Passion, like the sun al noon, 

That burns o'er all he sees, 
Awhile as warm, will set as 9O0n — 

Then, call it none of these. 

Imagine something purer far, 

More free from stain of clay 
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 

Yet human still as they : 
And if thy lip, for love like this, 

No mortal word can frame, 
Go, ask of angels what it is, 

And call it bv that name. 



POOR WOUNDED HEART. 

Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
Tby hour of rest is come ; 
Thou soon wilt reach ihy borne, 
Poor wounded heirt, farewell ; 
The pain thou 'It feel in breaking 

Less bitter far will be, 
Than that Ions, deadly aching, 
This life has been to thee. 

There — broken heart, farewell ! 
The pang is o'er — 
The parting pang is o'er; 
Thou now wilt bleed no more, 
Poor broken heart, farewell ! 
No rest for thee but dying — 

Like waves, whose strife is past, 
On death's cold shore thus lying, 
Thou sleep'st in peace at last — 
Poor broken heart, farewell 1 



THE EAST INDIAN. 

Come, May, with all thy fiowers, 

Tby sweetly-scented thorn, 
Thy cooling ev'ning showers. 

Thy fragrant breath at morn: 
When May-flies haunt the willow, 

When May buds tempt the bee, 
Then o'er the shining billow 

My love will come to me. 

From Eastern Isles she's winging 

Through wat'ry wilds her way, 
And on her cheek is bringing 

The bright sun's orient ray: 
Oh, come and court her hither, 

Ye breezes mild aud warm 
One winter's gale would wither 

So soft, so pure a form. 

The fields where she was straying 

Are blest with endless light, 
With zcph\rs always playing 

Through gardens always bright. 
Then now, sweet May : be sweeter 

Than e'er thou 'st been before ; 
Let sighs from roses meet her 

Wlitii she comes near our shore. 



POOR BROKEN FLOWER. 

Poor broken flow'r! what art cm now recover thee? 
Torn from the s'em that fed thy rosy breath — 
In vain the sm. -beams seek 
To watm that faJed cheek ; 
The dews of heav'n, that once like balm fell over 
thee, 
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death. 



So droops the maid whose lover hatb forsaken her,' 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou; 
In vain the smiles of all 
Like sun-beams round her fall ; 
The only smile that could from death awaken her, 
That smile, alas I is gone to others now. 



THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. 

Being weary of love, 

1 flew to the grove, 
And chose me a tree of ibe fairest ; 

Saying, ''Prelty Rose-tree, 

"Thou my mistress shalt be, 
"And 111 worship each bud thou bearest. 
'• For the hearts of this world are hollow, 
''And fickle the smiles we follow; 

"And 't is sweet, when all 

" Their wiich'ries pall, 
" To have a pure love to fly to : 

" So, my pretty Rose-iree, 

"Thou my mistress shall be, 
"And the only one now I shall sigh to." 

When the beautiful hue 

Of thy cheek through the dew 

Of morning is bashfully peeping, 
" Sweet tears." I shall say 
(As 1 brush them away), 

"At least there's no art in this wreping.* 
Alth''Ueh thou shouldst die to-morrow, 
T will not be from pain or sorrow; 
And the i boms of thy stem 
Are not like them 

With which men wound each other: 
So my pretty Rose-tree, 
Thou my mistress shalt be, 

And I '11 ne'er again sigh to another. 



SHINE OUT, STARS! 

Shine out. Stars! let Heav'n assemble 

Round us every festal ray, 
Lirh's that move not, lights that tremble, 

All to erace this Eve of May. 
Let the ifow'r-beds all lie waking, 

And the odours shut up there." 
From their downy prisons breaking, 

Fiy abroad through sea and air. 

And would Love, too, biing his sweetness, 

With our other j -ys to weave, 
Oh whml glory, w ! i 

Then would crown this bright May Eve ! 
Shine out, S'ars ! let night assemble 

R<>ui d us every fe-tal ray, 
Lights that move' not, li'hts that tremble, 

To adorn this Eve of May. 



THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA. 

Oh. the joys o r our ev'ning posada, 

Where, resting a' cife of day, 
We, ynun» Muleteers of Grenada. 

Sit and sing the sunshine away; 
So merry, that even the slumbers. 

That round us hung, seem cone ; 
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers 

Again b^eui> th«n ru. 
Oh, the jo>s, &c 

Then as each to his lov'd sultana 



Escapes our lips as we lte. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



233 



Till, with morning's rosy twinkle, 

Again we're up and gone — 
While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle 

Beguiles the rough way on. 
Oh the joys of our merry posada, 

Where, resting at cl>se of day, 
We, your,£ Muleteers of Grenada, 

Thus sing the gay moments away 



TELL HER, OH, TELL HER 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying 
Benea.h the green arbour, is still lying there; 

Ana breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, 
But not a soft whisper replies to their pray'r 

Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, 
Beside the green arbour she playfully set, 

As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing, 
And not a bright leaflet has fall'n from it yet. 

So while away from that arbour forsaken, 
The maiden is wandering, still let her be 

As true as the lute, that nosighing can waken, 
And blooming for ever, unchanged as the tree ! 



NIGHTS OF MUSIC. 

NigMs of music, nights of loving, 

Lost too soon, remember'd long, 
When we went by moonlight roving, 

Hearts all love and li|>s all song. 
When this faithful luie recorded 

All my spirit felt to thee ; 
And that smile the song rewarded — 

Worlh whole years of fame to me 1 

Nights of song - , and nights of splendour, 

Fill'd wiih joys too sweet to last — 
Joys that, like the star-light, tender, 

While they shone, no shadow cast. 
Though all other happy hours 

From my fading mein'ry fly, 
Of that star-light, of those bowers, 

Not a beam, a leaf shall die 1 




BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 



The brilliant black eye 
May in triumph let fly 



All its dar's without caring who feels 'em } 
But the soft eye of blue, 
Though it scatter wounds too, 

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em — 
Dear Fanny ! 

Is much better pleased when it heals 'em. 

The black eye may say, 

" Come and worship my ray — 

"By adoring, perhaps you may move me 1" 
But the blue eye, half hid, 
Says, from under its lid, 

"I love, and am yours, if you love me!" 
Yes, Fanny • 
The blue eye, half hid, 
Says, Irom under its lid, 

"I love, and am yours, if you love me !" 

Come tell me, then, why, 

In that lovely blue eye, 
Not a charm of its tint I discover; 

Oh why should you wear 

The oily blue pair 
That ever said " No" to a lover? 

Dear Fanny ! 

Oh, why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said "No" to a lover? 



DEAR FANNY. 

"She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart 
cool; 
"She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so:" 
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, 
And 't is not the first time 1 have thought so, 

Dear Fanny. 
'Tis not the first time I have thought so. 

"She is lovely ; then love her, nor let the bliss fly ; 

"'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season:" 
Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny 

That Love reasons much betier thau Reason, 
Dear Fanny ? 

Love reasons much better than Reason. 



FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 

From life without freedom, say, who would not fly? 
For one day of freedom, oh ! who would not die? 
Hark !— hark ! 't is the trumpet ! the call of the brave, 
The dea'h-song of tyrants, the dirge of ihe slave. 
Our country lies bleeding — haste, haste to her aid ; 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — 

The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. 

On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed 

For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. 

And oh, ev'n if Freedom from this world be driven, 

Despair not — at least we shall fkd her in heaven. 



HERE'S THE BOWER. 

Here 's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

Oh, how that touch enchanted ! 
Roses now unheeded sigh ; 

Where 's the hand to wreathe them ? 
Songs around neglected lie; 

Where 's the lip to breathe them ? 

Here's the bower, fee. 



234 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



Spring may bloom, but she we loved 

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness; 
Time, that once so fleetly moved, 

Now hath lost its fieeiness. 
Years were dajs, when here sbe stray'd, 

Days were. moments near her; 
Heaven ne'er Toimd a brighter maid, 

N jf Pity wept a dearer ! 

Here 's the bower, &c. 



I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. 
A FINLAND LOVE SONG. 

I saw the moon rise clear 

O'er hill- and vales of snow, 
Nor told my fleet rein-deer 

The track I wish'd to go. 
Yet quick he bounded forth ; 

i'nr well my reiu-dter knew 
I 've but one path on earth — 

The path which leads to you. 

The gloom that winter cast 

How soon the heait forgets, 
When Summer bnn^s, at last, 

Her suu that never sets! 
So dawn'd my love for y u ; 

So, lix'd through joy and paio, 
Than summer sun more true, 

'T will never set again. 



LOVE AND THE SCN-DIAL. 

Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade, 
Where man ne'er had wander'd nor su beam play'd ; 
" Why thus in darkness lie!-"' whisper'd yung Lo\£., 
"Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine shol.lj I 
'• 1 ne'er," said Ihc Dial. " have seen the warm sun, 
" So uooud iy and midnight to me, Love, are one." 

Then Love took the dial away from the shade, 

And placed her where Heav'i.'s beam warmly play'd. 

There she rcclnicJ, beneath Love s gazing eye, 

While, mark'd all with sunshine, her hours flew by. 

"Oh, how,' Mid the Dial, "can any lair maid, 

" That 's born to be shone upon, re't in the shade r" 

Rut night now comes on, and the sunbeam H o'er, 
Ami Live si e Dial no more. 

Alone and ue<lrclet, while ble'k rain and winds 
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds 

That Love had but numler'd a few sunny hours,— 
. Then left the remainder to darkness and showers! 



Ah ! Time and Love, your change is Iben 

The saddest and most trying, 
When one begins to limp again, 
And t'other takes to flying. 
'1 hen is Love's hour to stray ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 

But there's a nymph, whose chains 1 feel, 

And bless the silken fetter, 
Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 

With Love and Time much better. 
So well she checks their wanderings, 

So peacefully she pairs 'em. 
That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings, 

And Time for ever wears 'em. 
This is Time's holyday ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 



LOVE'S LIGHT SCMMER-CLO0D. 

Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 
Youth mav wither, but feeling will last; 
All Die shadow that e'er shall tall o'er us 
Love's light summer-cloud only shall cast. 
Oh, if to love thee moie 
Each hour I number o'er — 
If this a pas-ion be 
Worthy of thee, 
Then be happy, for thus I adore tbee. 

Charms may wither, but leeling shall last: 
AH the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee. 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 
Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, 

Sighs i f pleasure alone shall thou 
Beam, bright ejelid. no weeping shall stain thee, 
Tears ol lapture a|.<i.e shall thou feel. 
Oh, if i here be a charm 
In love, to ba. i-h harm — 

Be to lote well, 
Then be happy, tut Urns 1 adore thee. 

L'ha iiii liny wither, but feeling shall last: 
All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er tbee. 

Love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. 



LCTE, WAND'RING THROUGH THE GOLDEN 
MAZE. 
Love, wand'ring through the golde 



LOVE AND TIME 

T is said — but whether true or not 

Let bards declare who 've seen 'em 
That Love and Time have only got 

One pair of w iusrs betw a 
In courtship's first delicious hour, 

The buy full oft can spate 'em ; 
So loitering in his lady's I 

He lets the grey-beard wear 'cm. 
Then is Time's hour ol 
Oh, bow he flies, riits away ! 

But short the moments, short as bright, 

When he the wings can ! 
If Time to-day has had his flight, 

Love takes his turn to-morrow. 







Wearily even bosom pineth, 

Where the bond of slavery Iwia 
Wearily, oh! 






BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



235 



There the warrior's dart 

Haih no fleetness ; 
There the maiden's heart 

Hath no sweetness — 

Every ri''Wer of life declineth, 

Wearily, oh ! wearily, oh ! 

Cheerily then from hill and valley, 

Cheerily, oh ! 
Like your native fou trains sally, 
Cheerily, oh! 
If a glorious death, 
Won by bravery 
Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh'd in slavery, 
Bound the flag of Freedom rally, 
Cheerily, oh ! cheerily, oh ! 



REMEMBER THE TIME. 
THE CASTILIAN MAID. 

Bemember the time, in La Mancha's shades, 

VVhen our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids, 

And I blush'd to be call'd so by you ; 
When I laught you lo warble thegiy seguadille, 

And lo dance to the light Castanet ; 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where yon will, 

The delight of those moments forget. 

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's gTeen isle, 

Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, 

You'll forget the poor maid of Caslie. 
Bui they know not how brive in the battle yon are, 

Or they never could think you would rove; 
For 'I is always the spirit most gallant in war 

That is fondest 



spirit most gallant in war 
1 truest in love. r 




Though brimm'd wilh blessings, pure and rare, 

Life's cup before me lay, 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I 'd spurn Ihe draught away. 
Love thee ! — so well, so tenderly 

Thou Yt loved, adored by me, 
Fame, fortune, wealih, and liberty, 

Are woithless without thee. 

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, ev'n the humblest cot 

Weie brighter than his thione. 
Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs, 

For me would have no charms ; 
My only world ihy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms ! 
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 

Thou 'rt loved, adored by me, 
Whole realms of light and'liberty 

Were woithless wilhout thee. 



ONE DEAR SMILE 

Couldst thou look as dear as when 

First Isigh'd for thee; 
Couldst thou make me feel again 

Every wish I breath'd thee then, 
Oh. ho>v blissful life would be! 

Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 
Joys, that lie in slumber cold — 

All would w >ke, couldst thou but give me 
One dear smile like those of old. 

No— there 's nothing left us now, 

Bui to mourn Ihe past ; 
Vain was evciy ardent vow— 1 
Never yet did Heaven allow 

LtAt so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even hope could now deceive me — 

Life itself looks d.irk and cold : 
Oh, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like Ihose of old. 



YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 

Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love's boyhood is o'er, 
He 'II turn inlo friendship that feels no decay ; 

And, though Time may take from him the wings he 
once wore, 

The charms lhat remain will be bright as before, 
And he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. 

Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, 
That Friendship our last happy moments will 
crown : 
Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away, 
While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, 
Will linger and lenglhen as life's sun goes down. 



THE DAY OF LOVE. 

The beam of morning trembling 
Stole o'er the mountain brook, 
With timid ray resembling 

Affection's early lo k. 
Thus love begins — sweet morn of love ! 

The noon-tide ray ascended, 
And o'er the valley's s'ream 

Diffused a glow as splendid 
As passion's riper dream. 
Thus love expands— warm neon ot lore. 






236 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



But evening came, o'ershading 

The glories of the sky, 
Like faith and loudness fading 

From piston's alier'd eye. 
Thus love declines — cold eve of love! 



LUS1TANIAN WAR-SONG. 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 

Till not one tiateiul link remains 

Of slavery's lingering chains; 

Till mil one tyrant (read our plains, 
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 

No ! never till that glorious day 

Shall Lusiiauia's sons be gay, 

Or hear, oh Peace, ihy weto>me lay 
Resounding through her sunny mountains. 

The song of war shall echo through our mountains, 
Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, 
" Your cloud of foes halh pass'd a»ay, 
"And Freedom comes, with new-born ray, 

'* To gild your vines and light your fountains." 
Oh, never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania's sous be gay, 
Or hear, sweet I'eace, thy welcome lay 

Resounding through her tunny mountains. 



THE YOUNG ROSE. 
The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, 
Was the tlow'rei most dear to ihe sweet bird of night, 
Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, 
And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay Se sung. 

Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be 
Prolong'd by Ihe breath she will borrow from tbee; 
For, while o'er her bosom thy s ft notes shall thrill, 
She 'II think the sweet night-bird is courting her siill. 



And thou too, on that orb so dear, 

Dos! often gaze at even. 
And think, though lost for ever here, 

Thou 'It yet be mine in heaven. 

There's not a garden walk I tread, 

There 's not a flower 1 see, love, 
But brings to mind some hope that 's fled. 

Some joy thai 's gone with thee, love. 
And still 1 wish that hour was near, 

When, friends and foes forgiven, 
The piins, Ihe ills we 've wept through h< 

May turn to smiles in heaven. 



YOUNG JESSICA. 

Young Jessica sat all the day, 

With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining; 
Her needle bright beside her lay. 

So aciive once ! — now idly shining. 
Ah, Jessy, 't is in idle hearts 

Thai love and mischief are most nimble; 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Miilerva's thimble. 

The child, who with a magnet plays, 

Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 
The tempter near a needle lavs, 

And l.iughing says, " We 'II steal it slily." 
The needle, bating nought to do, 

Is pleised lo let the magnet wheedle; 
Till closer, closer come Ihe two, 

And — otf, at leug.h, elopes the needle. 

Now, had this needle turn'd its eye 
To some gay reticule's construction, 

It ne*er had stray'd from duty's tie. 
Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. 

1 hus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts, 
Your sii'"wy hufers musi be nimble; 

The safesi shield against the darts 



WHEN 'MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 

When 'midst the gay I meet 

1 bat gentle smile of thine, 
Though still on me it turns most sweet, 

1 scarce can call it mine : 
But when to me alone 

Y'our secret tears you show, 
Oh, then 1 feel those tears my own, 

And claim them while they flow. 
Then still with bright looks bless 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you lest 

But keep your tears for me. 

The snow on Jura's steep 

Can smile in many a beam, 
Yet still in chains oi coldness sleep, 

How bright soe'er it seem. 
But, when some deep-fell ray, 

Whose touch is fire, appears, 
Oh, then the smile is warm'd away, 

And, melting, turns to tears. 
Then still wih bright looks blest 

The gay, the cold, the free ; 
Give smiles to those who love you lets, 

But keep your tears for me. 



WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS 

When twilight dews are falling soft 

Upon the rosy sea, love, 
I waich the star, whose beam so oft 

Has lighted me to thee, lose. 




BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



237 



By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, 
Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds his throne, 

And by those lips, which give whale er thou 'rt saying, 
Or grave or gay, a music of its own, 

A music far beyond all minstrel's playing, 
I love but thee— I love but thee 1 

By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, 
As pure a> moonlight sleeping upon snow, 

And by that cheek, who-e fleeiing blush discloses 
A h'ie too bright to bless this world below, 

And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses, 
1 love but thee — I love but thee! 



LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW. 

Let thy joys alone be remember'd now, 

Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 
For thus to meet, and thus to find. 

That Time, whose touch can chill 
Each flower of form, each grace of mind, 

Hath left thee bloomiug still, — 
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, 

Let our sorrows eo sleep awhile ; 
Or. should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow; 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, 

It but unt bright le «f remain, 
Of the many that once its glory made, 

It is not for us to comp aiu. 
But thus to meet and thus to wake 

In all Love's early bliss; 
Oh, Time all other giks may take, 

So he but leaves us this I 
Then let joy alone be remember'd now, 

1*1 our sorrows go sleep a» hile ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile ! 



LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? 

Lo\e thee, dearest? love ihee? 

Yes, by yonder star I swear, 
Which thro' tears above thee 

Shines >o sadly fair; 
Though often dim, 
With tears, like him, 
Like him my truth will shine, 

And — love thee, dearest? love thee? 
Yes, till death I 'm thine. 

Leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 

No, lhat s ar is not more true ; 
When my vows deceive thee, 

Ht will wander too. 
A cloud of ni^lit 

May veil his light, 
And ieath shall darken mine — 

But — leave thee, dearest? leave thee? 
No. till death I 'm thiue. 



MY HEART AND LUTE. 

1 give thee all — I can no more — 

Tho' poor the off 'ring be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 

That 1 can biing to thee. 
A lute wlnse gentle song reveals 

J he soul of love full well ; 
A \A, belter far, a heart that feels 

Much more than lute could tell. 



Tho' love and song may fail, alas ! 

To ueep life's clouds away, 
At least 't will make them lighter pass 

Or gild them if they stay. 
And eVn if Care, at moments, flings 

A discord o'er life's happy strain, 
Let Love but gently touch the strings, 

1' will all be sweet again ! 



PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT 'S GONE! 

When I am dead, 

Then lay my head 
In some lone, distant dell, 

Where voices ne'er 

Shall stir the air, 
Or break its silent spell. 

If any sound 

Be heard around, 
Let the sweet bird alone, 

That weeps in song, 

Sing all night long, 
« Peace, peace to him that's gone!" 

Ye', oh, were mine 

One sgh of thine, 
One pitying word from thee, 

L ke gieams of heaven, 

To sinners given, 
Would be thai word to me. 

Hovve'er unblest, 

My shade would rest 
While l.si'iiing to ihat tone ; — 

Enough 'I would be 

To hear from thee, 
•• Peace, peace to him that 's gone !" 



ROSE OF THE DESERT. 

Rose of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray, 

Loneh and lovely, fleets un-een a»ay ; 

No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh, — 

In vestal silence lefi to live and die,— 

Rose of the Desert! thus should woman be, 

Shining uncourted, lone aud sate, like thee. 

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom ! 
Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom: 
CuII'd e'er thy beauty lives through half its day ; 
A moment cherish'd. and then cast away ; 
Rose of the Garden! such is woman's lot, — 
Worshipped, while blooming — when she fades, forgot. 



'TIS ALL FOR THEE. 

If life for me hath joy or light, 

'lis all from thee, 
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night 

Are but of thee, of only thee. 
Whate'er of hope or peace I know 
My zest in joy. my balm in woe, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 

'T is all from thee. 

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes, 

Seem'd doom'd to thee ; 
Kept pure till then from other ties, 

'T was all for thee, for only thee. 
Like plants that sleep, till snnny May 
Calls foith their life, my spirit lay, 
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray, 

It lived for thee, it lived for thee. 



fn 



238 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



When Faroe would call me to her heights, 

She speaks by thee ; 
And dim would slime her proudest lights, 

Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. 
Whene'er 1 seek the Muse's sh.ine, 
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine, 
And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 

'T is all for thee, tor ODly thee. 



THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.' 

There's a song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er (he tar, 
Like the d earn of » me village chime. 

Which in )'■ uth we loved to hear. 
And ev'o amidst the grand and gay, 

When Music trie- her gentlest art, 
I never hear so sweet a lay, 

Or one that lianas so round my heart, 
As that song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er the ear, 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 

And when all of this life is gone, — 

Ev'n the hope, liug'mig BOW, 
Like the last of the le.ves left on 

Autumn's sere and laded bough, — 
»T will seem as still those friends were near 

Who loved me iu you h's early day, 
If in that parting h ur I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away,— 
To that song of 'he olden lime, 

Breath'J, like H peS farewell strain, 
To say, in some br.ghler clime. 

Life and y >uth will shine again ! 



WAKE THEE, MY DEAR. 

Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 
Till da ktr ho rs will keep ; 

While such a moon is beaming, 
'Tis wrong tow'rds Heav'n I i sleep. 

Moments there are we number, 

Moments of pain and care, 
Which to oblivi us s'u>. 

Gladly the wretch would spire. 
But now,— who'd think of dreaming 

When love his watch should keep ? 
While such a in on is bn 

Tis wrong tow'rds Heaven to sleep. 

If e'er the fates should sever 

My life aid hopes from thee, love, 
The sleep 'hat lasts f r t ver 

Would Iheu be sweet to me, love • 
But n w, — sway wi h dreaming! 

Till darker hours »l will keep ; 
While such a no n is I earning, 

•1 is wrong tow'rds Heaven to sleep. 



THE BOY OF THE ALPS.* 

Lightly, Alpine rover, 
Tread the mountains over; 
Rude is the path thou'st yet to go; 

S.»w clifl's hanging o'er thee, 

Fields of ice before thee. 
While the bid lonent mo ns below. 



i In this 
music by my 



ng, which is one of the many set to 
elf, the occasional lawlessness of ihe 



Hark, the deep thunder, 

Through the vales yonder! 

T is the huge av'lauche downward cad; 

From ruck to rock 

Rebounds the shock. 
But courage, boy the danger % past. 

Onward, youthful lover, 

Tread the glacier over, 
Safe sbalt thou reach thy home at last. 
On, ere light forsake thee, 
Soon will dusk oertake thee: 
O'er ynn ice-bridje lies thy way ! 

r he risk prepare thee; 

Safe it yet may bear thee, 
Though 't will melt in morning's ray. 

Hark, tha' dread howling! 
'J is the wolf ptowhns,— 
Scent of hy rack 'he" foe hah got; 

And cliff and shore 

Resound his ioar. 
But courage, b"y, — the dinger 's past ! 

Waic!... - I 'bee, 

Loving arms are round thee, 
Safe bast thou reach" J thy father's cot. 



FOR THEE ALONE. 

For 'hee alone I brave the boundless deep, 
Those eyes my light tl.i ^ea ; 

My waking thoug , gilds my sleep, 

The nooutide rev'rie, all are given to thee, 
To thee alone, to thee alone. 

Though future scenes present to Fancy's eye 
Fair forms of light tha crowd the distant air, 

Wheu ucacr utw'd, the t til 
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there, 
Thou, thou alone. 

To win 'ry smile. I speed from shore to shore, 
While I ee is heard in every blast, 

Still whisp'ring on, that when somr \rars a 
One bright reward shall crown my toil at last, 
Thy smile alone, thy smile alo;,e. 

Oh, place rt of that hour 

All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright, 

Then a- -,J light? 

On thee ahne, on thee alone. 



HER LAST WORDS. AT PARTING. 

Her last word*, at parting, how can I forge" ? 
Deep treasured through liie, in mi heart they si 
4 i] 
Like music, whose charm in thes^ul lingers \e', 
When its sounds fom the ear ban 
a ■ ay. 
Let Fortune assail mc :- vc vain ; 

"Remember, in at m 



From the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim most 
hie, 

Never more of that fre-h-sprir<ing fountain to taste, 
He ha'h sill of ill 

Whose ite to his lips through' the 



9 This and the Songs tha' follow (as far as ] 
metre arises. I need hardly say, from the peculiar have been publis: l. Messrs. Addison 

structure of the air. | md Beale, Reee 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



239 



So, dark as my fate is still doom'd to 



I'hese words shall my 



well in the wilderness be,- 



" Remember; i" absence, in sorrow, and pain, 

" There 's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for 
thee." 



LETS TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME WIDE 
SCENE. 

Let 's take this world as some wide scene, 

Through which, in frail, but buoyant boat, 
Willi skies now dark and now serene, 

Together thou and 1 musl lioal ; 
Beholding of I, on either shore, 

bright 5|»>ts where we should love to stay; 
Bui Time plies swift his Byiug oar, 

And away we speed, away, away 

Should chilling winds and rains come on, 

We 'II raise our awning 'gainst the show'r; 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, 

And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 
And it thai sunnier hour should shine, 

We'll know its brightness cannot slay, 
But happy, while 'I is thine and mine, 

Complain not when it lades away. 

So shall we reach at last that Fall 

Down winch lite s currents all must go, 
The dark, the brilliant, destined all 

To sink into the void be.ow. 
Nor ev'n that hour shall want its charms 

If, side by side, still fond we keep, 
And calmly, in each ollier's arms 

Together link d, go down the steep. 



LOVE'S VICTOR?. 

Sing to Love — for, oh, 't was he 

Who won the glorious day 
Strew the wreaihs of victory 

Along the conqu'ror's way. 
Yoke the Muses lo his or, 

Let I hem Mng each trophy won j 
While his mother's joyous star 

Shall light the triumph on. 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 

Let spirits sing around ; 
While the hill, the dale, and grove, 

With "mighty Love'' resound; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow sleal 

Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er, 
>T will but teach the god to feel 

His victories the more. 

See his wings, like amethyst 

Of sunny lud their hue; 
Bright as when, by Psyche kist, 

They trembled through and through. 
Flowers spring beneaili his feet; 

Angel forms beside him run ; 
While unnuniber'd lips repeat 

" Love's victory is won ! " 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, ic. 



SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS DAUGHTER.* 

" I 've been, oh, sweet daughter, 

"To fountain and sea, 
"To seek in their waler 

" Some bright gem for thee. 



" Where diamonds were sleeping, 

" Their sparkle I sought, 

' Where cryslal was weeping, 

*' Its tears 1 have caught. 

" The sea-nymph I've courted 

" In rich coral halls; 
"With Naiads have sported 

" By bright waterfalls. 
" But sportive or tender, 

" Still sought I around 
"That gem, with whose splendour 

"Thou yet shall be crown'd. 

" And see, while I 'm speaking, 

" Von soft light afar; — 
"The pearl I've been seeking 

"There lloals like a star! 
" In the deep Indian Ocean 

" I see the gem shine, 
"And quick as light's motion 

" Its wealth shali be thine." 

Then eastward, like lightning, 

The hero-god tiew, 
His sunny looks brighl'ning 

The air he went through. 
And sweet was the duly, 

And hallow'd the hour, 
Which saw thus young Heauty 

Embellished by Power. 



THE DREAM OF HOME. 

Who has not felt how sadly sweet 

The dream of home, the dream of home, 
Steals o'er the heart, loo soon to fleet, 

When far o'er sra nr land we roam ? 
Sunlight more solt may o'er us fall, 

To greener shores our bark may come; 
But far more bright, more dear than all, 

That dream of home, that dream of home. 

Ask of the sailor youth when far 

His lishl bark bounds o'er ocean's foam, 
What charms him meet, when ev'ning's star 

Smiles o'er Hie wave? to dream of home. 
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves 

At that sweet hour around him come; 
His hearl 's test joy where'er he roves, 

That dream of home, that dream of home. 



l Founded on the fable reported by Arrian (in 
Indicis) of Hercules having searched Ihe Indian 
Ocean, to find the pearl with which he adorned his 
daughter Pandaea. 



THEY TELL ME THOU'RT THE FAVOUR'D 
GUEST.i 

They tell me thou 'rt the favour'd guest 
Of every fair and brilliant throng; 

No wit like thine to wake the jest, 

No voice like.lhine to brealhe the song; 

And none could guess, so gay thou art, 

That thou and 1 are far apart. 

Alas! alas! how different flows 
With thee and me Ihe time away ! 

Not tha' I wish thee s>d — heav'n knows — 
Still if thou can's!, be light and gay 

I only know, that without thee 

The sun himself is dark to me. 



2 Part of a translation of some Latin verses, sup- 
posed to have been addressed by Hippnlyta Taurella 
to her husband, during his absence at the gay court of 
Leo the Tenth. The\erses may be found in the Ap- 
pendix to Roscoe's Work. 



•240 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



Do I thus haste to hall and bower. 
Anions the proud and gay to shine? 

Or deck, my hair with gem and flower, 
To Hatter other eyes than thine ? 

Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past, 

Thou had'st the first, thou had'st the last. 



THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. 

There came a nymph dancing 

Gracefully, gracefully, 
Her eye a light glancing 

hike the blue sea; 
And while all thi- gladness 

Around her sleps hung, 
Such sweet notes if sadness 

Her gentle lips sung, 
Thit ne'er while 1 live from my mem'ry shall fade 
The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 

Her zone of bells ringing 

Cheerily, cheerily, 
Chimed to her singing 

Light echos of glee; 
But in vain did she borrow 

Of miith the gay toue, 
Her voice spoke of sorrow, 

And sorrow al-ne. 
Nor e'er while 1 live from my mem'ry shall fade 
The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 



THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 

Be st ill my heart : I hear them come : 
Those sounds announce my lover near: 

The march (hat brings our warriors home 
Proclaims he '11 soon be here. 

Hark, the distant tread, 

O'er the mountain's head, 
While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 

And the forest deer 

Stand s'ill to hear, 
As those echoing steps ring round. 

Be still my heart, I hear them come, 
Those sounJs that speak my soldier near ; 

Those joyous steps seem wing'd for home, — 
Rest, rest, he '11 soon be here. 

But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, 
And now they wind to disiant glades; 

Not here their home, — alas, they go 
To gladden happier maids ! 

Like sounds in a dream, 

The footsteps seem, 
As down the hills Ihey die away ; 

And the march, whose song 

So peal'd along, 
Now fades like a funeral lay. 

»T is past, 't is o'er, — hush, heart, thy pain 1 
And though not here, alas, they come, 

Rejoice for those, to whom that strain 
Brings sons and lovers home. 



WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. 

Wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 

Feel most thy power. 

LOne note of music, by moonlight's soft ray — 
Oh, 't is worth thousands heard coldly by day 



Then wake up, sweet melody! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving heart* 

Feel most thy power. 

Ask the fond nightingale, 
When his sweet flower 
Loves most to hear his song, 
In her green bower? 
Oh, he will tell thee, through summer-nights oafc 
Fondest she lends her whole soul to his song. 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 

Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy power. 



CALM BE THY SLEEP. 

Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers ? i 

Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! 
May every joy this bright world numbers 

Shed o'er thee their mingled beams 1 
Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided, 

There ever must some pang remain, 
Still be thy lot with me divided,— 

Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain ! 

Day and night my thoughts shall hover 

Round thy steps where'er they stray; 
As. evn when clouds his idol cover, 

Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. 
If this be wrons, if Heav'n o tended 

By worship to its creature oe, 
Then let my vows to both be blended, 

Half breathed to Heav'n and half to thee. 



THE EXILE. 

Night waneth fast, the morning star 

Saddens with light the glimm'ring sea, 
Whose waves shall soon lo realms afar 

Waft me from hope, fiom love, and thee. 
Coldly the beam from yonder sky 

Looks o'er the waves that onward stray; 
But colder s ill the stranger's eye 

To him whose home is far away. 

Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, 

Let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast; 
But of the lost one think and speak. 

When summer suns sink calm to rest 
So, as I wander. Fancy's die.im 

Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, 
Thy look, in every melting beam, 

Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. 



THE FANCY FAIR. 

Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 
All wondrous things of earth and air; 

Whatever wild romancers tell, 
Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair. 

Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 
And kept, for years, in such repair, 

That ev'n when turn'd of thir'y-nine, 
Thev '11 hardly look the worse for wear, 
If bought at this our Fancy Fair. 

We 've lots of teirs for bards to shower, 
And hearts that such ill usajebear, 

That, though they 're broken ev'ry hour, 
They'll still in* rhyme fresh breaking bear, 
If purchased at our Fancy Fair. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



"SX! 



As fashions change in ev'ry Ihing, 

We 've goods to suit each season's air, 

Eternal friendships for the spring, 
And endle'-s loves for summer wear, — 
All sold at this our Faucy Fair. 

We've reputations white as snow, 
That long will last, if ustd with care, 

Kay, safe through all life's journey go, 
If pack'd and niark'd as " brittle ware, 1 
Just purchased at the Fancy Fair. 



IF THOU WOULD'ST HAVE ME SING 
AND PLAY. 

If thou would'st have me sing and play, 

As once I play'd and sung, 
First take ihis time-worn lute away, 

And bring one freshly strung. 
Call back the liuie when pleasure's sigh 

First breathed among the strings ; 
And 'lime himself, in flitting by, 

Made music with his wings. 

But how is this ? though new Ihe lute, 

And shining fresh the chords, 
Beneath this hand ihey slumber mute, 

Or speak but dieamy words. 
In vain I seek the soul that dwelt 

Within that once sweet shell, 
Which told so warmly what it felt, 

And felt what nought could tell. 

Oh, ask not then for passion's lay, 

From lyre so coldly strung; 
With this I ne'er can sing or play, 
• As once I play'd and sung. 
No, bring that long-loved lute again, — 

Though chill'd bv years il be, 
If thou wilt call the slumb'ring strain, 

>T will wake again for thee. 

Tho' time have froz'n the tuneful stream 

Of thoughts that gush'd along, 
One look from thee, like summer's beam, 

Will thaw them into song. 
Then give, oh, give, that wakening ray, 

And once more blithe and young, 
Thy bard again will sing and play, 

As once he play'd and sung. 



STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. 

Still when daylight o'er the wave 
Bright and soft its farewell gave, 
I used to hear, while light was falling, 
O'er the wave a sweet voice calling, 
Mournfully at distance calling. 

Ah ! once how blest that maid would come, 
To meet her sea-boy hast'ning home ; 
And through the night those sounds repeating 
Hail his bark with joyous greeting, 
Joyousl) his light hark greeting. 

But, one sad night, when winds were high, 
Nor earlh, nor heaven, could hear her cry, 
She saw his boat come tossing over 
Midnight s wave, — but not her lover! 
No, never more her lover. 

And still that sad dream loth to leave, 
She comes with wand'ring mind at eve, 
And oft we hear, when night is falling, 
Faint her voice through twilight calling, 
Mournfully at twilight calling. 



THE SUMMER WEBS. 

The summer webs that float and shine, 

The summer dews that fall, 
Tho' light they be, this heart of mine 

Is lighter still than all. 
It tells me every cloud is past 

Which lately seem'd to lour; 
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last, 

And now 's their nuptial hour! 

With light thus round, within, above, 

With nought to wake one sigh, 
Except Ihe wish, that all we love 

Were at this moment nigh, — 
It seems as if life's brilliant sun 

Had stopp'd in full career, 
To make this hour its biightest one, 

And rest in radiance here. 



MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 

Mind not though daylight around us is breaking,— 
Who 'd think now of sleeping when morn 's but just 

waking ? 
Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, 
Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. 

See young Aurora, up heav'n's hill advancing 
Tho' fresh from her pillow, ev'n she too is dancing. 
While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea. 
Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we? 

Who Ml say that moments we use thus are wasted ? 
Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tas'ed ; 
While hearts are high "beating, and harps full in tune. 
The fault is all morning's for coming so soon. 



THEY MET BUT ONCE. 

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, 

And never since that day 
Hath absence, time, or grief had pow'r 

To chase that dream away. 
They 've seen the sui.s of other skies, 

On other shores have sought delight ; 
But never more, to bless their eyes, 

Can come a dream so bright ! 
Thev met but once, — a day was all 

Of Love's young hopes they knew ; 
And still their hearts that day recall, 

As fresh as then it flew. 

Sweet dream of youth ! oh, ne'er again 

Let either meet the brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then, 

Or see what it is now. 
For, Youth. Ihe spell was only thine; 

From thee alone th' enchantment flows, 
That makes the woild around thee sbine 

With light thyself bestows. 
They me: but once,— oh, ne'er again 

Let either meet Ihe brow 
They left so smooth and smiling then, 

Or see what it is now. 



WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING 

With moonlight beaming 

Thus o'er the deep. 
Who 'd linger dreaming 

In idle sleep ? 
Leave joyless souls to live by day, 
Our life begins with yonder ray ; 



21 



242 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



And while thus brightly 

The moments flee, 
Our barks skim lightly 

The shining sea. 

To halls of splendour 

Let great ODes hie j 
Through light more tender 

Our pathways lie. 
While round, trom banks of brook or lake, 
Our company blithe echoes make j 
And. as we lend 'em 

Sweet word or sirain, 
Still back they send 'em, 

More sweet, again. 



CHILD'S SONG. FROM A MASQUE. 

I have a garden of my own, 

Shining with (lowers of every hue ; 
1 loved it dearly while alone, 

but 1 shall love it more with you: 
And there the golden bees shall come, 

In suniiiiei-tiine at break of morn, 
And wake us with their busy hum 

Arouud the Siha's fragrant thorn. 

1 have a fawn from Aden's land, 

On leify buds and berries nurst ; 
And you shall feed him ironi your hand. 

Though lie m ly start with tear at first. 
And 1 will lead y'ou where he lies 

For shelter in the noou-tide heat; 
Arid you may to .ch his sleeping eyes, 

And feel his little silv'ry leeL 



THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN. 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean, 
The sea-laik skims the brine; 

This bright world 's all in motion, 
No heart seems sad but mine. 

To walk through sun-bright places, 
With heart all cold the while ; 

To look in smiling laces, 

When we no mure can smile; 

To feel, while earth and heaven 
Around thee shiue with bliss, 

To thee no light is given,— 
Oh, what a doom is this ! 



THE WORLD WAS HUSH'D. 

The world was hush'd, the moon above 

S.iii'd through ether slowly. 
When, near the casement of my love, 

Thus 1 wiiisper'd lowly, — 
•'Awake, awake, hnw canst thou sleep ? 

"The held 1 seek to-morrow 
"Is one where man hath fame lo reap, 

" And woman gleam, but sorrow." 

"Let battled field be what it may," 

Thus spoke a voice replying, 
"Think not thy love, while thou 'rt away, 

" Will here sit idly sighing. 
" No — woman's soul, if not for fame, 

" For love can brave all danger!'' 
Then forth from out the casement came 

A plumed and armed stranger. 



A stranger? No ; 't was she, the maid, 

Herselt before me beaming, 
With casque ariay'd, and falchion blade 

Beneath her gndle gleaming ! 
Close side by side, in Ircedooi's fight, 

That blessed morning lound us ; 
In Yict'ry s light we stood ere night, 

And Love, the morrow, crowu'd us! 



THE TWO LOVES. 

There are two Loves, the poet sings 

Both born of Beauty at a birth : 
The one, akin to heaven, hath wings, 

The other, earthly, walks on earth. 
With this through bowers below we play, 

With that through clouds above we soar; 
With both, perchance, may lose our way ; — 
Then, tell me which. 

Tell me which shall we adore ? 

The one, when tempted down from air, 

At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip, 
Nor lingers long, nor oil will dare 

His wing within the »ave to dip. 
While, plunging deep and long beneath, 

The other bathes huu o"er and o'er 
In that sweet cuneut, ev'n to death : — 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore? 

The boy of heav'n, even while l.e lies 

In Beauty's lap, recalls his b me; 
And when most happy, inlj sighs 

For something happier still to come. 
While he of earth, too full 

With this bright woild to dream of more, 
Sees all his heav'n on Beauly<» breast: — 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore? 

The maid who heard the poet sing 

These twin-desires ot ear.h and sky, 
And saw, while one inspired his string, 

The other glisteu'd in bis e\e — 
To name the eaithlier boy ashamed, 

To choose the oilier (■ ndly loath, 
At lengh, all blushing, she eiclaim'd, — 
" Ask not » hicn, 

" Oh, ask not which — we 11 worship both. 

"TV extremes of each thus taught to shun, 

" With hearts and souls between Ihem givtn, 
" When weary of this earth with one, 

" We'll with the o her wing to heaven." 
Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss ; 

And while oiu L>ve wiote down the omth, 
The other seal'd ii with 
And Heav'n lot 

Heav'n look'd on, and bailow'd both. 



THE LEGEND OF PICK THE FAIRY. 

Would'st know »hat tricks, by the pale nooclight, 
Are plav'd by me, the merry little S| 
Who wing through air from the camp to the court, 
From king to clow n, and of all make j. r: ; 

Singng, 1 am !!., 

Of ihe merry midnight. 
Who laugh at weak mortais, and love th« i 



To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept 
And dreamt of his cash. 1 s!il> crept ; 
Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money rang, 
And he waked to catch — bu' away I sprang, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, fcc 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



243 



I «aw through the leaves, in a damsel's bovver, 
She was waiting her love at that starlight hour: 
" Hist — hist ! " quo h I, w ith an amorous sigh, 
And she flew to the door, hut away rlew I, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, 
Like a pair of blue meteors 1 stared from above, 
And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas the ghost 

poor man ! 
Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran, 

Singing, 1 am the Sprite, &c 



BEAUTY AND SONG. 

Down in yon summer vale, 

Wheie ihe rill flows, 
Thus said a IsMghlingale 

To his loved Rose: — 
"Though rich the pleasures 
" Of song's sweet measures, 
"Vain were its melody, 
"Rose, without thee." 

Then from thegieen recess 

Of her night-'bow'r, 
Beaming with bashfulne-s, 

Sp"ke the bright flow'r; — 
" though morn should lend her 
"Its sunniest splendour, 
" What would ihe Rose be, 
" Unsung by thee ?" 

Thus still let Song attend 
Woman's bright way; 

Thus still let woman lend 
Light to the lay. 

Like stars, through heaven's sea, 

Floating in harmony, 

Beau'y should glide along. 

Circled by Song. 



WHEN THOU ART NIGH. 

When thou art nigh, it seems 

A new creation round ; 
The sun hath fairer beams, 

The lute a sofier sound. 
Th ug-h thee alone I see, 

And hear alone thy sigh, 
'T is light, 't is song to me, 

'T is all — when thou art nigh. 

When thou art nigh, no thought 

Ot grief comes o'er my heart ; 
I only think — could aught 

But joy be where thou art? 
Life seems a waste of bieath, 

When far from thee I sigh; 
And death — ay, even death 

Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 



SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN. 

I come from a land in the sun-bright deep, 

Where golden gardens grow ; 
Where the winds of the north, becalm'd in sleep, 
Their conch-shells never b'ow.i 
Haste to that holy Isle with me, 
Haste — haste ! 



l On the Tower of the Winds, at Athens, there is 
a conch-shell placed in the hnds of Boreas. — See 
Stuart's Antiquities. " The north wind, 'says Hero- 
dotus, in speaking of the Hyperboreans, " never blows 
with them." 



So near the track of the stars are we,l 

That oft, on night's pale beams, 
The distant sounds of their harmony 

Come to our ear, like dreams. 
Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, &c. &c. 

The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh, 

That when the night-seer looks 
To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 

He can number its hills and brooks. 

Then, haste, &c. &c. 

To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyres * 

By day, by night, belong ; 
And the breath we draw from his living fires, 

We give him back in song. 

Then, haste, &c. &c. 

From us descends the maid who brings 

To Delos gifts divine; 
And our wild bees lend their rainbow wings 
To glitter on Delphi's shrine. 5 
Then, haste to that holy isle with me, 
Haste — haste! 



THOU BIDST ME SING. 

Thou biast me sing the lay I sung to thee 

In other days, ere joy had left this brow ; 
But ihink, though still unchanged the notes may be, 

How ditfreiit feels the heart that breathes them 
now ! 
The rose thou wear's! to-night is still the same 

We saw this morning on its stem so gay ; 
But, ah ! that dew of dawn, that breath which came 

Like life o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd away. 

Since first that music louch'd thy heart and mine, 

How many a joy and pain o'er bo h have past,— 
The joy, a light ti o piecious long to shine, 

The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. 
Aid though that lay would like the voice of home 

Breathe o'ei our tar. 't would waken now a sigh — 
Ah ! not, as then, for fancied woes to come, 

But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 



CUPID ARMED. 

Place the helm on thy brow, 

In thy hand tike the spear;— 
Thou art arm d, Cupid, now, 
And thy battle-hour is near. 
March on ! march on I ihy sh ft and bow 

Were weak against such charms; 
March on \ march on ! so proud a foe 
Scorns all but martial aims. 

See the darts in her eyes, 

Tipt with scorn, how they shine ! 
Ev'ry shaft, as il flies, 
Mocking proudly at thine. 
March on ! inarch on ! thy feather'd darts 

Soft bosoms soon might move; 
But ruder arms to ruder beans 
Must teach what 't is to love. 



3 "Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent." — Pompon. 
Mela. 

s " They can show the moon very near." — Diodor. 
Sicul. 

* Hecataeus tells us, that this Hyperborean ls.and 
was dedicated to Apollo ; and most of the inhabitants 
were either priests or songsters. 

* Pausan. 



244 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



Place the helm on thy brow ; 

In thy hand take the spear,- 
Thou art arm'd, Cu^.iJ. now, 

And thy battle-hour is near. 



ROUND THE WORLD GOES. 

Round the world goes, by day and night, 

While wi:h it also round go wej 
And in the flight of one day's light 

An image of all life's C"urse we see. 
Round, round, while thus we go round, 

The best thing a man can do, 
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, 

By — seudiag the wine round too. 

Our first gay stage of life is when 

Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye — 
Season of bliss ! Oh, who wouldn't then 

Wish to cry, " Stop !" to earth and sky ? 
But, round, round, both by and girl 

Are whisk'd through 'hat sky of blue ; 
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl, 

If— their heads didn't whirl iound too. 

Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, 

Thinking all life a life of light ; 
But shadows come on, 't is evening soon, 

And, ere we can say, " How short I" — 'tis night. 
Round, round, still ail goes round, 

Ev'u while I 'in thus singing to vou ; 
And the best way to make it a merry-go-round, 

Is to — chorus my song round too. 



OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND BLEST. 

Oh, do not look so bright and blest, 

For still there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 
There liirks a dread in all delight, 

A shadow near each ray, 
That warns us then to fear their flight, 

When most we wish their say. 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah '. there comes a feir. 
When brow l.ke thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 

Why is it thus that fairest things 

The soonest fleet and die? — 
That when most light is on their wingt, 

They 're then but spread to fly ! 
And, sadder still, the pain will stay — 

The bliss no more appears; 
As rainbows take their light away, 

And leave us but the tears ! 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 



THE MUSICAL BOX. 

"Look here," said Rose, with laughing eyes, 

" Within this box, by magic hid, 
"A tuneful Sprite imprisoned lies, 

" Who sings to me whene'er he's bid. 
"Though roving once his voice and wing, 

" He'll now lie still the whole day long; 
" Till thus 1 touch the magic spring — 

" Then hark, how tweet and blithe his song !* 
{A syniphotiy.) 



" Ah, Rose," I cried, " I he poet's lay 

" Must ne'er ev'n Beauty's slave be 
"Through earth and air his song may stray, 

"If all the while h;s heart's ai home. 
" And though in freedom s air he dwell, 

'•.Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
"Touch bu 1 the spring ihou know 'si =o well, 

"And — hark, how sweet the love song flows!" 
(A symphony.) 
Thus pleaded I for freedom's right; 

But when young Beauty lakes the field, 
And wise men seek defence in flight, 

The doom of poets is to yield. 
No more my heart th' enchantress braves, 

I 'm now in Beauty's prison hid ; 
The Sprite and i are' fellow -slaves. 

And 1, too, sing whene'er I 'm bid. 



WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU LISTEN. 

When to sad Music silent you listen, 

And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, 
Oh, then there dwells in those ejes as thej glisten 

A sweet holy chaim that mirth never kiiew. 
But when some lively st am rebounding 

Lights up the sun>t"iiue of joy on that brow, 
Then the young rein-deer o'er the hills bounding 

Was ne : er in iis mirth so graceful as thou. 

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest, 

A lus re so pure thy features then wear. 
That, when to son.e s ar that bright eve thou raisest, 

We irel '1 is th) home thou 'rt looking for there. 
But, when the word lor ihe gay dance is given, 

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartlelt thy mirth, 
Oh then we exclaim, " .Ne'er leave ear h tor heaven, 

" But linger still here, to make heaven of earth." 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 

Fly swift, my light gazelle, 

To her who now lies waking, 
To hear thy silver bell 

The midnight sleoce breaking. 
And, when thou corn's', wilb gladsome feet, 

Beneath her lattice springing. 
Ah, well the 11 know |,oi - 

The wordt of love thou 'rt hi inging. 

Yet, no — not words, for tliey 

But tnlf can te.l love's tceling; 
Sweet flowers il uc can say 

What passion fears revealing. 
A oi.ce bright rose's withei'd leaf, 

A t w'nng lily broken,— 
Ob these may paint a grief 

No words "cobld e'er have spoken. 

Not such, my gay gazelle, 

The vm =! over 

Yon moonlight dale, to ell 

My lad\ how 1 love her. 
And,' « hat to her » ill sweeter be 

Than gems the richest, rarest,— 
From Truth's immortal tree • 

One fadeless leaf thou nearest. 



THE DAWN IS BREAKING O'ER US. 

The dawn is Ire.ikinr o'er us 

I hue ! 
We'ie day's long light ix 
What sport shall we p.rsue? 



i The tree called in the East Anirita, o* the 
mortal. 



SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 245 



The hunt o'er hill and lea ? 
The sail o'er summer sea? 
Oh let n t hour so sweet 
TJnwing'd by pleasure fleet. 
The dawn i» breaking o'er us, 

See, heaveu haih caught i's hue! 
We've day's long light before us, 

What sport shall we pursue? 

But see, while we're deciding, 

What morning sport to play, 
The dial's hand is gliding, 

And morn hath pas>'d away ! 
Ah, who 'd have thought that noon 

Would o'er us steal so soon, — 
That morn's sweet hour of prime 

Would last so short a time ? 



But come, we 've day before us, 
Still heaven looks bright and blue; 

Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, 
What sport shall we pursue? 

Alas! why thus delaying? 

We're now at evening's hour; 
Its farewell beam is playing 

O'er hill and wave and bower. 
That light we thought would last, 
Behold, ev'n now, 't is past ; 
And all our morning dreams 
Have vanish'd with its beams! 
But come! 't were vain to borrow 

Sad lesions from this lay, 
For man will be lo-mnrrow — 

Just what he 's been to-day. 



SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



HERE, AT THY TOMB.i 
BY MELEAGER. 

Here, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, 
Tears, which though vainly now they roll, 

Are all love h 'lh to give the dead, 

And wept o'er thee with all love's soul ; — 

Wept in remembrance of lhat light, 

Which nought on earth, without thee, gives, 

Hope of my heart ! now quench'd in night, 
But dearer, dead, than aught that lives. 

Where is she? where the blooming bough 
That once my life's sole lustre made ? 

Torn off by death, 1 is with'ring now, 
And all its flowers in dust are laid. 

Oh, earth '. that to thy matron breast 
Hast taken all those angel charu.s, 

Gently, 1 pray thee, let her rest, — 
Gently, as in a mother's arms. 



SALE OF CUPID. a 

BY MELEAGER. 

Who '11 buy a little boy? Look, yonder is he, 

Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother's knee; 

So bold a young imp 't isn't safe to keep, 

So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep. 

See his arch little nose, how sharp 't is curled, 

His wings, too, even in sleep uufurl'd ; 

And those fingers, which slill ever ready are found 

For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or wound. 

He '11 try with his tears your heart to beguile, 
But never you mind — he 's hughiug all the while; 
For little lie cares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing are all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as Ihe lightning's flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than another. 

In short, to sum up this darling's praise, 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways; 



i AaKpva so, (cm vtpds £ta ^flovoc, HAtodaipa. 
.A p. Brunck. 
e IlioXtio-tfuj, K<xi fiarpos v' tv koXkokti Kadtv 
dcuv. 

Ap. Brwick. AnaUct. xcv. 

21* 



And if any one wants such an imp to employ, 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem lo ask could I sell him ? oh, no, 
Sweet child no, no — though so naughty you be, 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 



TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE ROSE.s 
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

To weave a garland for the rose, 

And think thus crown'd 't would lovelier be, 
Were far less vain I ban to suppose 

That silks and gems add grace to thee. 
Where is the pearl whose orient lustre 

Would not, beside thee, look less bright? 
What gold could match the glossy cluster 

Of those young ringlets full of light ? 
Bring from the land, where fre-h it gleams, 

The bright blue gem of India's mine, 
And see how soon, though bright its beams, 

'T will pale before one glance of thine : 
Those lips, too, when tl;eir sounds have blest us 

Wi'h some divine, melliliuous air, 
Who would not say that Beauty's ceslus 

Had lei loose all'its witch'ries there?4 
Here, to this conq'ring host of charms 

I now give up my spell bound heart, 
Nor blush to yield ev'n Reason's arms, 

When thou hei bright-ey'd conq'ror art. 
Thus to the wind all fears are given; 

Henceforth those e\es alone I see, 
Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 

Sits beckoning me to bliss and thee ! 



WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY ?e 
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 



Why does she so long delay ? 
Night is waning fast away , 



s Ovrc QoSuiv <TTt<pavu)v tniStvurai, ovrt <rv 

XtTT\uiV. 

Ap. Brunck. xvii. 

* Kat ii pt\i<!>VQT0S tKnvr] 

HOeoc bppovLT), Kto-7-oc upv flatttnc. 
* ArjOvvti KXtotpavTis. 

Ap. Brunck. xxviii. 



246 SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



Thrice have I my lamp renew'J, 
Wa ching here in s-litude. 
Where can she so 1 ng delay ? 
Where, so long delay ? 

Vainly now have two lamps shone J 
See ihe third is nearly gone : i 
Oh, that Love would, like the ray 
Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
But on, alas, it burns still on, 
bull, still, burns on. 

G^ds, how oft the traitress dear 
Swore, by Venus, she 'd be here 1 
Bui to one so f .Ise as she 
What is mau or deity ? 
Neither d<th Ibis proud one fear, 
No, neither doth she fear. 



TWIN'ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH THY 
BROW? 2 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

Twin'st thou with lofty wrealh thy brow? 

Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 
I almost think, while awed I bow, 

T is Rhea's self befme me treads. 
Be what thou wilt,— (his heart 
Adores wbale*er thou art ! 

Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave, 
Like sunny »aves to wander free? 

Then, s ch a chain of charms they weave. 
As draws my inmost soul from me. 

Do what thou wilt,— 1 must 

Be charm'd by all thou dust ! 

Ev'n when, enwrapped in silvery veils,' 
Those sunny locks elude the sisht,— 

Oh, not ev'n then their glory foils 
To haunt me with its unseen light. 

Change as thy beiuly may, 

It charms in ever)' way. 

For, thee the Graces still attend, 

Presiding o'er each new attiie. 
And lending every dait they send 

Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 
Be what thou will,— this heart 
Adores whate'er tbou art : 



WHEN THE SAD WORD.* 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

When the sad word, "Adieu," from my lip it nigh 
falling, 

And with it, Hope parses away. 
Ere Ihe tongue hath half breathed it, my fond heart 
recalling 

That fatal farewell, bids me s'ay. 
For oh ! »( is a penance so weary 

One hour from thy presence to be, 
That death to this soul were less dreary, 

Less dark than long absence fiom thee. 



Thy beauty, like Day, o'er the dull world breaking, 

Brings life to the heart it shines o'er, 
And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking, 

Made light what was darkness before. 
But mute is the Day's sunny glory, 

While thine hath a voice,* on whose breath, 
More sweet than the Syren's sweet story,* 

My hopes hang, through life aud through death! 



MY MOPSA IS LITTLE. 1 

BY PHILODEMLS. 

My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, 

But her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft down, 

And, for blushing, no rose can come near her; 
In short, she has woven such nets round my heart, 
Tliat I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can part, — 

Unless I can find one that 's dearer. 

Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear. 
And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear, 

That I 'm d izzled whenever I meet her ; 
Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own net, 
And her lips, oh iheir swee uess 1 De'er shall forget — 

Till I light upon lips that are sweeter. 

But 't is not her beauty that charms me alone, 

>T is her mind, 't is that I mguage whose eloquent tone 

From the depths of Ihe grave could revive one : 
In short, here I s»ear, that if death were her doom, 
I would instantly join my dead love in the tomb — 

Unless I could' meet with a live one. 



STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALLING.! 
BY MELEAGER. 

Still, like dew in silence falling. 
Drops f t Ihee the nightly lev ; 

Still that voire the past recalling, 
Dwells, lik ■ echo, on my ear, 
Still, still! 

Day and nigl t the spell hanes o'er me, 

Here for e\er fix'd thou ait ; 
As thv form fir>t shone before me, 

So 'tis eraven on this heart, 
Deep, deep ! 



l 6 c"e rptroc apxtrai r](t 

A.vxvos bnoK\a.$uv. 
3 Kticpv^aAoi <T<piyyov(n tctjv toj^o ; 

Ap. Bruiick. xxxiv. 
» Apytvvaic oSovqci Karijopa ySocrpti^o Ktv- 
«f«c. 

* Z(11$C0 COl /iSXXfclV £V£TEM>. 

Ap. Brunch, mil. 



Love, oh Love, whose bitter s« 
Dooms me to this lasting pain, 

Thou who cam's' with so much fleetness, 
Why so slow lo go again ? • 
Why? why? 



* S/MTi yap <rto ckyyoy 6/iouov. a\Xa to /its* 

JTOV 

A<£9oyyov. 
s Et' c"t/tot xai to \a\ijfia cStptij 

Kctt'O, to Luprjvwv yXtrcvtptuTtpov. 
t Mikki} Kai fic\aviva-a 9t\ivitov. 

Ap. Brunck. x. 

8 Ai« not Svvu /icv tv otatriv r)x°i Epoirof. 

Ap Bruiick. liii. 

9 2 XTavoi. jinKaiTor' £CiT7a<rSoj /if v,Ef«rric. 
Oic"ar', airoirrnvai c" ore" baov laxvtru 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



247 



UP, SAILOR BOY, 'TIS DAT. 

Up, sailor boy, '( is day ! 

The west wind blowing, 

The spiing Side flowing, 
Summon ihee hence away. 
Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? 
Chirp, chirp,— in every note he seeui'd to say 
'Tis Spring, 7 i is Spring. 
Up, boy, away,— 
Who'd stay on land :o-day? 

The very flowers 

Would from their bowers 
Delight to wing away 1 
Leave languid youths to pine 

On silken pillows ; 

But be Hie billows 
Of the great deep thine. 

Hark, to the sail ihe breeze sings, " Let us fly ;" 
While soft the sail, replying to the breeze 
Says, with a yielding sigh, 
" Yes, whe e you please." 
Up, by : the wind, the ray, 

The blue sky o'er thee', 

The deep before thee, 
All cry aloud, "Away !" 



IN MYRTLE WREATHS. 
BY ALCJEOS. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I '11 cover, 

Like them of old whose one immortal blow 
Struck off the galling fetters that hung over 

Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. 
Yes, lov'd Harmddius, thou 'it undying; 

Still midst the brave and free, 
In isles, o'er ocean lying, 

Thy home shall ever be. 



In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its light- 
ning, 
Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade 
Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet 
bright'ning, 
And in the dust a despot victim laid. 
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story 
Your wedded names shall be; 
tyrant's death your glory, 
Your meed, a nation tree ! 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC 



ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. 

Ask not if still I love, 

Too plain hese eyes have told thee ; 
Too nell their tear- must prove 

How near and dear I hold thee. 
If, where the brightest shine, 
To see n • form but thine, 
To feel th it ea ih can show 

No bliss above thee, — 
If this be love, then know 

That thus, that thus, 1 love thee. 

T is not in pleasure's idle hour 

That thou can's! know affection's pow'r. 

No, try its strength in grief or pain ; 

Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever, 
Thou 'It find true love's a chain 

That binds for ever! 



DEAR? YES. 

Dear? yes, tbo' mine no more, 
Ev'n'this but makes thee dearer; 

And love, since hope is o'er, 
But draws thee nearer. 



Change as thou wilt to me, 
The same thy charm must be ; 
New loves may come to weave 

Their witchery o'er Ihee. 
Yet still, though false, believe 

That 1 adore thee, yes, s ill adore thee. 
Think'st ihou that aught but death could end 
A tie not falsehood's self can rend ? 
No, when alone, far off I die, 

No more to see, no more caress thee, 
Ev'n then, my life's last sigh 

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless theo. 



UNBIND THEE, LOVE. 

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, 

From those dark ties unbind thee; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, 

Too long its links have twined thee. 
Away from eanh ! — thy wings were made 

In yon mid-sky to hover, 
With earth beneath their dove-like shade, 

And heav'n all radiant over. 

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 

Too Ping thy soul is sleeping; 
And thou mayM from this minute's joy 

Wake to eternal weeping 
Oh, think, this world is not for thee; 

Though hard its links lo sever; 
Though sweet and bright and dear they be, 

Break, or thou 'rt losi for ever. 



THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE. 
(a BUFFO SON G.) 

There's something strange, I know not what, 

Come o'er me, 
Some phantom I 've for ever got 

Before me. 
I look on high, and in the sky 

'T is shining; 
On earlh, its light with all things bright 

Seems twining. 
In vain I try this goblin's spells 

To sever ; 
Go where I will, it round me dwells 

For ever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 

It plays me ! 
In ev'ry sh .pe the wicked sprite 

Waylays me. 



248 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



Sometimes like tvro bright eyes of blue 

'Tis glancing ; 
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, 

Comes dancing. 
By whispers round of every sort 

I 'm taunted. 
Never was mor:al man, in short, 

So haunted. 



NOT FROM THEE. 

Not from thee the wound should come, 

No, not from thee. 
I care not what or whence my doom, 

So not from thee ! 
Cold triumph ! first to make 

This heart thy own ; 
And then ihe mirror break 
Where fix'd ihou shin'st alone. 
Not from thee the wound should come, 

Oh, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee. 

Yet no — my lips that wish recall; 

From thee, from thee — 
If ruin o'er this head must fall, 

T will welcome be. 
Here to the bl ide 1 bare 

I his f.iithful heart; 
Wound deep — thou 'It find that there, 

In every pulse thou art. 
Yes from thee I'll bear it all: 

If ruin be 
The doom that o'er this heart mutt fall, 

'T were sweet from thee. 



GUESS, GUESS. 

I love a maid, a mystic maid. 

Whose form no eyes but mine can tee; 
She comes in light, she comes in shade, 

And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 

And o!t she whispers in my ear 
Such words as when to others told, 

Awake the sigh, or wring the tear ; — 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 

I find the lustre of her brow, 

Come o'er me in my darkest ways; 
And feel as if her voice, ev'n now, 

Were echoing far off my lays. 
There is no scene of joy or woe 

Hut she doth gild with influence bright; 
And shed o'er all so rich a glow 

As makes ev'n tears seem full of light: 
Then guess, guess, who she. 
The lady of my love, may be. 



WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED 

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er 
His rosy mother's isles of light, 

Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 
A sail at sunset hove in sight. 

"A chase, a chase I mv Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Aloft the winged sailors sprung. 

And, swarming up the mast like bees, 

The snow-white sails expanding fluug, 
Like broad magnolias to the t-;fc=*. 

"Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all P r 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 



The chase was o'er — the bark was caught, 
The winged crew her freight explored ; 

And found 't was just as Love bad thought, 
For all was contraband aboard. 

"A prize, a prize, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Safe stow'd in many a package there, 
And labell'd slyly o'er, as " Glass," 

Were lots of all th' illegal ware. 

Love's Custom-House" forbids to pass. 

"O'erhaul, o'erhaul, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False curls they found, of every hue, 
With rosy blushes ready made ; 

And teeth of ivory, good as new, 
For veterans in the smiling trade. 

*' Ho ho, bo ho, rny Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Mock sighs, too,— kept in bags for use, 
Like breezes bousht of Lapland seers,— 

Lay ready here to be let loose. 

When wanted, in young spinsters' ears. 

" Ha ha, ha h i, my Cupids all," 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

False papers next on board were found, 
Sham invoices of flames and darts, 

Professedly for Paphos bound, 

But meant f"r Hymen's golden marts. 

" For shame, for shame, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Nay, still to every fraud awake. 

Those pirates a'll Love's signals knew, 

And hoisted oft his flair, to make 
Rich wards and heiresses bring-to. 1 

"A foe, a foe, my Cupids all I" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

" This must not be," Ihe boy exclaims, 
" In vain 1 rule the Paphian seas, 

"If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names 
''Are lent lo cover frauds like these. 

" Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 

Each Cupid stood with ligh'ed match — 
A broadside struck Ihe smuegling foe, 

And swept the whole unhallon'd latch 
Of Falsehood to the dep'h- 

" Huzza, huzza ! mv Cupids all !" 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 



STILL THOU FLIEST. 

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 

Lovely phantom, — all in vain ; 
Restless ever, mv thoughts pursue thee, 

Fleeting ever, 'thou mock 'si their pain. 
Such doom, of old, that you:h beaded, 

Who wo ed. be thought, sf'me anjt-l's char mi, 
But found a cloud that fr <ni him gti 

As thou dist from these out-s' retched arms. 

Scarce I've said, " How fair thou shinest," 

Ere thy light hath vanis 
At d 't is when thou 

Thou art still most suie tn fly. 
Ev'n as the lightning, tha". 

The clouds of night. >aith "Look on me," 
Then flits again, its sp'endour biding. — 

Ev'n such ihe glimpse I catch of thee. 



i " To Bring-to, to check the course of a ship."— 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



249 



THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. 

Then first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs, 

Did Panning learn her fan y skill, 
And cull the hues of lovelies' flow'rs, 

To picture woman lovelier still. 
For vain was ev'ry radiant hue, 

Till Passion lent a soul to art, 
And taught the painter, ere he drew, 

To fix the model in his heait. 

Thus smooth his toil awhile went on, 

Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip. the blushes shone, 

But who could dare lo paint those eyes? 
'T was all in vain the painter strove; 

So turning to that boy divine, 
" Here take," he siid, "the pencil, Love, 

" No hand should paint such eyes, but thine. 1 



HUSH SWEET LUTE. 

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 

Of past joys, now turn'd to pain ; 
Of ties tha» long have ceased to bind me, 

But whose burning marks remain. 
In each lone, some echo falleth 

On my ear of joys gone by ; 
Ev'ry note some dream recalleth 

Of bright hopes but born to die. 

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, 
Once more let thy numbers thrill ; 

Though death were in the strain tbey siDgme, 
I must woo its anguish still. 

Since no time can e'er recover 

Love's sweel light when once 't is set,— 

Better to weep such pleasures over, 

Than smile o'er any left us yet. 



BRIGHT MOON. 

Bright moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 

All smiles, as if wiihin thy bower to-night 
Thy own Endymion lay reclining. 

And thou would'st wake him with a kiss of light \- 
By all the bliss thy beam discovers, 

By all those visions far too bright for day, 
Which dreaming bards and waking lovers 

Behold, this night, beneath thy ling'ringray,— 

I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, 

Quench not to night thy love-lamp in the sea, 
Till Anthe, in this bower, hath given 

Beneath thy beam, her long-vow'd kiss to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, 

Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide; 
Let Love but in this bow'r be lighted, 

Then shroud in darkness all the world beside. 



LONG YEARS HAVE PASS'D. 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, since we 

First met in life's young day; 
And friends long loved by thee and me, 

Since then have dropp'd away ; — 
But enough remain to cheer us on, 

And sweeten, when thus we're met, 
The glass we fill to the many gone, 

And the few who >re left us yet. 

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, 

And some hang white and chill ; 
While some, like flow'rs 'mid Autumn's snow, 

Retain youth's colour still. 



And so, in our hearts, though one by one, 
Youth's sunny hopes have set, 

Thank heav'n, not all iheir light is gone,- 
We've some to cheer us yet. 

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long 

May thou and I thus meet, 
To brighten still with wine and song 

This" short life, ere it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on, 

Let 's never, old friend, forget, 
Ev'o while we sigh o'er blessings gone, 

How many are left us yet. 



DREAMING FOR EVER. 

Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming, 

Life to the last pursues i's flight ; 
Day hah its visions fairly beaming, 

But false as those of night. 
The one illusion, the other real, 

But both the same brief dreams at last; 
And when we grasp the bliss ideal, 

Soon as it shines, 't is past. 

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing, 

Calmly I 'II watch, while light and gloom 
Flit o'er its face till night is closing — 

Emblem of life's short doom! 
But though, by turns, thus dark and shining, 

'T is s!ill unlike man's changeful day, 
Whose light returns not, once declining, 

WhO:e cloud, once come, will stay. 



THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG I 

SING. 

A SONG OF THE ALPS. 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing lo thee, 
Though like the lark's its soaring music be, 
Thou 'It find ev'n here some mournful note that tells 
How near such April joy to weeping dwells. 
'T is 'mong the gayest scenes that oft'uest steal 
Those saddening thoughts we fear, yet love to feel; 
And mu~ic never half so sweet appears, 
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. 

Then say not thou this Alpine song is gay — 
It comes from hearts that, like their mouutain-lay, 
Mix joy with pain, and oft when pleasure's breath 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad beneath. 
The very beam in which the snow-wreath wears 
Its gayest smile is that which wins its tears, — 
And passion's pow'r can never lend the glow 
Which wakens bliss, without some touch of wee. 



THE RUSSIAN LOVER. 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows 

Speed we to my lady's bow'r ; 
Swift our sledge as lightning goes, 

Nor shall stop till morning's hour. 
Bright, my steed, the northern star 

Lights us from yon jewell'd skies; 
But. to gieet us, brighter far. 

Morn shall bring my lady's eyes. 

Lovers, lull'd in sunny bow'rs, 

Sleeping out their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that's ours, 

In this snowy, icy clime. 
Like yon star that livelier gleams 

From the frosty heavens around, 
Love himself the keener beams 

When with snows of coyness crown'd. 



250 



PREFACE TO THE SIXTH VOLUME. 



Fleet then on, my merry seed, 

Bound, my sledge, o'er lull and dale J — 
What can nialch a lovers speed ? 

See, 't is daylight, breaking pale ! 



Brightly hath the northern star 
Li us from yon radiant skies; 

But, behold, how brighter far 
Yonder shine my lady's eyes ! 



END OF VOL. V. 



PREFACE TO THE SIXTH VOLUME. 



The Poem, or Romance, of Lalla Rookh, having 
now reached, 1 understand, i's twentieth edition, a 
short account of (he origin and progress of a work 
which has been hitherto so very fortunate in i's 
course, may not be deemed, perhaps, superfluous or 
misplaced. 

It was about the year I S 12. that, far more through 
the encouiaging suggestions of Inei ds than f'Om any 
confident promptings ol my own ambition, 1 conceiv- 
ed the design ol writing a Poem upon some Oriental 
subject, and of those quarto dimensions which Scotfs 
successful publications in that form h dlhen rendered 
the regular poetical standard. A negotiation on the 
subject was opened with the Messts. Longman, in the 
same year; but, Irom some causes which I cannot 
now recollec , led to no decisive re-ult ; nor was it 
till a year or two after, that any runner steps were 
taken in the matter, — 'heir h"use being the only one, 
it is right to add, with which, from fiisl to last, 1 held 
any communication upon 'he subject. 

On this last occasion, Mr. Perry kindly offered him- 
self as my representative in the treaty; ana. what 
with the friendly zea, • f my negotiator on the one 
side, and the prompt and liberal >piiii with which he 
was met on the Other, there has seldom, I think, 
occurred any transaction in which Trade and Poesy 
have shone out so advau ageously in each other's eyes. 
The short discussion that then nok place, between 
the two parties, may be comprised in a \e:y few sen- 
tences. "1 am Of opinion," s.ml Mr Perry.— en- 
forcing his view of the case by arguments « hich it is 
not tor me to cite,— "thai Sir. Moore ought to re- 
ceive for his Poem the largest price that has been 
given, in our day. for such a work.'' "That wa-,'' 
answered the Messrs. Longman, 'three thousand 
guineas." "Exactly so,'" replied Mr. Perry, "and 
no less a sum ought he to r>< 

It was then objeced. and very reasonably, on the 
part of the firm, that they had never yet -cen a single 
line of the Poem ; and that a |>eru-al of the wink 
ought to be allowed to them, before they embarked s •> 
la'ge a sum in the purchase. But. no ,— the romantic 
view which my friend. Perry, to. k of the matter, 
was, that this "price should be given as a tribu:e to 
reputation already acquiied. without any Condition 
for a previous perusal of the new work. This high 
tone, I must confess, not a little startled and a'armed 
me; but, to the honour and glory of Romance,— as 
well on the publishers' side as the poet's,— thi« very 
generous view of the transaction was, withrut any 
difficulty, acceded to, and the firm agreed, before we 
separated, that I was to receive three thousand guineas 
for my Poem. 

At "the time of this agreement, but little of the 
work, as it stands at pie-ent, had yet been written. 
But the ready confidence in my success shown by 
others, made up f.>r the deficiency of that requisite 
feeling, within myself; while a "strong desire not 
wholly to disappoint this "auguring hope." became 
aim st a substitute for inspiration, in the Tear 1815, 
therehte, having made some progress in mv task. 1 
wrote to report the state of the work to i|, 
Longman, adding, that 1 was now most willing and 
ready, should they desire it, to submit the manuscript 
for their consideiation. Their answer to this offer 
was as follows: — " We are certainly impatient for 



the perusal of the Poem : but solely for our gratifica- 
ti n. Your sentiments are always honourable.'' » 

I continued to pursue my task for another year, 
being likewise occasionally occupied with the Irish 
Melodies, two or three numbers of which made their 
appearance, during the period employed in writing 
Lalla Rookh. At length, in the year 1816, I found 
my work sufficiently advanced to be placed in the 
hands of the publishers. But the sate of distress to 
which England was reduced, in that dismal year, by 
the exhausting effects of the series of wars she had 
just then concluded, and the general embarrassment of 
all cla-s. s both agricul'u'al and commercial, rendered 
it a juncture the least favourable that could well be 
coi reive! for the first launch into print of so light 
and costly a venture as Lalla Rookh. Feeling con- 
scious, therefore, that, under such circuu.s ances, 1 
should act but honestly in puting it in the power of 
the Mesrs Longman to recou-ider the terms of their 
engagement with me.— leaving them free to t 
modifv, or even, should such be their wish, relinquish 
it altogether, I wrote them a leiter to that effect, and 
received the following an-wer : — '■ We shall be most 
ha| py in the pltasure i f seeing you in February. 
We agree with vou, indeed, tha the times are most 
inauspicious lor 'poetry and thousands;' but we 
believe 'ha your p etry would do more than that of 
any other living poel at the present moment." * 

The length of time I en _- the few 

stories s rung together in Lalla Rot kh w ill appear, to 
some persons, much more ban was necess rj for the 
producing of such easy at d " light o' love " fictions. 
Hut, besides tha' 1 have been, at all times, a far more 
slow and painstaking workman 'ban would ever be 
guessed, I fear, f.oiu the rtsult, 1 fell that, in this in- 
stance, I had taken upon myself a more than ordinary 
responsibility, Cross the immense stake rikcd by 
o'hers on my chance of -UsCess. For a long time, 
therefore, af.er the agreement had been concluded, 
though generally at work with a view to this task, I 
made but very little real prngress in it ; and I have 
still by me the beginnings of several stories 
ed, some of them, to the length of thiee or four hun- 
died lines, which, after in vain ende av ou rin g to mould 
them into shape. I 'h'ew aside, like the Isle of Caui- 
buscan, "left half-told." One of these s'ories, entitled 
The Peri's Daughter, was meant to relate the loves of 
a nymph of It. is serial ex'ractioii with a vouih of 
mortal lace, the rightful Prince of Ormuz. who had 
been, from hi- infancy, brought up, in seclusion, on 
the banks of the river Anton, by an aged guardian 
named Mobassan. 'I he s oty opens with the first 
meeting of these des'ined lovers, then in 'heir child- 
hood ; the Peri having waf ed her daughter to this 
holy retreat, in a bright, enchanted boat, whose first 
appearance is thus described: — 



For, down the silvery tide afar. 
There mine a boat, an swift and bright 

As shines, iu has 
That leave* its own hieh borne, at night, 
To shoot to distant shrines of light. 



l April 10, 1S15. 

5 November 9, 1*16. 



PREFACE, TO THE SIXTH VOLUME. 



251 



" II cornea, it comes," young Orian cries, 
And panting to Mohassun flies. 
Then, down upon the flowery grass 
Reclines to see Ihc vision pass; 
Willi partly joy and partly fear. 
To find its wondrous light so near, 
And hiding oft his dazzled eyes 
Ainoug the flowers on which he lies. 



Within the boat a baby slept, 

Like a young pearl within its shell; 

While one, who seem'd of riper years, 

But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, 
Her watch beside the slumberer kept; 
Gracefully waving, in her hand, 

The feathers of some holy bird, 

With which, from time to time, she stirr'i 
The fragrant air, and coolly fann'd 
The baby's brow, or brush 'd away 

The butterflies that, bright and blue 
As on the mountains of Malay, 

Around the sleeping infant flew. 

And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd 
Beside the bank, — the nymph has droppM 
Her golden anchor in the stream ; 



A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, of which 
the following forms a part: — 

My child she is but half divine, 
Her father sleeps in the Caspian water ; 
yea-weeds twine 
His funeral shrine, 
But he lives again in the l'eri's daughter: 
Fain would t fly from mortal sight 

To ruy own sweet bowers of Feristan; 
But, there, the flowers are all too bright 

For the eyes of a baby born of man. 

On flowers "of earth her feet must tread; 

So hither my light-wing'd bark hath brought her; 

Stranger, spread 

Thy leafiest bed, 

To rest the wandering Peri's daughter. 

In another of these inchoate fragments, a proud fe- 
male saint, named Banou, plays a principal part; and 
her progress through the streets of Cufa, on the night 
of a great illuminated festival, 1 find thus described : — 

It was a scene of mirth that drew 

A smile from ev'n the Saint Banou, 

As, through the hush'd, admiring throng, 

She went with stately steps along, 

And counted o'er, that all might see, 

The rubies, of her rosarr. 

But none might see the worldly amile 

That lurk'd beneath her veil, the while: — 

Alia forbid! for, who would wait 

Her blessing at the temple's gate, — 

What holy man would ever run 

To kiss the ground Bhe knelt upon, 

If once, by luckless chance, he knew 

She look'd and smil'd as others do. 

Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist 

By threads of pearl and golden twist 

Hung relics of the saints of yore, 

And scraps of talismanic lore,— 

Charms for the old, the sick, the frail, 

Some made for use, and all for sale. 

On either side, the crowd withdrew. 

To let the Saint pass proudly through; 

While turban'd heads, of every hue, 

Oreen, white, and crimson, bow'd around, 

And gay tiaras touch'd the ground.— 

As tulip-bells, when o'er their beds 

The musk-wind passes, bend their heads. 

Nay, some there were, among the crowd 

Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, 

So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught 

Of Shiraz wine profanely quaff'd, 

That, sinking low in reverence then, 

They never rose till morn again. 

There are yet two more of these unfinished sketches, 
one of which extends to a much greater length than 
I was aware of; and, as far as 1 can judge from a 



hasty renewal of my acquaintance w'th it, is not in- 
capable of being vet turned to account. 

In only one of these unfinished sketches, the tale of 
The Peri's Daughter, had I yet ventured to invoke 
thai most home-felt of all my inspirations, which has 
lent to the story of The Fire, worshippers its main 
attraction and interest. That it was my intention, in 
the concealed Prince of Ormuz, i.i shadow out seme 
impersonation of this feeling, I take for grunted from 
the prophetic words supposed to be addressed to him 
by his aged guardian : — 

Bright child of destiny '. even now 
I read the promise on that brow, 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The glories of the Green-Sea Isle, 
But Ormuz shall again be free, 
And hail her native Lord in thee! 

In none of the other fragments do I find any trace 
of this sort of feeling, either in the subject or the per- 
sonages of the intended story ; and this was the reason, 
doubtless, though hardly known, at the time, to my- 
self, that, finding my subjects so slow in kindling my 
own sympathies, 1 began to despair of their ever 
touching the hearts of others; and felt often inclined 
to say, 

"Oh no, I have no voice or hand 
For such a song, in 6uch a land." 

Had this series of disheartening experiments been 
carried on much further, I must hive thrown aside 
the work in despair. But, at last, fortunately, as it 
proved, the thought occurred to me of founding a story 
on the fierce sttuggle so long maintained between the 
Ghebers,' or ancient Fire-worshippers of Persia, and 
their haughty Moslem masters. From that moment, 
a new and deep interest in my whole task took pos- 
session of me. The cause of tolerance was again my 
inspiring theme; and the spirit that had spoken in 
the melodies of Ireland soon found itself at home in 
the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of the workshop 
to account for the lime expended in writing this work, 
I must also, in justice to my own industry, notice the 
pains 1 took in long and laboriously reading for it. 
To form a storehouse, as it were, of illustration purely 
Oriental, and so familiarise myself with its various 
treasures, that, as quick as Fancy required the aid of 
fact, in her spiritings, Hie memory was ready, like 
another Ariel, at her "strong bidding," lo furnish 
materials for the spell-work,— such was. for a long 
while, the sole object of my stud.es ; and whatever 
time and trouble this preparatory process may have 
cost me, (he effects resulting: fiom it, as far as the 
humble merit of truthfulness is concerned, have been 
such as to repay me m re than sufficien ly for my 
pains. I have not forgolten how great was my plea- 
sure, when told by the late Sir James Mackintosh, 

that he was once asked by Colonel W s, the 

historian of British India, " whether it was true (hat 
Moore had never been in the East?" "Never," an- 
swered Mackintosh. " Well, (hat shows me," replied 

Colonel W s, " thai reading over D'Hetbelol 

is as good as riding on the back of a camel." 

I need hardly subjoin lo (his lively speech, that al- 
though D'Herbelot's valuable work was, of course, 
one of my manuals, I took the whole range of all such 
Oriemal reading as was accessible lo me; and became, 
for the time, indeed, far more conversant with all 
relating to that dis'ani region, than I have ever been 
with the scenery, productions, or modes of life of any 
of those countries lying most within my reach. We 
know that D'Anvilie, though never in his life out of 
Paris, was able to correct a number of errors in a plan 
of the Troad taken by lie Choiseul, on the spot ; and, 



l Vollaire, in his tragedy of " Les Guehres," writ- 
ten with a similar under-current of meaning, was 
accused of having transformed his Fire-worshippers 
into Jansenists : — ''Quelques figuristes," he says, 
I "pretendent que les Guebres sont les Jansenistes." 



252 



PREFACE TO THE SIXTH VOLUME. 



for my own very different, as well as far inferior, [ 
purposes, the knowledge Ihad thus acqui ed of distant . 
localities, seen only by me in my day-dreams, was no i 
'ess ready and useful. 

An ample rewa'd for all this painstaking has been i 
found in such welcome tributes as I have just now 
cited; nor can I deny myself the gratification of citing 
a few more of the -ame description. From another 
distinguished authority on Eas'ern subjects, the late 
Sir John Malcolm, 1 had myself the pleasure of hear- 
ing a similar opinion publicly expressed ;— that emi- 
nent person, in a speech spoken by him at a Literary- 
Fund Dinner, having remarked, that together with 
those qualities of the poet which he much t-o par- 
tially assigned to me was combined also "the truth 
of the historian." 

Sir William Ouseley, another high authority, in ' 
giving his testimony lo the same effect, thus notices an [ 
exception to the general accuracy for which be gives 
me credit : — " Dazzled by the beauties of this com- 
position,' few readers can perceive, and none surely 
can regret, that the poet, in his magnificent catas- 
trophe, has forgotten, or boldly and nr st ha| pily vio- 
lated, the precept of Zoroaster, above noticed, wh.ch 
held it impious to consume any portion of a human 
body by fire, especially by that which glowed upon 
their altar*." Having long lost, 1 fear. Boost of my 
Eastern learning, I can only ci'e, in defence of my 
catastrophe, an old Oriental tradi ion, which relales, 
that Nimrnd, when Abraham refused, at hu command, 
lo worship the tire, ordered him to be thrown into 
the midst of the flames.2 A precedent so ancient for 
this sort of use of the worshipped element, would 
appear, for all purp ses at least if poetry, fully suffi- 
cient. 

In addition to these agreeable testimonies, I have 
also heard, and, need hardly add, with some pride and 
pleasure, that parts of this work have been rendered 
into Persian, and have f und their way to Isfahan. 
To this fact, as I am willing to think it, allusion is 
made in some lively verses, written many years since, 
by my friend, Mr. Luitrell : — 

"I'm told, dear Moore, yoor lay« are sang, 
(Can it be true, you lucky man ?) 
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, 
Along the street* of Ispahan. " 

That some knowledge of the work may have really 
reached that region, appears not improbal ill 
passage in the Travels of Mr. Fiazer, who says, that 
"being delayed for some time at a town on the shores 
of ihe Caspian, he was lucky enough to be able to 
amuse himself wiih a copy of Lalla Rookb, which a 
Persian had lent him."' 

Of the description of Balbec, in «• Paradise and 'he 
Peri." Mr. Came, in his letters from the East, thus 
s|ieaks: "The description in Lalla Rookh of the plain 
and its ruins is exquisitely faithful. The minaret is 
on the declivity near at hand, and there wanted only 
the muezzin's cry to break the silence.'' 

1 shall now tax my reader's patience with but one 
more of these generous vouchers. Whatever of vanity 
there may be in citing such tributes, ihey show, at 
least, of what great value, even in poetry, is that pro- 
saic quality, industry ; since, as the reader of the fore- 
going pages is now" fully apprized, it was in a slow 
and laborious collection of small facts, that the first 
foundations of this farciful Romance were laid. 

The friendly testimony I hive just referred to, ap- 
peared, some years since, in the form in which I now 
give it, and, if I recollect right, in the Athenaeum : — 

"I embrace this opportunity of bearing my indivi- 
dual testimony (if it be of any value) to the extraor- 
dinary accuracy of Mr. Moore, in his topographical, 
antiqi'ianan, and characteristic details, whether of 
costume, manners, or less-changing monuments, both 

> The Fire-worshippers. » Lalla Rerakh, 1 inlsetde 

» Tradunt autem Hebraei hanc fabnlam quod Abra- Danses, Berlin. 1»2J. I he work contiius a series of 

ham in ignem missus sit quia ignem adorare uoluit. — coloured engravings, repre-eiiMig groups, 

St. Hicron. m qutest. in Genesim. 



in his Lalla Rookh and in the Epicurean. It has been 
rny fortune to read his Atlantic, Bermudean, and 
American Odes and Epi-tles, in the countries and 
among the people to which and to whom they related ; 
1 enj ved als.1 the exquisite delight of reading his 
Lalla R jokh, in Persia itself: and I have perused the 
Epicurean, while all my recollections of Egypt and 
its still existing wonders are as fiesh as when 1 quit- 
ted the banks of the Nile for Arabia: — I owe it, 
therefore as a debt of gratitude (though the payment 
is most inadequa e), for the great pleasure I have de- 
rived from his productions, to bear my humble testi- 
mony lo their local fidelity. J. S. B."' 

Among the incidents connected with this work, I 
must not omit to notice the splendid Diver'.;- 
founded upon i', which was acted a; the Chateau 
Roval of Berlin, during the visit of the Grand Duke 
Nicholas to that capital, in the year 1S22. The dif- 
ferent sories composing the work were represented 
in Tableaux Vivans and songs ; and among the crowd 
of royal and noble personages engaged in the peiform- 
ance 5 . I shall men'ion tho-e only who represented the 
princ pal characlers, and whom 1 find thus euume- 
ra ed in the published account of the Divertissement. J 

"Faaladin, Grand-NaMr.CumJe Haaet.iMartenal deCuur). 
Aliris, Roi de Burharie, S. A. I. Le Grand Due. 
Lallan Roukh, S. A. I. La Grande Duckeue. 
Auruagleb. le Grand Mogol, S. A. R. Le Prints Ouil- 

laume. frtre du Roi. 
Abdallab, Tere d'Aliris, S. A. R. Le In de Cumberland. 
La Heine, sou epoose, S. A. R. La Princeste Louise 

RaiMitill." 
Besides these and other leading personages, there 
were also brought into action, under the vaiious De- 
nominations of Seigneurs et Dames de Bucharie, 
Dames de Cachemiie, beigncurs ei Dames damans a 
la Fete des Rose-, fcc. nearly 150 \ a 

Or the manner and style in which the Tableaux of 
the different s'nnes are described in the work fr m 
which 1 cite, the following account of the perf nu- 
ance of Paradise and the Peri will afford some speci- 
men: — 

"La decora'ion representoit les portes brillantes du 
Paradis, entourees de images. Dans le premier 
tableau on voyoit la Peri, tris'e et desolee, e na ct— 
sur le seuil des p rtes fermees. et I'Ange de lumiere 
qui lui addressedes cons i 
second repiesei.te le m •men', ou li Peri, dans l'rspoir 

3ue ce don lui ouvrira Pen tree du Paradis recueill'e la 
ermere goutte de sang que vient de verser le jeune 

guenier ludien 

'• L i Ten et I'Ange de lumiere repondoient ple.ne- 
ment a I'lmage et - faire de 

ces deux induidu- cenrrale- 

ment la suite des tableaux de cet • 
interessaut est loin de s'ctTtcer de :. 

In this grand Fe'e, it a ne trans- 

lation of Lalla Rookb ii 
Baron de 
which le I 
himst-lt'. i 

Russia, which be I. as | retired to | . 
soon as I 

Ronkh (the Em; n p a sigh. 

«■ Is it, 'hei , all over ? are we now at the clo-e of all 
that has given us si much delight ? and lives there no 
poet who will impart to o'hers. and 'o future limes, 
■ome notion of the happiness we I 
evening?" On hearing 'his appeal, a Knight of Cash- 
mere (who is no other than the poetical Baron him- i 
self) comes forward and | i 
sent to the world "the Poem itself in the D 
the original :*'— wheieupon Lalla Rookh, it is added, 
approvingly smiled. 



I fcc, in different Oriental costumes. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



253 



LALLA ROOKH. 



TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 
THIS EASTERN ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED, 

BY HIS VERY GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 



May 19, 1817. 



THOMAS MOORE. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



In the eleventh year of the reign of Aurungzebe, 
Abdalla, King of the Lesser Bucharia, a lineal 
descendant from the Great Zingis, having abdicated 
the throne in favour of his son, set out on a pilgrim- 
age to the Shrine of the Prophet ; and, passing into 
India through the delightful valley of Cashmere, rest- 
ed for a short time at Delhi on his way. He was 
entertained by Aurungzebe in a style of magnificent 
hospitality, worthy alike of the visiter and the host, 
and was afterwards escorted with the same splendour 
to Surat, where he embarked for Arabia.! During 
the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at Delhi, a marriage 
was agreed upon between the Prince, his son, and the 
youngest daughter of the Emperor, Lalla Ro.ikh;2 
— a Princess described by the poets of her time as 
more beautiful than Leila.s Shirine,* Dewilde.s or 
any of those heroines whose names and loves embel- 
lish the songs of Persia and Hindostan. It was in- 
tended that the nuptials should be celebrated at Cash- 
mere ; where the young King, as soon as the cares of 
empire would permit, was to meet, for the first time, 
his lovely bride, and, after a few months' repose in 
that enchanting valley, conduct her over the snowy 
hills into Bucharia. 

The day of Lai la Rookh's departure from Delhi was 
as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could make it. 
The bazaars and bahs were "all covered with the 
richest tapestry ; hundreds of gilded barges upon the 
Jumna floated with their banners shining in the 
water; while through the streets groups of beautiful 
children went strewing the most delicious flowers 
around, as in that Persian festival called the Scatter- 
ing of the Roses; 6 till every part of the city was as 
fragrant as if a caravan of' musk from Khoten had 
passed through it The Princess, having taken leave 
of her kind lather, who at parting hung a cornelian 
of Yemen round her neck, on which was inscribed a 
verse from the Koran, and having sent a considerable 
present to the Fakirs, who kept up the Perpetual 
Lamp in her sister's tomb, meekly ascended the palan- 
keen prepared for her; and, while Aurungzebe stood 



t These particulars of the visit of the King of 
Bucharia to Aurungzebe are found in Dow's Hiitory 
of Hindostan, vol. iii. p. 392. 

^ Tulip cheek. 

3 The mistress of Mejnoun, upon whose story so 
many Romances in all the languages of the East are 
founded. 

* For the loves of this celebra'ed beau'y with 
Khosrou and with Ferhad, see D'Uerbelot, Gibbon, 
Oriental Collections, &c. 

* "The history of the loves of Dewilde and Chizer, 
the son ot the Emperor Alia, is written in an elegant 
poem, by the noble Chusero." — Ftrishta. 

s Gul Reazee. 

22 



to take a last look from his balcony, the procession 
moved slowly on the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade io 
superb. From the gardens in the suburbs to the Im- 
perial palace, it was one unbroken line of splendour. 
The gallant appearance of the Rajahs and Mogul 
lords, distinguished by those insignia of the Emperor's 
favour,! the feathers of the egret of Cashmere in their 
turbans, and the small silver-rimm'd ke tie-drums at 
the bows of their saddles ; — the cosily armour of their 
cavaliers, who vied, on this occasion, with the guards 
of the great Keder Khan,« in the brightness of their 
silver battle-axes and the massiness of their maces of 
gold ; — the glittering of the gilt pine-apples 9 on the 
tops of the palankeens ; — the embroidered trappings 
of the elephants, bearing on their backs small turrets, 
in the shape of little antique temples, within which 
the Ladies of Lalla Rookh lay as it were enshrined ; 
—the rose-coloured veils of the Princess's own sump- 
tuous litter,io a i the front of which a fair young female 



•> "One mark of honour or knighthood bes'owed by 
the Emperor is the permission to wear a small kettle- 
drum at the bows ol their saddles, which at first was 
invented for the training of ha»ks, and to call them 
to the lure, and is worn in the field by all spoilsmen 
to that end." — Frytr's Travels. 

" Those on whom the King has conferred the pri- 
vilege must wear an ornament of jewels on the right 
side of the turban, surmounted by a high plume of 
the feathers of a kind of egret. This bird is found 
only in Cashmere, and the leathers are carefully col- 
lected for the King, who be-tows them on his nob.es." 
—Etyhinstone's Account of Caubul. 

a "Khedar Khan, the Khakan, or King of Tur- 
questan beyond the Gihon (at the end of the eleventh 
century), whenever he appeared abioad was preceded 
by seven hundred hoisemen with silver battle-axes, 
and was followed by an equal number bearing maces 
of gold. He was a great patron of poetry, and it was 
he who used to preside at public exeicises of genius, 
with four basins of gold and silver by him to'dislri- 
bute among the p.ets who excelled." — Richardson's 
Dissertation prefixed to his Dictionary. 

» "The kubdeh, a large golden knob, generally in 
the shape of a pineapple, on Ihe 'op of "the canopy 
over the litter or pilanquin." — Scott's Notes on Ihe 
Bahardanush. 

to In the Poem of Zohair, in the Moallakat, there is 
the fallowing lively description of "a company of 
maidens seated on camels." 

" 1 hey are mounted in carriages covered with cost- 
ly awnings, and with rose-coloured veils, the liuings 
of which have the hue of crimson Ai dem-wo id. 

" When they ascend from the bosom of the vale, 
they sit forward on the saddle-cloth, wilh every mark 
of a voluptuous gaiety. 

" Now when they have reached the brink of yon 
blue-gushing rivulet, they fix the poles of their teals 
like the Arab with a settled mansion." 



I 254 



LALLA ROOKH. 



slave sat fanning her through the curtains, with fea- 
thers of the Argus pheasant's wing , i — and the lovely 
troop of Tartarian and Cashmerian maids of horn ur, 
whom the young King had sent to accompany his 
bride, and who rode on each s de of the litter, upon 
small Arabian horses; — all was brilliant, tasteful, 
and magnificent, and pleased even the critical and 
fastidious Fadladeen, Great Nazir or Chamberlain of 
the Haram, who was borne in his palankeen imme- 
diately after the Princess, and considered himself not 
the least important personage of the pageant. 

Fadladeen was a judge of everything, — from the 
pencilling of a Cireas-ian's eyelids to the deepest ques- 
tions of science and literature ; from the mixture of a 
conserve of rose-leaves to the composition of an epic 
poem : and such influence had his opinion upon the 
various lastes of the day, that all the conks and poets 
of Delhi stood in awe of him. His political conduct 
and opinions were founded upon that line of Sadi, — 
"Should the prince at noon-day say, It is night, declare 
that you behold 'he moon and s'^ais."— And his zeal for 
religion, of which Aurungzsbe was a munificent pro- 
tector,^ was »bout as disinterested as that of the gold- 
smith who fell in love with the diamond eyes of the 
idol of Jaghernaut.3 

During the first days of their journey, Lai la Lookh, 
who had pas-ed all her life within the shadow of the 
Royal Gardens of Delhi, 4 found enough in the beauty 
of the scenery through which thev passed to interest 
her mind, and delight her imagination ; ani when at 
evening, or in the heat of 'he diy, they turned off from 
the high road to those retired and 'romantic places 
which had been selected for her encampment-, — some- 
times on the bank- of a small rivulet, as clear as the 
waters of the I.ake of Pearl ; "> sometimes under the 
sacred shade of a Banyan tree, from which the view 
opened upon a g!ade covered with antelopes; and often 
in those hidden, embowered spots, described by one 
from the Isles of the Wesl,6 as •' places of melancholy, 
delight, and safe'y, where all the company around "as 
wild peacocks and urtle-doves ;" — she felt a charm in 
these scenes, so lovely and so new to her, which, for a 



i See BernierU de-cription of the attendan's on Rau- 
chanara-Begum, in her progiess to Cashmere. 

» This hypocritical Emperor would have made a 
worthy ass. c. ate of certain Holy Leagues —" He held 
the cloak of religion (says Dow) between his ac ions 
and the vulgar; and impiously llianktd the Dili i y 
for a success which he owed to his own wickedness. 
When he was murdering and persecuting his brotheis 
and their families, he wis buiJing a magnificent 
mosque at Delhi, as an offering to G>d for I 
ance to him in the civil wars. He acted as high priest 
at the consecration of this temple ; and made a prac- 
tice of attending divine service there, in the humble 
dress of a Fakeer. But when he lifted one hand to 
the Divinity, he, wi'h the o'her, signed warrants for 
the assassination of his relations. — History of Hin- 
dostan, voi. iii. p. 335. See also the curious letter of 
Aurungzebe, given in the Oriental Collections, vol. i. 
p. 320. 

3 " The idol at Jaghernat has two fine diamonds for 
eyes. No goldsmith is suffered to enter the Pagoda, 
one having stole one of these e\e<, beiug locked up all 
night with the idol."— Tavernier. 

* See a description of these roval Gardens in "An 
Account of the present Sta'e of Delhi, bv Lieut. W. 
Franklin.'*— lariat. Research, vol. iv p. 417. 

* " In the neighbourhood is Nolle Gill, or the Lake 
of Pearl, which receives thi- name from its pellucid 
water.'' — Pennant's Hindostan. 

'• Na-ir Jung encamped in the vicinity of the Lake 
of Tonoor, amused himself with sailing oa that clear 
and beautiful water, and gave i' the fmciful name of 
Motee Talah, 'the Lake of Pearls,' which it still re- 
tains."— H'ilkss South of India. 

* Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador from James I. to 
Jehanguire. 



time, made her indifferent to every other amusement. 
But Lalia Rookh was young, and the young love va- 
riety ; nor could the co'nversa ion of her* Ladies and the 
Great Chamberlain, Fadladeen, (the only persons, o • 
course, admitted to her pavilion), sufficiently enliven 
those many vacant hours, wt.ich were devoted neither 
to the pillow nor the palankeen. There was a little 
Persian slave who sung sweetly to the Vina, and who, 
now and then, lulled the Princess to sleep with the 
ancient ditties of her country, about the loves of 
Wamak and Ezra,"> 'he fair-haired Zal and his mis- 
tress Rodahver . 8 not forgetting the combat of Rustam 
with the terrible Whi'e Demo.i.9 A: other limes she 
was amused by those graceful dmcing-girls of Deibi, 
who bad been permitted by the Bramios of the Great 
Pagoda to attend her, much 'o the horror of the good 
Mussulman Fadladeen, a ho could see nothing graceful 
or agreeable in idolaters, and to whom the very tink- 
ling of their golden anklets'" was an abomination. 

But these and many other diversions were repeated 
till they lost all iheir charm, and the nigh.s and noon- 
days weie beginning to move heavily, when, at 
length, it was recollected that, among the attendants 
sent by the bridegroom, was a young poet of Cash- 
mere, much celebiated throughout the Valley for his 
manner of reciting the Stories of the Eas', in whim 
his Royal Master had conferred the privilege of being 
admitted to the pavilion of he Princess, that he 
might help to beguile the tediousness of the journey 
by some of his most agreeab.e recitals. At the men- 
tion of a poet, Fadladeen etevaied his critical eve- 
brows, and. having refre-hed his facilities with a dose 
of that delicious opium " which is distilled from the 
blark poppy of the Thebais, gave orders for the min- 
strel to be forthwith introduced into the presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life seen a poet 
from behind the screens of gauze in herFaher's hall, 
and had conceived from that specimen no very favour- 
able ideas of the Caste, expected but little in this 



exhibition to interest her ; — she felt inclined, bow 



ever, to alter her opinion on tb< very first appearance 



' " I he romance Wesnaka eazra, » ritten in Persian 
verse, which enn'ains the loves of Wamak and Ezra, 
two celebrated I .vers who lived before the time of 
Mahomet."— Xote on the Oriental Tales. 

8 Their amour is recounted in the Shah-Nameh of 

: and lee is much beauty in the passage 
winch dscrtbes the s'aies of Rodahver sitting or. the 
bank of the river and throwing flowers into the stream, 
in order to draw the attention of the young Hero who 
is encamped on the opposite side. — See Champion't 
transition. 

9 Rustam is the Hercules of the Pervans. For the 
particu'ars cf his vic'oiy over the Sepeed Deeve, or 
White Demon, see OrioUal Collections, vol. ii. p. 45. 
— Near the city i f Shirauz is an immense quadrangu- 
lar nionun.etr, in commemoration of th;- 

cal'ed the Kelaat-iDecv - of the 

White Gnnt, which Father Augelo, in his Gazophi- 
lacium Persicum, p. 127. diciares 'o have been the 
m >st immoral e m numeol i ( antiquity a hich he had 
seen iii Per^a — S<e OwtleyH Persian Miscellanies. 

10 a The women of the Idol, or dancing girls of the 
Pigoda, have li"!t . \eir feet, 
the sof harmouiou- tinkling of which vibrates in uni- 
son with 'he exq-.i-ite melody of their voices." — Mau- 

•• The Arabian courtesans, like the Indian woner, 
have little goldeu bells fastened round their less, i ecfc, 
and elbow s7 to the s -und of which they d.a . 
the King II e Arabian princesses wea'r golden nrgs 
on their I 

as well as in tl e fl .wing treses of their hair, that 
their superior rank may be known, and t 
setvts receive in passing the homage due to them.'' — 
See Calmets Diction .ry art. Bells. 

ii "Abou-Tige. ville de la Thelaide, ou ii 
beaucoup de pavot noir, dont se fait le 
opium.' —D'UeTbtloL 



LALLA ROOKH. 



255 



of Feramorz. He was a youth about Lalla Rookh'9 
own age, and graceful as that idol of women, 
Crishua,' — such as he appears to their young imagi- 
nations, heroic, beautiful, hrea'hing mu-ic from his 
very eyes, and exalting the religion of his worship 
pers into love. His dress was simple, yet not with- 
out some marks of costliness; and the Ladies of the 
Princess were not long in discovering lhat ihe clo:h. 
which encircled his high Tanarian cap. was of Ihe 
most delicate kind that ihe shawl-goats of Tibet sup- 
ply.s Here and there, too, over his vest, which was 
confined by a flowered girdle of Kashan, hung strings 
of hue pearl, disposed wi h an air of studied negli- 
gence; — nor did the exquisite embroidery of his 
sandals escape Ihe observation of these fair critics; 
who, however they might give way to Fadladeen 
upon the unimportant topics of religion and govern- 
ment had Ihe spirit of martyrs in every thing re- 
lating to such momentous mailers as jewels and em- 
broidery. 

For Ihe purpose of relieving Ihe pauses of recita- 
tion by music, the young Cashmerian held in his band 
a kilar; — such as, in old times, the Arab maids of the 
West used to listen to by moonlight in ihe gardens of 
the Alhambra— and, having premised, with much 
humility, lhat the story he was about to relate was 
founded on the adventures of that Veiled Prophet of 
Khorassan.s who, in the year of ihe Hegira 163, 
created such alarm throughout the Eastern Empire, 
made an obeisance to the Princess, and thus began :— 



THE VEILED PROPHEr OF KHORASSAN.* 

In that delightful Province of lie Sun, 

The first of Persian lands he lines upon, 

Where all the loveliest children of his beam, 

Flow'rets and fruits, blush over every stream,* 

And, fairest of all streams, the Murga roves 

Among Merou'sS bright palaces and groves; — 

There on lhat throne, to which the blind belief 

Of millions rais'd him, sat the Prophet-Chief, 

The Great Mokanna. U'er his features hung 

Ihe Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 

In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight 

His dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. 

For, far less luminous, his votaries said, 

Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed 

O'er Moussa's t cheek, 8 when down the Mount he 

t-od, 
All glowing from the presence of his God ! 



i The Indian Apollo. — " He and the three Ramus 
are described as youths of perfect beauty ; and the 
princesses of Hindustan were all passionately in love 
with Christina, who continues to this hour Ihe darling 
God of the Indian women." — Sir IV. Jones, on the 
Gods of Greece, Italy, and India. 

2 See Turner's Embassy for a description of this 
animal, " the most beautiful among the whole tribe of 
goats." The material for the shawls (which is carri- 
ed to Cashmere) is found next the skin. 

a For the real history of this Impostor, whose 
origical name was Hakem ben Hnschem, and who 
was called Mocanna fioni the veil of silver gauze 
(or, as others say, golden) which he always wore, see 
D'Herbdot. 

* Khorassan signifies, in the old Persian language, 
Province or Region of the Sun. — Sir IV. Jones. 

* " The fruits of Meru s.re finer than tho-e of any 
other place; and one cannot see in any other city 
such palaces with groves, and streams, and gardens." 
— F.bn HatikaVs Geography. 

6 One of the royal cities of Khorassan. 

* Moses. 

8 " Ses disciples assuroient qu'il se couvroit le 



On either side, with ready hearts and hands, 
His chosen guard of bold Believers stands ; 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swordi, 
On points of faiih, more eloquent than words ; 
AnJ such their zeal, there's not a you h with brand 
Uplifted there, bui, at the Chief's command, 
V\ ould make his own devoltd heart iis sheath, 
And bless the lips thai doom'd so dear a death 1 
In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night.9 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white; 
Their weapons various — some equipp'd, for speed, 
Wi h javelins of the light Kathaim reed ; io 
Or bows r f buffalo horn and shining quives 
Fill'd with Ihe stems ii tha> bloom on Iran's rivers ;13 
While some, for war's more terrible attacks, 
Wield the huge mace and ponderous battle-axe; 
And as they wave aloft in morning's beam 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem 
Like a chenar- ree grove 13 when winter throws 
O'er all its tufted heads his feathering snows. 

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 
The rich mortsque-work ot ihe roof of gold, 
Aloft the Haram's curtam'd galleries rise, 
Where through the silken net-work, glancing eyes, 
From time to time, Ike sudJen gleams thai glow 
Through au'umn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below. — 
What impious tongue, )e blushing saints, would dare \ 
To hint that aught but Heiv'n hath plac'd you there? 
Or that Ihe loves of this light world could bind, 
In their gross chain, your'Prophet's soaring n. jid ? 
No — wrongful thought ! — commission'd from above 
To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love, 
(Creatures so brigh', Ihn the -ame lips and eyes 
They wear on earth will serve in Paradise,) 
There to recline amoi g Heav'n's naiive maids, 
And crown the' Eiect with bliss that never fades — 
Well hah the Iniphet-Chief his biddiugdoue; 
And eveiy beaueous race beneath the sun, 
From those who k. eel ,n Brahma's burning fount,l« 
To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's mounts; 
From lersia's eyes of full and' fawn-like ray, 
To Ihe small, h.lf-shnt glances of Kathay ; »r 
And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smi.es, 
And the gold ringlets of Ihe Western Isles ; 
All, all are there; — each Land its flower hath given, 
To form (hat fair young Nursery for Heaven 1 

But why this pageant now ? this arm'd array? 
What triumph crouds the rich Divan lo-day 



visage, pour ne pas eblouir ceux qui 1 approchoient 
par I'ecial de son visage conime Moyse."— D'Hcrbtlot. 

9 Black was the colour adopted by the Caliphs of 
the House of Abbas, in their garments, fuibans, and 
standards — ■< 11 faut remarquer ici touchant les habits 
bl.uics des di-ciples de H.tkem, que la couleur des 
habits, des c efl'ures et des eten'darts des Khalifes 
Abassides etant la noire, ce chef de Rtbelles ne pou- 
voit pas choisir une qui iui fut plus opposee." — 
Ibid. 

' ° " Our dark javelins, exquisitely wrought of Kha- 
thaian reeds, slender and delicate." — Poem of Amru. 

" Pichula, used anciently for arrows by the Per- 
sians. 

it» The Persians call this plant Giz. The cele- 
brated shaft of lsfendhr, one of their ancient heroes, 
was m de of it. — " Nothing can be more beautiful 
than the appearance of this plant in flower during 
the rains on the banks of rivers, where it is usually 
interwoven with a lovely twining asclepias." — Sir 
IV. Jones, Botanical Observations on Select Indian 
Plants. 

»3 The oriental plane. " The chenar is a delight- 
ful tree ; its bole is of a fine white and smooth bark ; 
and its foliage, which grows in a tut at the summit, 
is of a bright green." — Moritr's Travels. 

i* The burning fountains of Brahma near Chitto- 
gong, esteemed as holy. — Turner. 

is China. 



256 



LALLA ROOKH. 



With turban'd heads, of every hue and race, 
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 
Like tulip-beds,' of different shape and dyes, 
Bending benea'h ihe' invisible VVest-wjud's sighs! 
, What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, 
What dazzling mimickry of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour? 

Not such the pageant now, though not less proud ; 
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd, 
With silver bow, with belt of broider'd crape, 
Ani fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian shape/* 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
Like war's wild planet in a summer sky; 
That youth to-day, — a pioselv te, worth hordes 
Of cooler spirits and less practis'd swords, — 
Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 
The creed and standard of the heav'n sent-Chief. 

Though few his years, the VVest already knows 
Young Azim's fame ;— beyond the' Olympian snows 
Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd in fight and captive to the Greek, 3 
He linger'd Ihete, till peace dissolved his chains; — 
Oh, who could, ev'n in bondage, tuad the plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes, 
Could walk where Liberty had been, uor see 
The shining footprints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those god-like breathings in the air, 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there? 
Nnt he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd the' awakening spell; 
And now, returning to his own dear land, 
Full of those d; earns of good that, vainly grand, 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of human-kind, 
Of men to Gods exalted and refinM,— 
False views, like that horizon's fair deceit, 
Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas, to meet! — 
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was rais'd 
To right the nations, and beheld, emblaz'd 
On the white Hag M'kiuna's host unfurl'd, 
Those words of "sunshine, " Freedom to the world," 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd 
The' inspiring summons ; eveiy chosen blade 
That fought benea'h that banner's -acred text 
Seem'd doubly ed^'d, for this world and the next; 
And ne'er did Faith with her smo, th bandage bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, 
In virtue's cause ; — never was soul insi ir'd 
With livelier trust in what it most desir'd. 
Than hi-, the' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale 
Willi pious awe, before that Silver Viil, 
Believes the lorm, to which he bend- his knee, 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, 
And biing its primal glories back again! 

Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
With shouts of "Alia !" echoing long and loud J 
While high in air, above the Prophet's head, 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
Wav'd like 'he wings of the while birds that fan 
The flying throne of star-taught Solimau.* 



l "The name of tulip is said to be of Turkish ex- 
traction, and given to the fl 'wer on account of its 
resembling a turban." — Etckmaim'i History of In- 
ventions. 

» " The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round cloth 
bonnet, shaped much after the Polish fashion, having 
a large fur border. They tie their kaftans about the 
middle with a girdle of a kind of silk crape, several 
times round the body." — .Iceou nt of Independent 
Tartary, in Pinker(on , s Collection. 

s In the war of the Caliph Mahadi against the 
Empress Irene, for an account of which vide Gibbon, 
vol. I. 

* This wonderful Throne was called The Star of 



Then thus he spoke:— "Stranger, though new the 

frame 
"Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame 
" For many an age, 5 in eve/y chance and change 
" Of that existence, through whose varied range, — 
" As through a torch-race, where, from hand to hand 
"The flying youths transmit their shining brand, 
" From frame to frame the unextinguished soul 
" Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

"Nor think 't is only the gross Spirits, warm'd 
" With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, 
" That run this course ;— Beings, the most divine, 
" Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
"Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt, 
" To which all heav'n, except Ihe Proud One, knelt : « 
" Such the retin'd Intelligence that glow'd 
" In Moussa's ' frame, — and, thence descending, flow'd 
" Through many a Prophet's hi east ; * — in Issa* shone, 
"And iu Mohammed buru'd ; till, hastening on, 
" (As a bright liver that, from fall lo fall 
" In many a maze descending, bright through all, 
" Finds some fair regi n wliere, each labyrinth past, 
" In one full lake of light it rests at last) 
" That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free 
" From lapse or shadow, centres all in me !" 

Again, throughout the' assembly at these word* 
Thousands of voices rung: the warriors' swords 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden wind 
In the' open banners play'd, and from behind 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen 
The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen 
Waving embroiderd scanes, whose motion gave 
A perfume forth — like those the Houris wave 
When beck'ning to their bowers tb' immortal Brave. 

" But these," pursued the Chief, " are truths sublime, 
" That claim a holier mood aud calmer time 
" Than earth allows us now ; — this sword must first 
"The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, 
'• Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in 
" Her wakening daylight on a world of sin. 
" But then, — celes ial warriors, then, when all 
" Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall ; 



the Genii. For a full description of it, see the Frag- 
ment, transla'ed by Captain Franklin, from a Persian 
MS- entitled "The H. story of Jerusalem," Oriental 
Collections, vol. i. p. 233.— When Soliman travelled, 
the eastern writers say, " He had a carpet of green 
silk on which his throne was placed, being of a pro- 
digious length and breadth, and sufficient for all his 
forces 10 stand upon, the men pi icing themselves on 
his right hand, and the spirits on his left ; and that 
when all were in order, the wind, at his command, 
took up the carpet, and tran-ported it, with all that 
were upon it, wherever he pleased ; the army of birds 
at the same time flying over their heads, and' forming 
a kind of canopy to shade them from the sun." — 
Sale's Koran, vol. ii. p. 214, note. 

* The transmigration of souls was one of his doc- 
trines.-Vide.D'i.. 

6 "And when we said unto the angels, Worship 
Adam, they all worshipped him except Eblis (Luci- 
fer), who refused." — The Kuran, chap. ii. 
' Moses. 

8 This is according to D'Herbelot's account of the 
doctrines of M k.amia :— •• Sa doctrine etoit, que Dieu 
avoit pris une forme et figure humaine, depuis qu'il 
eut commande aux Angesd'adorer Adam, le premier 
des homines. Q Vapres la mort d'AJam, Dieu etoit 
apparu s us la figure de plusieurs Prophetes, et avjtres 
grands homme- q.'il aioi! choisis. jusqu'a ce qu'il prit 

! celle d'Abu Moslem, IYi.ce de Khorassan, lequel pro- 
fessoit 1'erreur de la Tenas-ukhiih ou Metempscby- 
chose; et qu'apres la m it de ce Prince, la Di visit* 

i etoit passee, et descendue en sa personne." 

* Jesus. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN, 



257 



« When the glad Slave shall at these feet lav down 
< His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, 
" The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, 
" And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 
"Shall, like a whirlwind, scalier in its breeze 
-That whole dark pile of human mockeries,— 
" Then shall the reign of mind commence ou earth, 
"And starling fresh as from a second binh, 
" Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, 
"Shall walk transparent, like s me holy thing! 
"Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow 
"Shall cast the Veii thai hides i s splendours now, 
"And gladdeu'd Earth shall, thiough her wide ex- 
pause, 
tt Bask in the glories of this countenance ! 

'' For thee, young warrior, welcome ! — thou hast yet 
"Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget, 
"Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave; — 
"But, once my own, mine all till in the grave 1" 

The pomp is at an end — the crowds are gone — 
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
Of tiiai deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own! 
The Vouug all dazzled by the plumes and lances, 
T.'ie glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught 

glances : 
The Old deep pondering on the promis'd reign 
Of peace and truth ; and all the female train 
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze ! 

But there was toe, among the chosen maids, 
Who blusu'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 
One, to whose soul the pa;eant of to-day 
Has been like death : — you saw her pale dismay, 
Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst 
Of exclamation from her lips, when hist 
She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, 
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

Ah Zelica ! there was a time, when bliss 
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his ; 
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer J 
When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
Whate'er he did. none ever did so well. 
Too happy days ! when, if he touch'd a flower 
Or gem ot thine, 't was sacred from that hour; 
When thou didst study him till every tone 
And gesture and dear look became thy own, — 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
With twice the' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
Vet now he comes,— brighter than even he 
E'er beim'd bet re,— but, ah! not bright for thee ; 
No — dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
From the' other world, he comes as if lo haunt 
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight. 
Ling lost lo all but memory's aching sight : — 
Sid dreams ! as w hen the Spirit of our Youth 
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
Of our young life, and poin s out every ray 
Of hope and peace we've Kst upon the way ! 

Once happy pair ! — In proud Bokhara's groves, 
Who had not heard of their first vouthful hives ? 
Born by that ancient flood.! which from its spring 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics from Buchana's ruby mines, 



i The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag. or Dark 
Mountain*, an! running nearly from east to wesr, 
splits into two branches; one of which f.lis into the 
Caspian sea. and the other into Aral Nahr, or the 
Lake of Eagles. 



And, lending to the Caspian half its strength, 
In the cod Lake of Eagles sinks at length; — 
There, on the banks of that bright river born, 
The flowers, that hung above its wave at morn, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they murinur'd by, 
With holier -cent and lustre than the sigh 
And virgin-glance of first affection cast 
Lj.on their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd t 
But war disturb'd this vision, — faraway 
From her fond eyes summon'd to join the' aiTiy 
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
The youth exchang'd his sylvan dwelling-place 
For the rude lent and war-field's deaihlul clash ; 
His Zelica':, sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wild-fire, aid Love's gei.tle chains 
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
Their suns away— but, ah, how cold and dim 
Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld with him ! 
From time to time ill-omeu'd rumours came, 
Like spirit-tongues, mu t'ring the Mck man's name, 
Just ere Iip dies : — at length those sounds of dread 
Fell withering on her soul, •• Azim is dead !" 
Oh, Grief, nevoid all other griefs, when fate 
Fiist leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to die; — 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ue'er hath spoken 
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken ! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
Ev'n reason sunk — blighted beneath its touch ; 
And though, eie long, her sanguine spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes, 
Though heaith ai.d bloom return'd, the delicate chain 
Of thought, once tangled, never cleai'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's hanpie-t day, 
The mind was s'ill all there, but trrii'd astray; — 
A wandering bark, up* n whose pathway shone 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one! 
Again she smil'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd, 
But 't was a lusiie, strange, unreal, wild ; 
And when she *ung to her lute'- touchii g strain, 
'T was like the notes, half ecstasv, half pain, 
The bulbul 1 utters, eie her soul dep .rt, 
When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her 
heart ! 

Such was the mood in which that mission found 
Young Zelica,— that mission, which around 
The Ease™ world, in every region blest 
With w, man's smile, sought out iis loveliest, 
To grace that gilaxy of lips and eyes 
Which the VeiPd Pioi.hei destin'd tor the skies: — 
And such quick welcome as a s;aik receive* 
Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wuher'd le.ves, 
Did every tale of the'e enthusiasms find 
In the wild maiden's snnow-blishted mind. 

All fire at once the madd'ning ze>l she causht; 

Elect of Paradise ! blest, raptuious thought! 

Predestin'd bride, iu heaven's eternal dime, 

Of some brave you'll — ha! dur^t ihey say "of sorruf" 

No — of the one, one only object trae'd 

In her heart's core too deep to Le efiae'd ; 

'The one whose memory, fre»h as life, is twin'd 

With eyery broken link of her ,osl mind ; 

Whose image lues, though Re son's self be wreck j, 

Safe 'mid the ruins of her intel.ee ! 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, 
lo see in that gay Haiam's glow ing maids 
A sain'ed colony for Eden's shades ; 
Or dream that he, — of whose unholy flame 
Thou werl too soon ihe victim, — shining came 
From Paradise, tn people its pure sphere 
Wiih souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd heret 



2 The nightingale 



22* 



258 



LALLA ROOKH, 



No — bad not reason's light totally set, 

And left thee dark, thou haJ-t an amulet 

In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart, 

Which would have sav'd thee from the tempter's art, 

And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath, 

That purity, whose fading is love's death ! — 

But lost, inrlam'd,— a restless zeal took place 

Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace; 

First of the Prophet's favourites, proudly first 

In zeal and charms — too well the' Impostor nurs'd 

Her soul's delirium, in whose aciive flame, 

Thus lighting up a young, luxuriaut frame, 

He saw more poten sorceries to bind 

To his dark yoke the spiri's of mankind, 

More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twin'd. 

No art wa- spar'd, no witchery ; —all !he skill 

His demons taught him was employ "d to fill 

Her mind with gloom and ecsia-y by !u>ns — 

That gloom, through which Frenzy out fiercer burns; 

Thai ecstasy, which fioni the depth of sadness 

Qlares like the maniac's moon, whose light is mad- 



'T was from a brilliant banquet, where the sound 
Of poesy and music breath'd around, 
Together picturing to her mii.d and ear 
The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere, 
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay 
Upon the spirit's light should pass away, 
And, realizing more than youthful love 
E'er wi-h'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove 
Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, 
His own bless'd, purified, e ernal bride ! — 
T was from a scene, a wi;ching trance like this, 
He hurried her away, yet brea hing bli-s 
To the dim charnel-ho' se ; — through all its steams 
Of damp and deah, led only by those gleams 
Which foul Corruption lights,** wi:h design 
To show the gay and | roud she too can shine — 
And, passing on ttirough upright tanks of Dead, 
Which to the maiden, doubly craz'd by dre<d, 
Seem'd, thruugh the bluish "death-light round them 

cast. 
To move their lips in mutierings as she pass'd — 
There, in ihat awful pi .ce, when eich had quajf'd 
And pledg'd in silence such a fearful draught, 
Such — oh .' the look and 'aste of 'hat ied bowl 
Will haunt her till she dies— he tonnd her soul 
By a dirk oah, in hell's ow n language fram'd. 
Never, while earth hi- mystic prrsn.ee claim'd. 
While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, 
Never, by that all-imprecating oath. 
In joy or* sorrow from his side to se. er — 
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, " Never, 

never !" 

From that dreid hour, entirely, wildly given 
To him aid — she believ'd. 1 st'maid !— to heaven; 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflim'd, 
How proud she stood, when in full Harm n-.m'd 
The Priestess of the Faith ! — how f:a-|,'d her eyes 
With light, alas, that was not of the skies. 
When round, in trances, onij less than hers. 
She saw the Haran. koeel. her pros'rate worshippers. 
Well might Mokanna think that form alone 
Had spells en ugh to make the world his own: — 
Light, lovelj limbs, to w Inch the spirit's play 
Gave motion, air)- as the dancing spray, 
When from is rem the sin II bud wings away: 
Lips in wh se rosy labyrinth w hen she smii'j', 
The snul was lost j and" blushes, swift and wild 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across the' uucalm, bu' beauteous firmament. 
And then her I >ok — oh ! u here "s the heart so wise 

, Could unbewilder'd meet those n atch!e-s eyes? 
Quick, restless, strange, but txqui-ite w thai, 
Like those of angels, just before 'heir fall ; 
Now shadow 'd i- i'h the shames of earth — now crost 

| By glimpses of the Heav'n her hein had lost; 
hi every glance there broke, without control, 

1 The flashes of a bright, but troubled soul. 



Where sensibility still wildly play'd, 

Like lightning, round the ruins it had made! 

And such was now young Zelica — so chmg'd 
From her who, some'years since, delighted rang'd 
The almond-groves thai shade Bokhara's tide, 
All life and i.liss, with Azim by her side! 
So al'er'd was she now. th.s fes'tal day, 
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, 
The vision of that Youth whom she had lov'd, 
Had wept as dead, before her breath'd and nioy'd ;— 
When — bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track 
But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back 
Again to earth, gli-tening with Eden's light — 
Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight. 

Reason ! who shall siy what spells renew, 
When least we look for it, thy broken clew ! 
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain 
Thy intellectual day-beam butsts ag^in ; 
Aud how, like for's, to which beleaguerers win 
l"nhop'd-for entiance through some friend within, 
One clear idea, wakened in the breast 
By memory's magic, le s in all ibe test. 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, wi:h thee! 
But though light came, it came but partially ; 
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense 
Wander'd about. — but not to guide it thei ce ; 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawi.ing wave. 
But not to p .in. the harbour which m s 
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, 
With Ihat dear form came rushing o'er her mind; 
But, oh 1 to think bow deep her so^il had gone 
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone; 
And, then, her oa'h — thire madness lay again, 
And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain 
Of nien'al daikness, as if blest to flee 
From light, whose every glinijse was agony! 
Yet, one relief this glance of former years 
Brought, mingled with its pain. — tears, floods of tears, 
Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills 
Let loose in spring-time from the snow) hills 
And gushing warm, af er a sleep I i 
Through valleys where their flow bad long been lost 

Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame 
Trembled wih horror, when the -ummons came 
(A summons proud and rare, which all but she, 
.And she. till now, had heard with t. 
To meet .M kar.ni at his place of pra)er, 
A garden : iair, 

By the stream s'side. where sti:l --t close of day 
The Prophet of the Veil retir'd to pray ; 
Sometime- alone— but, nftener tar, with one, 
Oue chosen nymph to share his c ' ■ 

Of late none found such favour in his sight 
A« the young Priestess ; and though, since that night 
When the dea h ca»erns eel 
Of the dire rath that made her all k - 
The' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize, 
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise, 
And ntter'd such ui t a things, 

A< ev'u arro-s the desperate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose limp « • 

I 1 hrew s'arling I ,r.d doubt ;— 

j Yet zeal, ambition, hertn n 
The ihm - ; he-, of that bright brow, 

ze, as yet from mortal eye eoaceaM, 

i Would soon, proud Iriwnpt) ! be to her re.- 

i To her alone; — and then thr 

>{ all. th.t her trarsgressi n here 

■ Was but a pa>sage through earth s grosser fire, 
From which the st iril would at las' aspire, 
Ev'u purer 'ban before, — as perf. me> rise 
Through flame and smoke, most welc me tc the 

And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 
Should circle her in heav'n. no dukeniDg trace 
Woull on thit bosom he once lov'd remain, 
But all be blight, be pure, be his again ! — 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



259 



These were the wildering dreams, whose curst deceit 
Had chain'd her soul benealh the tempter's feet, 
And made her think ev'n daiiini.g falsehood sweet. 
But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view, 
That Semblance — oh how terrible, if true ! 
Which came acioss her frenzy's full career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, 
As when, in northern seas, at midnight d irk, 
An isle of ite eucouniers some swift bark, 
And, slanting all iis wre chts from their sleep, 
By one cold impulse hurls them lo the deep ; — 
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear, 
And waking up each long-lull'd image there, 
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair! 

Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk 
She now weut slowly to (hit small kiosk, 
Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
iMokanna wailed her — too wrapt in dreams 
Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 
That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, 
Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now 
From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound 
Came like a spirit's o'er ihe' unecboiug ground, — 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Wis thrilling hie, whose every thought a trance! 

ipon his couch the veil'd Mokanna lay, 
Wl ile lamps around — not such as lend their ray, 
Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray 
In hnly Knoui,' or Mecca's dim ai cades, — 
Bit brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids 
Lo >k loveliest in, shed iheir luxurious glow 
Upon his mystic Veil's while glitteiing Mow. 
Boside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer, 
Which Ihe world fondly thought he mused on there, 
Stood Vases, fill'd with Kishniee's 2 golde.i wine, 
And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 
Of which his curlaui'd lips full many a draught 
Took zealously, as if each drop they quatl'd, 
Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness, a had power 
To freshen the souls virtues into flower ! 
And still he drank and ponderM — nor could see 
The' approaching maid, s > deep his reverie ; 
At length, with fiendish :augh, like that which broke 
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke: — 
" Yes, ye vile race, for hel.'s amusement given, 
" Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven; 
"God's images, forsooth I — such gods as he 
'• Whom India serves, the monkey deity ; * — 
" Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay, 
"To whom if Lucifer, as graudams say, 
" Kefus'd, though at the forfeit of heaven's light, 
" To bend in worship, Lucifer was right I 5 — 



i The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full 
of mosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the de- 
scendants of Ali, the Saints of Persia. — Chardin. 



a The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, says 
Sale, from the murmuring of its waters. 

* The god Hannaman. — " Apes are in many parts 
:f ladia highly venerated, out of respect to the God 
Hannartan, a dei'y partikirg of the form of that 
race."— Pennant's Hiudoostin. 

See a curious account, in Stephen's Persia, of a 
solemn embassy from some part of the Indies to Goa, 
when the Portuguese were there, ottering vast trea- 
sures for the recovery of a monkey's too;h. which 
they held in great veneration, and which had been 
taken away upon the conquest of ihe kingdom of 
Jafanapatm. 

* This resolution of Eblis not to acknowledge the 
new creaiure, man, was, according lo Mahometan 
tradition, thus adopted: — "Ihe earth (which God 
had selected f r the materials of his work) was carri- 
ed intc Arabia to a place between Mecca and Tayef, 



"Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 

"Of your foul race, and without fear or check, 

■'Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 

" My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name! — 

"Soon at Ihe head of myiiads, blind and fierce 

" As hooded falcons, through the universe 

" 1 '11 sweep my darkening, desolating way, 

" Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey! 

'•Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on 
" Bv the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
"Like superstitious thieves, who think the light 
•< Fiona dead men's manow guides thein best at 

iii«ht •> — 
" Ye shall have honours— wealth, — yes, Sages, yes— 
" 1 know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness; 
"Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
"But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds il here. 
"How 1 shall laugh, when trumpeted along, 
" In lying speech, and still more lying song, 
"By these learn d slaves, the meanest of the throng; 
"Their ui>> bought up, I heir wisdom shrunk so small, 
"A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 

"Ye too, believers of incredible creeds, 
" Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it breeds; 
" Who, bolder ev'n than Nemiod, think lo rise, 
"By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to the skies; 
"Ye ~hall have miracles, ay, sound ones too, 
" Seen, heard, attested, every thing — but true. 
" Your preaching zealots, too insp.rd to seek 
"One grace of meaning for the things they speak ; 
" Y'our martyrs, ready to shed out their blood, 
" For iruths too heavenly to be understood ; 
'■ And your State Priests, sole vendors of the lore, 
" That works salvation ; —as, on Ava's shore, 
" Where none but priests are privileg'd to trade 
" In that best marble of which Gods are made; t 
" I hty shall have my-tenes — ay, precious stuff 
"For knaves to thrive by— mysteries enough; 
'■ Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, 
" Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, 
•• While craftier feign belief, till they believe. 
" A Heav'n too ye mu t have, ye lords of dust, — 
" A plernlid Pa'radi e, — pi re souls, ye must: 
'■ Tha' Prnpbet ill sustains his holy call, 
" Who finds not heu'ns to suit the tasies of all; 
" H uris for boys, omuiscience for sages, 
'■ Anl wings and glones forall ranks and ages. 
" Vain things! — as lust o vanity inspires, 
'The heav'n of each is but what each desires, 
" And, soul or sen-e, whate'er the object be, 
'• Mm would be man to all eternity 1 
"So let him — Eblis ! grant Ihis crowning curse, 
"But keep him what he is, no Hell weie worse." 

•' Oh, my lost soul 1" exclaim'd the shuddering maid, 
Whose ears had drunk like p ison all he saii — 
Mokanna started — not abash'd, afraid, — 
He kne« no more of fear than one who dwells 
Beneath the iropics knows of icicles! 



where, bei.ig first kneaded by the angels, it was after- 
wards fashioned by God himself into a human form, 
and left to dry fir the space of forty days, or, as 
o Iters say, as many years; the angels, in the mean 
time, often visiting it, and Lblis (then one of the 
anuels inaiest toGd's presence, after wards the devil) 
among the rest ; bu' he, not contented u ith looking at 
it, kicked it with his foot till it rung; aid knowing 
God de-igned that creature to be his superior, took a 
secret resolution never to acknowledge him as such." 
— Sale on Ihe Koran. 

6 A kii d of lantern formerly used by robbers, call- 
ed the Hand of Gl ry, ihe candle for which was made 
of the fat of a dead malefactor. This, however, was 
ralher a wes ern than an eastern superstition. 

t The ma'erial of which images of Gaudma (the 
Rinnan Deity) are made, is held -acred " Binnans 
may not purchase the marble in mass, but are suffer- 
ed, and in.teed encouraged, to buy figures of the De ty 
ready made." — Symes's Ava, vol. ii. p. 376. 



260 



LALLA ROOKH. 



But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear, 
h Uh, my lost soul !" there was a sound so drear, 
So like that voice, among the sinful dead, 
In which the legend o'er Hel.'s Gate is read, 
That, new as 'I was from her, whom nought could dim 
Or siuk till now, it startled even him. 

" Ha, my fair Priestess!" — thus, with ready wile, 
The' impostor turn'd to greet her—" thou,whose smile 
"Hath iuspiratj D in its rosy learn 
'• Beyond the' Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream j 
"Light of the Faith! who lw"in'st religion's zeal 
" bo close with love's, men know not which they feel, 
" Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, 
" The heav'n thou preaches! or the hcav n ihou art ! 
" What should J be without thee ? without thee 
" How dull were power, bow joyless victory ! 
"Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine 
" Bless'd not my banner, 't were but half divine. 
" But— why so mournful, child ? those eyes, ihat shone 
" All life last night — what ! — is their glory gone ? 
"Come, come — this morn's fatigue hath made them 

pale, 
" They want rekindling — suns themselves would fail 
" Did not their comets bring, as 1 to Ihee. 
" From light's ow n fount supplies of brilliancy. 
" Thou seest llns cup— no juice of eanh is here, 
"But the pure walers of that upper sphere, 
" Whose nils o'er ruby beds and topaz iiow, 
" Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go. 
"Nightly my Genii come and till these urns — 
" Nay, drink — in eveiv drop life's esse.ce burns; 
"'1' will make that s ul all lie, those e.es all light — 
"Come, come, 1 want thy loveliest Miiiles to-night : 
"There is a youth— why start?— thou saw'st him 

then j 
"Look'd he not nobly? such the godlike men 
"Thou 'It have to woo ihee in the bowers above; — 
"Though Ae, I fear, hath thoughts loo stern for love, 
"Too rul'd by th..t cold ei.emy of bliss 
" The world calls virtue — we must conquer this ; 
" Nay, shrink not, pretty sage ! 't is not lor thee 
" To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mystery : 
"The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield 
" Kit instruments lor mighty hands lo wield. 
" This very night I mean to try ihe art 
"Of powerful beau y on ihat wariior's heart. 
"All that my Har.nu boasts of bloom and wit, 
"Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite, 
"Shall tempi the b >y ; — young Mirzal.s blue eyes, 
" Whose sleepy lid like snow "on violets lies; 
" Arouya's checks, warm as a spring-d ly sun, 
"And lips that, like 'he seal of Sol 
" Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute, 
•' And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot 

"Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep 

"All shall c nibme their witching powers to steep 

" My convert's spirit in that softening trance, 

•' From which to heav'n is but the next advance ; — 

" That glowing, yielding fusion of the b'east, 

" On which Religion stamps her image best 

"But hear me, Priestess ! — though* each nymph of 

these 
" Ha'h s me peculiar, praclis'd power to please, 
•• Some glance or step which, a' the mirror tried, 
" First charms herself, then ail the world beside; 
" There still wants o?ie, to make the victory sure, 
" One who in every look joins every lure ; 
" Through whom all beauty's beams concen'erM pass, 
" Dazz ing and warm. as through love's buruing-g.ass ; 
" Whose geutle lips persuade without a word. 
" Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, re aJor'd, 
" Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, 
" Which our faith takes for grante I are divine ! 
"Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, 
" To crown the rich temptations of to-night; 
"Such the refin'd enchantress that must be 
" This hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she !" 

With her hands clasp'd. her lips apart and pale, 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil 



From which these words, like south winds through a 

fence 
Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came fill'd with pestilence;! 
So boldly ulttr'd too! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, 
And the wretch feltassu.'d Ihat, once p'ung'd in, 
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin ! 

At first, tho' mute she listen'd, like a dream 
Seem'd all he said : uor could her mind, w hose beam 
As yet was weak, penetrate hall Ins scheme. 
Bu- when, at length, he utiei'J, "Thou art she !" 
All flash'd at once, and shrieking piieously, 
"Oh not for worlds!" she cried — "Great God ! to 

w horn 
"I once knelt innocent, is this my doom? 
"Are all my dreams, my boi>es of heavenly bliss, 
"My purity, nay pride, tlieu come to this, — 
"To Ine, the wanlon of a liend ! to be 
" The pander ot bis guilt — ob infamy ! 
"And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
" In its hot f.ood, drag o hers dawn as deep ! 
'■ O her* — ha! yes — tha' youth who came to-day— 
" JS'vt him I lov'd — no h.ui— oh! do but say, 
" Bu p swear lo me ihis moment 't is not he, 
"And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship eren 
thee!" 

" Beware, young raving thing! — in time beware, 
"Nor utter what 1 cannot, must not bear, 
•• F.v'u from thy lips. Go — try Ihy lute, thy voice, 
" I he boy must feel their mage ; — 1 rejoice 
"To see those nres, no matter whence they rise, 
" Once more illuming my fur Priestess' eyes ; 
"And should the youth, 'whom soon those eyes shall 

warm. 
" Iiidud resemble thi dead lover's form, 
"So much ihe hap. ler wilt thou hud thy doom, 
"As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, 
" Lxcels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. 
"Na>. nay. no frowning, sweet! — those eyes were 

made 
" For love, not anger — I must be obey'd !" 

" Obey'd ! — 't is well —yes, I deserve it all — 
" On me, on me Heaven's vengemce cannot fall 
" Tjo heawiy — but Azim. bnve and true 
" And beautilul — mu>l he be ruin'd loo ? 
•• Must he too. glorious as he is, be driven 
"A renegade like me from Love and Heaven? 
"Like me!- — weak wretch, 1 wiong him — not like 

nie ; 
" No — he's all truth and strength and puri'y ! 
" Fill up y ur mad l'ning hell-cup to 'he brim, 
■•Its Witchery, hends, villi have nnclinn for him. 
" Let lo>e yur eI wing waul; lis fiom their bowers, 
" He loves, he loves, and can defy Iheir powers! 
" Wretch as I am, iu hit heart sill I reign 
"Pure as when firs' we met, wi.hoot a sain ! 
" Though rum'd — lost — my memory, like a charm 
* Left by the dead, still keeps I. is s ul from harm. 
" Oh ! never le: him know ho.» deep Ihe brow 

' He kiss'd at parting is dishonoui'd now ; — 
" Ne'er tell him how debas'd, how sunk is she, 
" Whom once I.e I v'd — once ! — still loves do'ingly. 
•'Thou liugh'st, tormentor,— w hat ! — thou 'it brand 

my name ? 
"Do, do— iu vain — he 'II not believe my shame — 
" He thinks me 'rue. tha' nought bt i 

' Could tempi or change me. and— so once thought I. 
" But this is pas' — though wor-e than dea h my lot, 
" Than hell — 't is nothing while he knows it not. 
" Far .'If to some benighted land 1 'II fly. 
" vvnere sunbeim ne'er sh-li eo'er till I die ; 
' Where none will ask Ihe lost one whence she came, 
" Lut 1 may fade and fall without a name. 



- '' It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man 
bieathe in Ihe h"t south wind, which in June or July 
passes over that flower (the Kerzereh), it will kill 
him."— rAcoenol. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



261 



' And thou — curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art, 
" Who lound'st this burning plague-spot in my heart, 
'•Aud sprtad'st it — oh, so quick— through soul and 

frame, 
" With more than demon's art, till I became 
" A loa hsome thing, all pestilence, all flame! — 

" If, when I 'iu gone " 

"Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
" Nor tempt my rage — by Heaven, not half so bold 
" The puny bin, that dares with leasing hum 
" Witnin the crocodile's strelcli'd jaws to come ! » 
"And so thou 'It fly, forsooth ?— what ! — give up all 
" I hy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall, 
" Where now to Love and now lo Alia given, 
"Half mistress and half saint, thou hangst as even 
" As dolh Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven ! 
'• Thou 'll fly ? — as easily may reptiles run, 
" The gaunt snake once hath fix'il his eyes upon; 
"As easily, when caught, ihe prey may be 
" Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me. 
•' No, no, 't is fix'd — let good or ill betide, 
" Thou 'rt mine till death, till death Mokatma's bride ! 
" Hast thou forgot thy oath ?" — 

At this dread word, 
The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr'd 
Through all its depths, and rous'd an anger there, 
That burst and iighien'd even through tier despair — 
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
That spoke that word, and stagger'd pale as death. 

"Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers 
"Their bridal place — the charnel vault was ours! 
" Instead of scents and balms, fur thee and me 
"Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality ; 
"Gay, flickering death-lights shone while we were 

wed, 
"And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead, 
" (Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,} 
" From reeking shrouds upon the rite look'd out ! 
" That oath Ihouheard'st more lips than thine repeat — 
" That cup — thou shudilerest. Lady,— was it sweet ? 
" That cup we pledg'd, the charnel 's choicest wine, 
" Hath bound thee — ay — body and soul all mine ; 
" Bound thee by chains that, whether blest or curst 
" No matter now, not hell itself shall burst! 
" Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look giy, 
" Look wild, look — any thing but sad : yet say — 
"One moment more — from what this night hath 

pass'd, 
" I see thou know'st me, know'st me well at last. 
"Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all 

true, 
"And that I love mankind ? — I do, I do — 
"As victims, love them; as the sea-dog doats 
"Upon the small, sweet fry (hat round him floats; 
" Or, as the Nile-bird loves Ihe slime that gives 
"That rank and venomous food on which she 

lives ?»— 

"And, now thou seest, my soul's angelic hue, 
'"T is time these features were uucurlaii.'d too; — 
" This brow, whose light —oh rare celestial light ! 
" Hath been reserv'd to bless thy favour d sight ; 
" These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might 
" Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel do wn and quake — 
" Would that they were heaven's lightnings for bis 
sake! 

i The hummingbird is said to run this risk for the 
purpose o: picking ihe crocodile's teeth. The same 
circumstance is related of the lapwing, as a fact to 
which he was witness, by Paul Lucas, Voyage fait en 
1714. 

The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, or 
humming-bird, entering n ith impunity into the mouth 
of the cmcodile, is firmly believed at Java — Barrow's 
Cochin-China. 

» Circum easdem ripas (Nili, viz.) ales est Ibis. Ea 
serpeutium populatur ova, giatissimamque ex his es- 
cam nidis suis refert. — Solinus. 



" But turn and look — then wonder, if thou wilt, 
" I hat I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, 
"Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth 
'•Sent me hus maim'd and monstrous upon earth; 
"And on that race who, though more vile they be 
" Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me ! 
"Here — judge" if hell, with all its power to damn, 
" Can add one curse to the foul thing 1 am !" 

He rais'd his veil — the maid turn'd slowly round, 
Look'd at him — shriek'd— aud sunk upon the ground ! 



On their arrival, next night, at the place of encamp- 
ment, they were suiprised and delighted to find the 
groves all around illuminated ; some artists of Yamt- 
cheu 3 having been sent on previously for the pur- 
pose. On each side of the green alley, which led lo 
the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo- 
work * were erected, repre-enting arches, minarets, 
and towers, from which hung thousands of silken lan- 
terns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton. 
— Nothing could be mote beautiful than the leaves of 
the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light of 
the bamboo-scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft 
as that of the nights of Perislan. 

Lalla Rookh. however, who was too much occupied 
by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to give a 
thought to any thing el-e, except, perhaps, him who 
related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour 
to her pavilion. — grea'ly to the mortification of the 
poor artists of Yamlcheou, — and was followed with 
equal rapidity by the Great Chambeilain, cursing, as 
he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose paren'al 
anxiety in lighting up theshoiesof the lake, where his 
beloved daughter 'had wandered and been lost, wasthe 
origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations. 5 

Without a moment's delay, young Feraniorz was 
introduced, and Fadladeen, who could never make up 
his mind as to the merits of a poet, till he knew the 
religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask 
him' whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla. 
Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and 
Ihe youth, being seated upon the musnud neai her, 
proceeded : — 



Prepare thy soul, young Azim ! — thou hast braved 
The bands of Greece, still mighly though enslaved ; 



3 " The feast of Lanterns is celebrated at Yamlcheou 
with more magnificence than anywhere else : and the 
report goes, tha ! Ihe illuminations there are so splen- 
did, that an emperor once, not daring openly to leave 
his couri to go thither, committed himself with the 
Queen and several Princesses of his family into the 
hands of a magician, who promised to transport them 
thither in a (Vice. He made them in the night to 
ascend magnificent thrones thit were borne up by 
swans, which in a moment arrived at Yamtcheou. 
The Emperor saw at his leisure all the solemnity, 
being carried upon a cloud that hovered over i lie city 
and descended by degrees ; and came back again with 
the same speed and equipage, nobody at couit perceiv- 
ing his absence.— The present State of Chma, p. 156. 

« See a description of the nuptials of Vizier Alee in 
the Asiatic Annual Register of 1804. 

s " The vulgar ascribe it lo an accident that hap- 
pened in the family of a famous mandarin, whose 
daughter walking one evening upon the shores of a 
lake, fell in and" was drowned; this affliced father 
with his family, ran thither, and, the better to find 
her, he caused a great company of lanterns to be 
lighted. All Ihe inhabitants of the place 'hronged 
after him with torches. The year ensuing they made 
fires upon the shores the same day; they continued 
the ceremony every year, every one lighted his lan- 
tern, and by degrees it commenced into a custom." — 
Present State of China. 



262 



LALLA ROOKH 



Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, 

Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 

All this nasi fronled, with firm hrart and brow, 

But a more perilous trial wails thee now, — 

Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 

From every laud where woman >miles or sigh*; 

Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 

His back or azure b oner in their bl .ze ; 

And each sweet mode of warfa.e, from the flash 

That lightens boldly ihiough the shadowy lash, 

To the sly, s ealiug splendours, almost hid, 

Like swords hall-stieath'd, beneath the downcast 

lid; — 
Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host 
Mow led against thee; and, let conquerors boast 
Their fields of fame, he who in vir'ue arms 
A young, warm spirit against beau y's" charms, 
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, 
Is the best, bravest couqueior of them all. 

Now, through the Haram chambers, moving lights 
And busy sha,,es piociami he loile's ri es; — 
From room to room the ready handmaids hie, 
Some skill'd to wreath ihe turban (as elully, 
Or liang the veil, in neg igence of shade, 
O'er (he warm bluhe. of he youthful maid, 
Who, if between (he folds b .1 one eye .-hone, 
Like Seba s Queen could vanquish with (hat one:* — 
While some bring leaves ol Henna, lo imbue 
The fingers' ends wi(h a brigh r.seale hue,i 
So bright, Ih.t iu Ihe mirro s depth they seem 
Like tips of coral blanches in thestieam 
And others mix (he Kohol's jetty dye, 
To give tha long, dark languish to 'the eye,3 
Which makes the maids, » bom ku^are proud to cull 
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautilul. 
All is in motion , rings and plume- and pearls 
Are shining everywhere : — some younger girls 
Are gone by moonlight to the gardeu-beJs, 
To ga her fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; — 
Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, '. is to see 
How each prefers a garland from ihal nee 
Which brings lo mind her childhood s inuocent day, 
And the dear fields and friendships far away. 
The maid of Iniia. blest ..gam to hold 
In her full lap die Champac's leaves of go!d,« 
Thinks of (he time when, by ihe Ganges' flood, 
Her lilile play-uiatis scat ei'd many a bud 
Upon her long black hair, with el ssy gleam 
Jusl di ipping from ihe consecrated sireaui ; 
While ihe y -ung Arab, haunted by ihe smell 
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell, — 



The sweet Elcaya,^ and that courteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy, 6 
Sees, calTd up round her by these magic scents, 
The well, the camels, and her father's tens; 
Sighs for 'he borne she let! with litile pain, 
And wishes ev'n its sorrows back again ! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
Silent and bright, wfiere nothing but the falls 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with coc sound 
From many a jasper fount, is heaid around, 
Young Az.m roams bewilder'd,— nor can guess 
What mear.s this maze of light and loneliness. 
Here, the way leads, o'er tesielated floors 
Or mats of Cairo, (hrough long corridors, 
Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns, 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bowers of 1 He:," send forth odorous light, 
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 
For some pure Spirit (o Ms blest abode : — 
And heie, a( once, Ihe glittering siloon 
Bursts on his sight, boundless and blight as noon; 
Where, in the miJsl, reflecting b.ck the rays 
In bioken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 
High as the' enamel I'd cupola, which towers 
All rich « ilh Arabesques of gold and flowers: 
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 
The spi inkling of that fountain's silv'ry devr, 
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye 
That on (he margin of the Red Sea lie. 

Here too he (races Ihe kind visiings 
Of woman's love m those fair, living (hing* 
Of land 2nd wave, whose fate— in bondage thrown 
For i heir weak loveliness — is like her owq ! 
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace 
Through wafer, brilliant as the crystal vase 
In winch it undulaies, small fishes -hine, 
Like g Iden ingots from a fairy mine ; — 
Wtiiie, . the other, latticed lightly in 
Wi'h odoriferous woods of Comoriu,8 
Lach brihaul bird that WMigs ihe air is seen;— 
Gay, sparkling loories, such a> gleam between 
The crimson blossoms of Ihe oral tree* 
In ihe warm is.es i f India's sunny sea; 
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,'" and the thrush 
Of Hindostan.il whose holy warbliiigs gush, 
At evening, from the tall p.g»da's top ;— 
Th.-se golden birds that, iu the spice-lime, drop 
Ab ut the gaidens. drunk v»i h bat sweet food »» 
Whose scent hath Iu ed them o'er the s 



i "Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine 
eyes.' — Sol. Soug. 

» " They tinged Ihe ends of her fingers scarlet srilfa 
Henna, so h.t they re en.b.ed branci.es of coral." — 
Story of Pruict Futtun in Bahardanush. 

* ' - The women blacken the inside of their eyelids 
with a powder named the black Kobol." — Hussci. 

" None of these lad ie>," says Shaw, "lake them- 
selves to be completely dressed, till tl.ey have tinged 
the hair and edges of Iheir eyelids with the powder 
of lead ore. Now, as Ihis operation is performed by 
dipping first into the powder a sm.ll wooden bodkin 
of Ihe llnckne-s of a quill, and then draw ing it after- 
wards ibrcugb the eyelids over the ball ol the eye, 
we shall have a lively image if whit the Prophet 
(Jer. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean by raiding 
the eyes with painting. This practice is mi doubt of 
great antiquity ; for besides (he instance already taken 
notice of, we find (hat » here Jezebel s said 2 
ix. 30.) to liave painted her face, the original wo.ds 
are, she adjusted her eyes with the powder of lead- 
ore" — SAuuVs Travels. 

« '• The appearance of Ihe blossoms of the gold- 
coloured Campac on the black hair of (he Indian 
women has supplied Ihe Sansctil P.e(s wilh many 
elegant allusions." —See Miotic Rescatxhu, vol. IT. 



* A tree famous for is pet fume, and 
the hil.s of Yemen. — A'Uluhr. 

6 of the genus mimosa, "which droops i's branches 
whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it 
talu ed those who retire under its shade." — Ibid. 

1 "Cloves are a principal ingredient in (he com- 
position of Ihe petfumed rods, which men of rank 
keepconsfandy burning iu Iheir presence."'— Turner's 
Tibet. 

s " C'est d'ou vient le b< is d'aloes, que les Arabes 
appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui »'y 
trouve en giande quautite."— IPJIerbeiot. 

s "Thousands of variegated loories visi( the coral- 
trees." — Barrow. 

io >' |n Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, 
which none w ill affright or abuse, much less kill." — 
Pitt's Account of the Mahometans. 

ii" The P»g~da Thrush is esteemed among 'he first 
chorine s of India. It sits perched on the sacred pa- 
i from Ihecce delivers its melodious song." — 
Pennant's Hiidostau. 

12 Tavtrnitr adds, that while the Birds of Paradise 
lie in this intoxicated state, he emmets come and rat 
off their legs; and that hence it is they are said to 
have no feet. 

is Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



263 



And those tint under Araby's soft sun 
Build their high nests of budding cinn tmon; * 
In short, all rare and be ueous things, tint fly 
Through the pure element, here calmly lie 
Sleeping in light, like the green birds a that dwell 
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 

So on, through scenes past ail imagining, 
More like the hum ie- ol lint impious Km!, 1 
Whom Death's dark Angel, vvi h his lightning torch, 
S'ruck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch, 
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent,- 
Arm'd with Heav'n's Word, for man's enfranchise- 
ment — 
Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round, 
His simple garb and War-boots' clanking sound 
But ill according with the pomp an-i giace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 

" Is this, then," thought the youth, " is this the way 
"To fiee man's spirit from the deadening sway 
« Of worldly sloth,— to teach him while he lives, 
"To know no bliss but thai which virtue gives, 
"And when he dies, to leave his lof y name 
"A ligh , a landmark on the clitl's of fame? 
" It was not so, Laud of the generous thought 
" And daring deed, thy god like sages taught ; 
"It was not thus, in bowers of wanton case, 
"Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies; 
"Oh! not beneath the' enfeebling, withering glow 
" Of such dull luxury did tho-e myrtles grow, 
"With which she wre.ith'd her sword, when she 

would dare 
" Immoital deeds ; but in the bracing air 
"Of toil,— of temperance,— of 'hat high, rare, 
" Ethereal virtue, which alone can bea be 
" Life, health, and lustie into Freedom's wreath. 
'• Who, that surveys this span of earth we piess, — 
"This speck of life in lime's great wilderness, 
"This narrow isthmus 'iwixt two boundless seas, 
" The pa-t, the future, (wo eternities ! — 
" Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, 
" When he might build him a proud temple there, 
'• A name, that long shall hallow all its space, 
"And be each purer soul's high resting-place? 
" But no — it cannot be, that one, n horn God 
" Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, — 
"A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission dra»s 
'• Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause 
" With the world's vulgar pomps ;— no, no,— I see — 
'< He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury 
" Is but to tempt, to try the eag'et gaze 
"Of my young soul — shine on, 'twill stand the 
blaze 1" 
So thought the youth ;— but, ev'n while he defied 
This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide 
Through ev'n sense. The perfume breathing round, 
Like a pervading -pirit ;— the s'ill sound 
Of tailing waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bee- at s inset, when they throng 
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ;« 
And music, too — de\r music! that can touch 
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much — 



and 



the 



come in flights from the southern i-les to India 
"the strength of the nutmeg." sa\s Tavernier 
intoxicates them that they fall dead drunk t 
earth." 

l "That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildelh 
its nest with cinnamon.'' — Browne Vulgar Errors. 

3 "The spiris of the martyts will be lodged in the 
crops of green birds." — Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 421. 

3 Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, 
in imitation of Paradise, and was des'royed by light- 
ning, the fi st lime he attempted to enter them. 

* " My Pandits assu ". me that the plant before us 
(the NilicO is their Sepnalica. thus named because the 
bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms.'' — Sir W. 
Jones 



Now heard far off. so far as but to seem 
Like the faint, exquisite mu-ic of a dream ; 
All was too much for him, too full of bliss, 
The heatt could nothing feel, that felt not this; 
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 
Succeeding in smooth sea-, when storms are laid; 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 
They sat and look'd into each othei's e\es, 
Silent and happy —as if God had given 
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven, 
"Oh, my lov'd mistress, thou, whose spirit stiil 
Is with me, round me, wander where I will — 
It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
" The paths of glory ; to light up thy cheek 
"With warm approval — in that gentle look, 
'• To read r.iy praise, as in an angel's book, 
1 And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
" I gain a smi'e worth immortality ! 
" How shall I bear the moment, when restored 
"To that young heart where I alone am Lord, 
" Though of such bliss unworthy,— since the best 
'• Alone deserve to be the happiest : — 
" When fiom those lips, unbreathed upon for years, 
•' I shall again kiss ott' the soul-felt tears, 
" And find those tears warm as when last they started 
" Those sacred kisses pure as when we patted. 
"0 my own life ! — why should a single day, 
" A moment keep me from those arms away ?'' 

While thus he ihinks, still nearer on the breeze 
Come those del cious, dream-like harmonies, 
Each note of which but adds new, downy links 
To t: e s ill chain in which his spiri' sinks. 
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and far away • 
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
Of cuntless lamps,— like the rich track which Day 
Leaves on the waters, w hen he sinks from us, 
So long the pa h, i's light so tremulous; — 
He sees a group of female forms advance, 
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers, 
As they were captives to lhe King of Flowers; 6 
And some disponing round, uulink'd and free, 
Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery; 
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight 
Went, like gay nio'hs about a lamp at night; 
While others wak'd, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept lime, the very soul of song 
From psallery, pipe, and lute's of heavenly thrill, 
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still. 
And now they come, now pass befoie his eye, 
Forms such as Nature moulds, « hen she would vie 
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things 
Lovely beyond it- fairest picturings. 
Awhile they dance before him, then divide, 
Bieaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide 
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, — 
Till silently dispersing, one by one, 
Through many a path, that fiom the chamber leads 
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, 
Their distant laughter ernes upon the wind, 
And but one trembling nymph remains behind, — 
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone, 
And she is left in all that light alone ; 
No veil to curtain o'er her beau'eous brow, 
In it9 young ba-hfulness more beauteous now; 
But a light golden chain-work round her hair,6 
Such as the maids of Yezd i and Shiras wear, 



s " They deleired it till the Kingof Flowers should 
ascend his throne of enamelled foliage." — The Ba- 
hardanuih. 

6 "One of the head-dresses of the Persian women 
is compo ed of a light golden chain-work, set with 
small pe tIs, with a thin gold plate pendent, about the 
bigness of a crown-piece, on which is impressed an 
Aiabian prayer, aid which hangs upon the cheek 
below the ear." — /fa?i ioa;/'s Travels. 

1 " Certainly the women of Yezd are the hand- 



264 



LALLA ROOKH 



From which, on either side, gracefully huug 

A golden amulet, in the' Arab tongue, 

Engraven o'er «ith some immorul line 

From Hoiv Writ, or bard scarce less divine; 

While her left baud, as slirinfcingly she stood, 

Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood. 

Which, once or twice, she toach'd w ith hurried strain, 

Then took her trembling fingers off again. 

But when at length a timid glance she stole 

At Azim, the sw r eet gravity of soul 

She stw through all his features calm'd her fear, 

And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near, 

Though shrinking still, she came; — then sat berdown 

Upon "a musnud's i edge, and, bolder grown, 

In the pa'hetic mode of Isfahan ** 

Touch'd a preluding strain, and (bus began: — 

There 's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's 3 stream, 
And the nightingale sings rouud it all the day long; 

In the lime of my childhood 't was like a sweet dream, 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 

That bower and its music I never forget, 

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, 

I think — is the nightingale singing there ye- ? 
Are the roses still bright by the "calin Bendemeer ? 

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, 

Bui some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly 

they shone. 

And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave 

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was 

gone. 

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 

THBs bright to my soul, as 1 was then to my eyes, 
Is thai bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer ! 

"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if Ihou wert 
sent, 
" With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, 
" To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 
"Or tempt its truth, thou little kuow'st the art. 
" For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong, 
"Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
"But Ih'U hast breath'd such purity, tby lay 
" Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, 
"And leads thy soul — if e'er it wander'd Ihenee — 
" So gently back to its first innocence. 
" Th.it I would sooner stop the unchained dove, 
" When swift returning to its home of love, 
"Arid round i's snowy wing new fetters t*> ine, 
" Than turn from virtue one pure w ish of thine !" 

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling 

through 
The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
Thai veil *d the breezy casement. c> uutless eyes, 

like stars through the blue evening skies, 
Look'd lai. s "hii g in, as if to mock the pair 
That sit so stiii -E^ melancholy there: — 
And now the curtains fly _;■>•• ri and in 
From the cool air, 'mid showers <n J?-«*niine 
Which those without fling af'er them in pi*;- 
Two lightsome maidens spring, — lightsome as they 
Who live in he' air on odours,— and around 
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, 



somest women in Persia. The proverb is, that to live 
happy a man must have a w ife of Ve?d, eat the bread 
of Ye'zdecas, and drink the wine of Shiraz."— Tavcr 
nier. 

i Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for 
persons of distinction. 

» The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their 
musical modes or Perdas by the names of different 
countries or cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode 
of Irak, &c. 

» A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar. 



Chase one another, in a varying dance 
Uf mirth and languor, coyness and advance, 
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit : — 
While she, who sung so gen:|y to the lute 
Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 
Shrinking as vi lets do in summers ray, 
But lakes" w ith her from Azim's heart t'hat sigh 
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by 
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 
Creatures of light we never see* again ! 

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd 
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er 
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore ;* 
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall 
Of curls descending, bells as musical 
As h'se that, on the g'.lden-shafted trees 
Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, s 
Rung round their s'eps, at every bound more sweet, 
As 'twere he" ex'a ic language of their feet. 
A' length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd 
Wi'hin each o her's arms ; while soft there breath'd 
Through ihe cool casement, mingled with the sighs 
Of moonlight flowers, music thai seem'd to rise 
From some siill lake, so liquidly il rose; 
And, as it sweli'd again at each faint close, 
The ear could track through all that maze of chords 
And young sweet vucts, these impassion'd words: — 



A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through earth and air ; 

Where cheeks are blushing, the spirit is nigh, 
Where lips are meeting, "the Spirit is there! 

His breath is the soul of flowers like these, 

And his floating eyes — oh! they resemble 8 
Blue wa'er-lilies," when the breeze 

I- making the stream around them tremble. 
Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! 

Spirit if Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holies! time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 

By the fair and brave 
"Who blushing unite 
Like the suu and wave, 
When they meet at night; 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh, 
As Ihe rain-drop flows 
Fr ni the heal of the sky; 

By the first love-beat 

Of the youthful heart, 
By the bliss to meet, 

And the pain to part ; 

By all that thou hast 

To moit'ls given, 
Which— oh, could it last, 

1 his earth were heaven ! 






« " To the north of us (on the coas- 
near Badku,) was a mou n t ain, which sparkled like 
diamonds, arising from the sea-glass aid erysl 
which it abounds." — Journty of the Rusnati »Jin- , 
fiassador to Pertia, 17-16. 

5 " To which w ill be added the sound of the bells, \ 
hanging on 'he trees, which will be pu' in motion by j 
Ihe "wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often 
as the blessed wish for niosie 

6 " Whose wanton eves resemble blue water-lilies, - 
agitated by Ihe breeze."— Jayadcva. 

» The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in ' 
Persia. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



26a 



We call thee hither, en'rancing Power! 

Spirit of Love, Spirit nf Bliss! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 



Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, 
And where, midst all tl.a the young heart loves most, 
Flowers, music, smiles, 10 yie'd "a* to be lost, 
The youth had started up, ani turn'd away 
Fiom the light nymph-, and their luxurious lay, 
To muse upon the pictures thai hung round, 1 — 
Bright itmges, thai spoke without a sound, 
And views, like vista-, into fairy ground. 
Hul here again new spells came o'er his sense :- 
All tli 1 1 the pencil's mule omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and f .ir. 
Of foi.d and passionate, was glowing here; 
Nor yet too warn:, bul touch'd with that fine art 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer | art ; 
Which knows ev'n Beauty when half-veil'd is best,— 
Like her own rad/anl p'auet < f the wes', 
Whose orb when half-retir'd looks loveliest.* 
Tlicre hung the history of the Genii-King, 
Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering 
With her from S.ba's bowers, in whose bright eyes 
He read that to be blest is to be wise; 3 — 
Here fond Zuleika 4 worn wilh open arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, 
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
Wishes that Heav'n and she could both be won ; 
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile, 
Foigets Ihe Koran in his Mary's -mile ; — 
Then beckons some kind an^el from above 
Wiih a new text to conseciate their love.* 

With rapid step, yet pltas'd and lingering eye, 
Did Ihe youth pass these picur'd stories by, 



i It has been generally supposed that the Mahome- 
tans prohibit all pictures of animals; bu' Todarini 
shows that, though the practice is forbidden by the 
Koran, they are not moe aver-e to painted figures 
and images than other people. From Mr. Murphy's 
work, too, we find that ihe Arabs of Spain had no 
objeciion to the introduction of figures into painting. 

2 ThU is not quite as'ronomically true. •' Dr. Had- 
ley (says Ken) has shown that Venus is brightest when 
she is about forty degiees removed from Ihe si n ; and 
that then but only a fourth part of her lucid disk is 
to be seen from Ihe earih." 

3 For the loves of King Solomon (who was sup- 
posed to preside over ihe whole race of Genii) with 
Balkis, the Queen of Sheba or Saba, see lyHerbelot, 
and the Notes on the Koran, chap 2. 

" In the palace which Solomon oidered to be built 
against the arrival of the Queen of S'ba, the floor or 
pavement was of transparent glass laid over running 
water, in which fish were swimming." This led the 
Queen into a very natural mi-take, which the Koran 
has not thought beneath its dignity to commemorate. 
•• II was said unlo her, ' Enter the palace.' And when 
she saw it, she imagined it to be a great water; and 
she discovered her legs, by lifting up her robe to pass 
through it. Whereupon Solomon said to her, ' Verilv, 
this is the place evenly floored with glass.' "—Chap. 27. 

•» The wife of Potiphar, thus i amed by the Orientals. 

The passion which this frail beauty of antiquity 
conceived for her young Hebrew slave has given ri-e 
to a much esteemed poem in the Persian language, 
entitled Yusef vau Zelikha, by Noureddin Jarrii; the 
manuscript copy of which, in'the Bodleian Library al 
Oxford, is supposed to be the finest in Ihe whole 
world." — Noleupon NoWs IWanslation of Hafez. 

'" The particulars of Mahomet's amour wilh Mar, 
the Coptic girl, in jus'itication of which he added'i 
new chapter to the Koran, may be found in Gagnier's 
Notes upon Abulfeda, p. 151. 

23~~ 



And hasten'd to a casement, where the light 
Of ihe calm moon came in, and freshly bright 
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
As if no life remain'd in brerze or rill. 
Here paus'd he, while the music, now less near, 
Breath'd with a holier language on his eat- 
As though Ihe di-iauce, a d thai heavenly ray 
Through which the sounds c^nie floating, took away 
All that had been too earthly in ihe lay. 

Oh ! could he listen to such sounds unmov'd, 
And by lhat light — nor dream of her he lov'd ? 
Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet thou may'st; 
T is ihe last bliss thy soul shall ever tasie. 
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, 
Ere all Ihe light, that made it dear, depart. 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, 
Clear, beauiiful, by nought of earth o'ercast ; 
Recall her tears, to thee" at parting given, 
Pure as they weep, if angels weep,"in Heaven. 
Think, in her own still bower she wails thee now, 
Wilh the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 
Yet shriu'd in solitude — thine all, thine only, 
Like ihe one star above thee, bright and lonely. 
Oh ! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd, 
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd ! 

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown, 
And he is left, musing of bli-s, alone ;— 
Alone? — no, not alone — ^hal heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some one nigh — 
Whose could it be?— alas! is misery found 
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground ? 
He turns, and sees a female foim, close veil'd, 
Leaning, as if both heart and stre> gth had fail'd, 
Against a pillar near ; — not glittering o'er 
With gems and wreaths such as Ihe others wore 
But in :hal deep-blue, melancholy dress,! 
Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away; — 
And such as Zelica had on ihal day 
He left her — when, with heart too full lo speak, 
He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek 

A Grange emotion stirs within him, — more 
Than mere compassion e er wak'd before; 
Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she 
Springs forward, as wilh life's last energy, 
Bul, sw' oni-ig in that one convulsive bound, 
Sinks, ere she recti his arms, upon the ground; — 
Her veil falls off — her faint hands clasp his knees — 
»T is she herself ! — >i is Zelica he sees ! 
But ah, so pale, so chang'd — none but a lover 
Could in that wreck of beauiy's shiiue discover 
The once adord divinity — ev'n he 
Stood for some moments mule, and doubtingly 
Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gaz'd 
Upon those lids, where once such lustre blaz'd, 
Ere he could think she wa- indeed his own, 
On n darling maid, whom he so long had known 
In joy and sorrow, beauiiful in both ; 
Who, ev'n when gi ief was heaviest — when loth 
He left her for the wars — in thai worst hour 
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,'' 
When darkness brings i's weeping glories out, 
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about. 

"Look up, tiy Zelica — one moment show 
"Those gen'le eyes lo me, thai I may know 
" Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
" But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. 
" Come, look uion thy Azim — one dear glance, 
'• Like those of old, were heav'n ! whatever chance 
" Hath brought thee here, oh, 't was a blessed one ! 
"There — my lov'd lips — they move — lhat kiss 
hath run 

* "Deep blue is their mourning colour." — Han- 
way. 

1 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread 
its rich odour after runset. 



266 



LALLA RUOKH. 



" Like Hie first shoot of life through every vein, 
"And now I clasp he , mine all mine again. 
"Oh i lie del iirht — now, in Ibis very hour, 
" When had The wh le rich wold been in my power, 
•' I should have singled out ihee. only lliee 

From the whole world's collected treasury — 
" To have thee here — lo hang thus fondly o'er 
"Mv Own, hest, purest Zelica Oi.ce more 1" 

It was indeed the touch of those fond 1 i ps 
Upon her eyes that cha* d their short ecli|ise, 
And, gradu 1 as the snow, at Heaven's breath, 
Melts off and shows Ihe azi'e flowers beneath 
Her lids unclos'd, and the bright eyes were seen 
Gazing on his — not, as ihey late had been, 
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully srrene; 
As if to lie, ev'n for that iMi ced minute, 
So near his heart, had cousola'i hi in it; 
And thus to wake in his belov 'd c .res- 
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. 
Ku , when she heard him call her good and pure, 
Oh, 'I was too much — loo dreadful 1 1 endure 1 
Shuddering she broke aw y from his embrace, 
And, hiding with bolh hands her guil y lace, 
:*aid, in a tone whose anguish wouid have riven 
A heart of very marble, " Pure ! — oh Heaven !" 

That tone — those looks so changed — Ihe wither- 
ing blight. 
That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light ; 
The dead despondency of th se sunk eves, 
Where once, had he ihus me! her by surprise. 
He would have seen him-e!f, too happy boy, 
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy ; 
And then Ihe place, — tha' bright, unh >ly place, 
Where vice lay hid be ea h each winning grace 
And charm of luxury, as the viper i> 
lis wily covering of s« ec-t balsam Irnes.i — 
All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold 
As death itself;— it needs not to be t' Id — 
No, no — he sets it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark — wha e'er the hand, 
That could from Heav'n and him such brightness 

sever, 
'T is done — to Heav'n and him she's lost for ever! 
It was a dreadful moment ; n it Ihe tears, 
The lingering, tatting misery of years 
Could ina'ch that utiiiii e"s anguish — all Ihe worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that da'k burst 
Broke o'ei his soul, and, with one crash of fate, 
Laid the whole hopes of his iife desolate. 

" Oh ! curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd 
His desperate hand towrJs Heav'n — •' th >ugh I am 

lost, 
"Think not tha' guilt, that falsehood made me fall, 
" No, no — 'I was grief, 't na> in dne s did it all ! 
".Nay, d ubt me not — though all thy lo.e halh 

r.eis'd — 
" I know it hath — yet, yet believe, a' least, 
" f hat every spark nf reason's light must he 
"Que.ich'd in this bnin, ere I could stray from Ihee. 
'They told me thou wen dead — why, Azim, why 
" Did we not, toil) of us. that ins'anl die 
"When we were parted? oh! could'st thou but 

know 
" Wiih what a deep devoiedness of woe 
"I wept ttu absence — o'er and o'er again 
" Thinking ol thee still lliee. till thought grew pain, 
"And memory, like a drop that, night and d iy, 
'• Falls cold a'd ceaselrss, wore my heart away. 
" Didst thou but k.ion how pale I sat at home, 
11 My eyes still turu'd Ihe way Ihou wert to come, 
«' And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, 
"Thy voice and step still sounding ib my ear — 



i "Concerning the vipers, which Pliny says were 
frequent among the balsam-tree*. I in.de* very parti- 
cular inquiry ; several were brought me alive both lo 
Vamho and Jidda.'' — Bruce. 



" Oh God ! th u would'st not wonder that, at last, 
" When every hope was all al once o'ercast, 
" When 1 hend frighifut voices r und me say 
"Jzim uaead: — luh wretched L.ra.n »ave way, 
"Aid I became a wreck, at random driven, 
" vViibou oneglimp e of reason or of Heaven — 
'•All wild — and even this quenchless love within 
•' I urn'J to loul lires to light me into sin ! — 
•'Thou pitiest u.e — 1 knew thou would ; st — that sky 
" Hath uough' beneath it half so lorn as I. 
"The fiend, who lur'd me hither — hist ! come near, 
" Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear — 
'■Told me such ihii.gs — oh ! with such devilish art, 
"As would have ruin d ev'n a holier heart — 
"Of thee, and of that ever-radianl sphere, 
" Where ble-s'd al length, if 1 but serv'd him here, 
" I should for ever live in thy dear sight, 
" And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. 
" 1 hi k, hink how lost, how madden'd I must be, 
'• To hope thai guilt could lead to God or thee ! 
«• Thnu weep'st for me— do weep — th. Ihat I durst 
" Kiss off that tear ! bu ; . no — Ihese lips are curst, 
" 1 hey mu-t not touch ihee ; — one divine caress, 
"One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
" I 've had within those arms, aid that shall lie, 
"Shrii.'d in my soul'* deep memory till I die j 
" The la t of ji y ; s last re ics here below, 
" The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, 
'•My heir: h.s trea-ur'd from affections spring, 
" To soothe and cool its deadly withering ! 
'•But th'in — yes. thou must go — for ever go; 
" I his plate is not for thee — f r thte ' oh, no, 
" Did I but tell thee half, thy tortur'd brain 
" Would burn I ke mine, and mine go w ild again ! 
"Enough, ihat Guili reigns heie — that hearts, once 
goo), 

■'Now lain ed, chill'd, and broken, are his food. 

" Enough, tha' we are parted — that there r lis 

: headlong Me between our souls, 
" Whose da'kuess severs me a- wide from thee 
" As hell from heav'n, to all eteri. ' 

" Zelica, Zel.cal" the y u h exclaira'd, 
In all ihe tortures of a mind intlam'd 
Almost to madness — •• by that sicied Heav'n, 
" Where yet, if piay'rs ca'n move, th u 't be forgives, 
"As thou art here — here, in 'his writhing heart, 
" All sinful, w ild, and ruin'd as thou art! 
" By the remembrance of our once pure love, 
'• Which, like a church-yard light, still burn above 
"The grave if i ur los! s uls — which guilt in thee 
" Cannot ex'inguish, nor despair in me ! 
" 1 do c njure, implore thee to fly hence — 
" If thou has! yet one -p.rk of ii noceuce, 

" Fly wilh me from this plac " 

••With Ihee! oh, bliss I 
'"T is worth while years of torment to heal 
" What ! take the lost one with ihee?— let her rove 
'• Pv thy dear side, as in th - 

h e wtre both so Iiaj py. both s i pure — 
" I oo heavenly dream ! if there 's on earth a cure 
" For the su. k' heart, "t is ih.s — day after day 

:i of thy "way ; 
'•To hear th> angel eloquence — to see' 
" I h se \ r r turn'l on roe; 

•' And. in their ligl leafly, 

" L ke Hie staiu'J »>b ihat whitens in tlie sun, 
'• Gr w pure b\ be ng pur 

••And ibiu wilt pray fir me*— I know thou wilt — 
'• At the dun ves I guilt 

"Come h ne eyes, 

'■ Full of sweet tear*. 
"And plead f r me with Heav'n, till I 
" lo fix my own weak, sinful glances there; 
•' Till the good ai gels, » hen the} see me cling 
'• F ret 
"Shall fr thy s>ke pr nounce my soul forgiven, 

I thee take ihv weeping slave to Heaven ! 

'• Oh, yes, I 'II fly will)' thee " 

Scarce had she said 
These breathless words, when a voice deep and dread 
As that of Mocker, waking up the dead 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



267 



From their first sleep — so startling 't was to both — 
Rung through the casement near, " Thy oath ! thy 

oath !" 
Oh, Heav'n, the gha-tliness of that Maid's look! — 
" 'T is he," faintly she cried, while terror shook 
Her inmost core, nor durst she l.ft her eves, 
'I 'hough through the casement, now, nought but the 

skies 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before — 
" T is he, and 1 am his — all, all is o'er — 
"Go — h\ this instant, or thuu 'rt ruin d ton — 
" My oath, my oath, oh, G"d ! 't is all too true, 
" 1 rue is the worm in this cold heart it is — 
" I am Mokanna's bride — his, Azim, his — 
"The Uead s ood round u 5 , while 1 spoke that vow, 
"Then blue lipsecho'd it— 1 hear them now! 
" Their eyes glar'd on me, while I pltdg'd that bowl, 
" T was burning blood — I feel it in my soul ! 
"And the Veil'd Bridegroom — hist ! I've seen to- 
night 
" What angels know not of— so foul a sight, 
"So h.riibie — oh ! never may'st thou see 
" What there lies hid fiom all but hell and me ! 
"But I must hence — ort, oil — 1 am not time, 
" Nor Heav'n's. nor Love's, nor aught that is divine — 
" Hold me nol— ha ! thiiik'st Ihou the fiends that sever 
"Hearts, cannot sunder hands? — thus, then — for 
ever !» 

With all that strength, which madness lends the 
weak, 
She flung away his arm ; and. with a shriek, 
Whose sound, ihough he should linger out more years 
Than wretch e'er lold, can never leave his ears — 
Flew up through that long avenue of ligh', 
Fleetly as some dark, om/nous bird of night, 
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight ! 



went shining down the stream, and continued to burn 
till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved 
object was considered as certain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once 
lo ked back, to observe bow the young Hindoo's lamp 
proceeded; and, while she saw with pleasure that it 
was still utitxtinguish'd, -he could not help fearing 
lhat all he hopes of this life were no belter than that 
feeble light upon the river. The remainder cf the 
ji urney was passed in silei.ee. She now, for the first 
time, felt that shade of melancholy, which con.es over 
the youthful maiden's heart, as sweei and transient as 
her own brea h udoii a mirror; nor was it till she 
heard the lute of 'Feramorz, touched lightly at the 
door of her pavilion, that she waked from the reverie 
in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes 
were lighted up with pleasure; and, after a few un- 
■ heard rcmaiks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum 
'of a poet ^eating himself in presence of a Princess, 
everything was arranged as on the preceding evening, 
and all li-tened with eagerness, while the story was 
thus continued : — 



Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all day but the 
mi-ery of these two young lovers. Her gaiety was j 
gone, and she lo ked pensively even upon Fadladeen. I 
She felt, loo, wi'hout knowing why, a sort of unea<v 
pleasure in imagining hat Azim must have be^n just 
such a youth as Feramorz ; just as worthy to enjoy all 
the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illu- 
sive passi in, winch too often, like the sunny apple- of 
Istkahar,i is all sweetness on one side, and all bitter- 
ness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered river after sun- 
set, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank,3 
whose employment seemed to them so strange, that 
they stopped their palankeens 10 observe her. She 
had lighted a small lamp, filled wi h oil of cocoa, and 
placing it in an earthen dish, ad >med wih a wrea'h 
of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand 
to 'he stream; nd wa- now anxiously wa'ching its 
progress down the current, heedless of the gay caval- 
cade which had drawn up beside her. Laila Rookh 
was all curiosity. — when one of her attendant*, who 
had lived upon'the banks of the Ganges (where this 
ceremony i- so frequent, that of en, in the dusk of the 
evening the river is seen glittering all over with 
lights like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars,3) informed 
the Princess that it was the usual way, in which the 
friends of those who had gone on danger us voyages 
offered up vows for their safe return. If the 'lamp 
sunk immediately, I he omen was dis.s'rous ; but if it 



Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 

Where all was waste and siitnt yesterday ? 

This Ci'y of War which, in a few short hours, 

Hath sprui g up here,* as if the magic powers 

Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star 

Built the high pillar'd halls of Cbilminar, 

Had eonjui'd up, far as the eye can see, 

This world "f tents, and domes, and sun-bright ar- 

mnrv : — 
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold : — 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poi rels glittering in the sun; 
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's si ells,s 
Shaking in every breeze their light-lou'd bells ! 

But yester-eve, so motionless around, 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 



1 "In the territory of Is'kahar there is a kind of 
apple, half of which is sweet and half sour." — Eon 
Haukal. 

2 For an account of this ceremony, see Grandpre's 
Voyage in the Indian Ocean. 

3 "The place where the Whangho, a river of 
Tibet, rises, and where the<e are more than a hun- 
dred springs, which spa'klelike -tars; whence it is 
called Hotun-nor, that is, the Sea of Stars.'' — De- 
scription of Tibet in Pinkerton. 



* "The Lescar or Imperial Camp is divided, like a 
regular town, into squares, alleys, and streets, and 
Torn a rising ground furnishes one of the most agree- 
able prospects ii the world. Starting up in a few 
houis in an uuinhabi ed plain, it raises the idea of a 
city built by enchantment. Even those who leave 
their houses in ci ies to follow the prince in his pro- 
gress are frequently so charmed with the Lescar, 
when si ualed in a beautiful and convenient place, 
that they cannot prevail with themselves to remove. 
To prevent this inconvenience to the court, the Eni- 
pet'r. alter sufficient time is allowed 10 the tradesmen 
to f Mow, orders them to be burni out of their tents. — 
jDoio's Hindo-tan. 

Colonel Wilks gives a lively picture of an eastern 
encampmen' : — His camp, like that of most Indian 
armies, exhibited a motley collection of covers from 
the scorching sun and dews of the night, variegated 
according to the taste or means of each individual, by 
extensive inclosures of coloured calico surrounding 
superb suites of tents; by ragged cloths or blankets 
stretched over sticks or branches, palm leaves has ily 
spread over similar supports; handsome ten's and 
splendid canopies; horses, oxen, elei ban's, and cam- 
els; all intermixed without aiy exterior mark of order 
or design, except the flags of the chiefs, which usually 
mark the centies of a congeries of these masses; the 
only regular part of the encampment being the streets 
of shops, each of which is constructed nearly in 'he 
manner of a booth at an English fair."' — Historical 
Sketches of the South of India. 

J 5 The edifices of Chiln.inar and Balbec are supposed 
to have been built by the Genii, acting under the or- 
ders of Jan ben Jan, who governed the world long 
before the time of Adam. 

6 " A superb camel, ornamented with strings and 
tufts of small shells."— Ali Bey. 



268 



LALLA ROOKH. 



But the far torrent, or the locust hird i 
Hunting anion? the thickets, could be heard ; — 
Yet hark ! wh it discord- now, of every kind, 
Sh"U's, laugh-, aid -ce.inis are revelling in the wind j 
'1 he neigh of cavalry ; — Ihe tinkling throngs 
Of laden camels and 'heir drivers' s ngs;2 — 
Ringing of arm-, ^.nd flipping in the breeze 
Of streamers fiom ten tlmuand canopies; — 
War-music, bursting out f inn time to time, 
With g 'i % and tymbalon's t'emendous chime; — 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, 
The mellow breathings of s me hum or llute, 
That far off', broken by the eagle note 
Of the' Abyssinian trumpet,^ swell and float. 

Who leads this mighty army ? — ask ye '■ who?" 
And mark ye not tho-e banners of datk hue, 
The Night'and Shadow,* over yonder tent? - 
It is ihe Caliph's glorious armament 
Rous'd in his Palace by ihe dread alarms, 
Tha' hourly came, of 'the false Prophet's arms 
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd 
Defince fierce at lsl>m 5 and the world,— 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind 
The veils of his bright Palace calm n-clm'd, 
Yet brook'd he not s ch blasphemy should stain, 
Thus unreveng'd, the evening of his reign ; 
But, having sworn upon the holy grave* 
To conquer or !n perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, 
And with an army, nurs'd in victories. 
Here stnds to ciu-h the rebels that o'er-run 
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. 

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
Sncli pomp before; — not ev'n when on his way 
To Mecca's leniple, when both land and sea 
Were spoil'd t > feed the Pilgrim s luxury ; 1 
When round him. mid the burning sands, he saw 
Frui's of Ihe North in icy fieshness thaw, 
And conl',1 Lis thirs y lip, beneath the glow 
Of Mecca's sun, will urns of Ptr-ian sn >w- : i — 
Nor e'er did aimament more gr.nd than that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
First, in the van, the People of 'he R rk,» 
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock: i° 



Then chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry : ' l — 
Men, from ihe regions near 'he Volga's mouth, 
Mix'd with ihe rude, biack a'chers of the South; 
And Indian lancers, in whi:e-turb.u'd ranks, 
From the far Sinde, or Altock's sacred banks, 
Wiih dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh. »l 
And many a inace-arm'd Moor and Mid sea islander. 

Nor less in number, though more new and rude 
In warfare's school, was the vas' multitude 
Tha', fird by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd, 
Round the white standard of the' impostor throng'd. 
Beside his thousand of Belieers — blind. 
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind — 
Many who lelt, and more who fear'd to feel 
The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
Flock'd to' his banner;— Chiefs of the' Uzbek race, 
Waving their heron c ests with martial grace; »3 
Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth 
From the' aromatic pastures i f the n rth ; 
Wild warriors of ihe turquoi-e hill-,n — and those 
Who dwell beyond ihe everlasting snows 
Of Hindoo Kosh 15 in s'ormy freedom bred. 
Their fort the rock, their camp the tonent's bed. 
But none, of all who own'd the Chief's command, 
Rushd to that battle-field with bolder hand, 
Or sterner hate, than Iran's nu law'd men, 
Her Worshippers of Fire 16 — all pan'irg then 
For vengeance on the' accursed Saracen ; 
Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd. 
Her throne usurp'd, and her b'igbl shrints o'erture'd 
From YezJ'- •" eternal Mansion of the Fire, 
Where aged saints in dreams of Hen'n expire: 
From Badku, and those fountains of blue flame 
'I hit burn into the CsV-pun.** fierce they came, 
Carele-s for what or whom the blow was -fed. 
So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrauts bled. 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, 
That high in air their motley banners tost 



i A native of Khoas-an, and allured southward by 
means of the wa'er of a fountain between Sluraz and 
Ispahan, rilled the Fountain of Birds, of which it is 
so fond that it will follow wherever that wa er is 
cairird. 

2 " Some of the camels have bells about their necks, 
and some about their lees, like those which our car- 
riers put about their fore hor-es' necks, which together 
with the servants (who belong to Ihe camels, and tra- 



vel on foot,) singing all night, make a pleasant noise, 
and Ihe journey pa-srs aw; 
Account of Ihe Mahometans. 



e a pleasai 

ightfully.-' 



■ Pin's 



"The camel-driver follows the camels singing, and 
sometimes playing upon his pipe ; the louder he sings 
and pipes, he faster Ihe camels go. Nay. they will 
stand still when he gives over his music.'"— Tavcrnitr. 

5 "This trumpet is oflen called, in Abyssinia, Tiesser 
ratio, which signifies the Note of the Eagle.'' — A'ott 
of Bruce's Editor. 

* The two black standards borne before the Caliphs 
of the House of Abbas were called, allegorically, The 
Night and the Shadow. — See Gibbon. 

6 The Mahometan religion. 

s "The Persians swear by the Tomb of Shah Be- 
sade, who is buried at Casbiri ; and when one desires 
another to asseverate a matter, he will ask him, if he 
dare swear by the Holy Grave."— Simy. 

i Mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to Mecca, ex- 
pended six millions ofdinars of gold. 

8 Nivem Meccam apportavit, rem ibi aut nunquam 
aut raro visam. — Muljcda. 

8 The inhabitants of Hejaz or Arabia Petrsea, called 



by an Eastern writer " The People of the Rock." — 
EUn Haukal. 

io -'Those hrses. called by the Arabians Kochlani, 
of whom a written gei eahgy has been kept for 2000 
years. They are said to cit-rive their origin from King 
Solomon's stetds." — Nicbuhr. 

ii 'Many of the figures on the blades of their 
swords are wrought in gold or silver, or in marquetry 
with small gems.' — Asiat. Mite. v. i. 

1 2 Azab or Saba. 

13 "The chiefs of the Uibek Ta tars wear a plume 
of white heron's lea'hers in their turbans."— Account 
of Independent Tartary. 

I« In the mountains of Nishapour and Tous (in 
Khorassan) they find turquoises. — Ebn UaukaL 

i* For a description of lln.se stupendous ranges of 
mountains, see EZjmUrufonc'J Caubid. 

is The Ghehers or Guebres th >se original natives 
of Persia who adhered to their ancient faith, Ibe 
religion of Zoroaster, and who, after Ihe enquest of 
their country by the Arabs, w ere either persecuted at 
home, or f reed to become wanderers abroad. 

II •' Vezd, the chief residence of those ancient na- 
tives, who worship the Sun and the Fire, which lat- 
ter they have carefully kept lighted, without being 
once extinguished for a moment, about 3000 years, on 
a mountain near Vezd. called Ater Quetlah, signifying 
the House or Mansion of the Fi'e. He is reckoned 
very unfortunate who dies off that mountain. —Ste- 
jjAen'j Persia. 

n "When the wea'h^r is hazv. the springs of Naph 
tha (on an island near Baku: boil up the higher, and 
the Naphtha often takes fire on he suiface of the 
earh, and runs in a flame into the sea to a distance 
almost incredible." — Hanvoay on the EvcrUuling 
Fire at Baku. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



269 



Around the Prophet Chief— all eyes s'ill bent 
Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, 
That beacou through the battle's stormy flood, 
Tiat rainbow of the field, whose showers were 
blood! 

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, 
An J risen ag<in, and f uud them grapplii g yet ; 
While stieams ol carnage in his noontide blaze, 
Sm>ke up to Heav'n — hot as ihat crimson haze, 
By which ihe prostra e Caavan is aw'd,» 
In the red Desert, when the wind 's abioad. 
" On, Swords of God !" the panting Caliph calls, — 
'• Thrones for ihe living — Heav'u for him who 

falls !»- 
"Oh, brave avengers, on," Mokanna cries, 
" And Eblis blasi ihe recreant slave thai hies!" 
Now comes the brunt, the crisis of Ihe day — 
They ciash — they strive — Ihe Caliph's troops give 

way ! 
Mokanna s self plucks the black Banner down, 
Aid now the Orient Win Id's Imperial conn 
Is just within his gra-p — when, hark, that shout ! 
Some hand bath check'd the fling .Mo -leufs rout; 
And now they turn, they rally — ai their head 
A warrior, (like ihose angel you hs who led, 
In glorious panoply of Heaven's own mail, 
The Champions of the F.iith through Bedei's vale,"*) 
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, 
Turns on the fieice pursuers' blades, and drives 
At once Ihe multi;udinou> torrent back — 
While hope and couiage kindle in his track ; 
And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes 
Terrible vistas through which victory breaks! 
In vain Mokanna, midst the genetal iiight, 
Stands, like Ihe red moon, on -oine stormy night, 
Among the fugitive clouds thai, hurrying by, 
Leave only her unshaken in Ihe sky — 
In vain he yells his desperate curses out, 
Deals death promiscuously to a I about, 
To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, 
And seems o( all ihe Gieat Arch-enemy. 
The panic spreads— '' A miracle I" throughout 
The Moslem ranks, "a miracle !" they shout, 
All gazing on that you h. who e coining seems 
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dieams ; 
And every sword, true as o'er billow- dim 
The needle tracks the lode-star, following him ! 

Right tow'rds M"kanna now he cleaves his path, 
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
He hears from Heav'n wi hheld its awful bur,t 
From weaker heads, and s uls but hall-way curst, 
To break o'er Him, the mightiest aid the worst ! 
But vain his speed — though, in that hour of blood, 
Had all God's seraphs round M kaiina stood, 
With swords of fire, re dy like late 10 fall, 
Mokanna's soul would haie defied them all, 
Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too sirong 
For human force, hurries e\'n him along; 
In vain he -truggles 'mid the wedg'd airay 
Of dying thousands — he is borne away ; 
And Ihe sole joy his battled spiiit knows, 
In this lore d (light, is — murdering as he goes ! 
As a grim liger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, 



i Savary s iys of the south wind, which blows in 
Egypt from February to May, •Sometimes it appears 
oiiy in the shape of an impetuous whirlwind, which 
passes rapidly, and is fa'al to the traveller, surprised 
in the middle of Ihe deserts. Toi renls ( f burning sand 
r.ll before it, the firmament is enveloped in a" thick 
veil, aid the sun appeais of Ihe c lour of blood. 
Sometimes whole caiavans are buried iu it." 

2 In the great victory gained by Mahomed at Beder, 
he was assisted, say the Mussulmans, by ihree thou- 
sand angels, led by Gabriel, mounted on his horse 
H.az in. — See The Koran and its Commentators. 

23* 



Turns, ev*n in drowning, on the wretched flocks, 
Swept wi'h him in that snow-flood from the rocks 
And, lo the last, devouring on his way, 
Bloodies the stream he haih not power to stay. 

"Alia ilia Alia!" — Ihe glad shout renew — 
"Alia Akoar!"3 — the Caliph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded lapestry in Ihe streets, 
And light your shrinks and chaunt your ziraleets * 
The Swords of God have triumph'd — on his throne 
Your Caliph sits, and the veil'd Chief hath flown. 
Who does not envy that young warrior now, 
To whom the Lord ol" Isl<m bends his brow, 
In all the giaceful giatitude of power, 
For his throne's safely in that perilous hour? 
Who dolh u it wonder, when, amidst the' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name — 
'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, 
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, 
Like music round a planet as it rolls,— 
He turns away — cotdiy, as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume ; — 
Some sighiless giief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Though glory's light may play, in vain il plays. 
Yes, wretched Azim I thine is such a grief, 
Beyond ad hope, all terror, all relief; 
A dark, cold c Itn, which nothing now can break, 
Or warm oi brighten, — like ihat Syrian Lake,* 
Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, fur ali beneath is dead ! — 
Hearts theie have been, o'er w Inch llns weight of woe 
Came by long Use of sufferii g, lame and slow ; 
But thine, lost youth I was sud.te:; — over thee 
It tir .ke at or.ee, when all seen, d ecstasy ; 
When Hope iook'd up, and saw the gloomy Past 
Melt into splendour, and Bliss daw n at last — 
'T was I hen, ev'n then, o'er joys so freshly blown, 
This mortal blight of misery came down; 
Ev'n then, the full, warm gushing of th\ heart 
Were check'd— like fount-drops frozen as they start — 
And there, like them, c old, sunless relics hang, 
Each fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang. 

One sole desire, one passion now remains 
To keep liles lever sliil within his veins, 
Vengeance !— dire vengeance i n the wretch who cast 
O'er him ai d all he lov'd that ruinous blast. 
For this, when rumours reach'd him iu his flight 
Far, far away, after that falal nigh,— 
Humour, of "armies, thronging to Ihe' attack 
Of the Veil'd Chief— for this he wing'd him back, 
Fleet as the vulture speeds n flags utilml'd, 



For this he still lives on. care. ess of all 
The wreaths thit Glory 'on his path lets fall ; 
For his alone exit's — like lightning-fire, 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
With a small band of desperate lugnives, 
The lasl sole stubborn fragment, left unriven, 
Of the proud h s' that late stood Ironling Heaven, 
He gain'd Merou — biealh'd a short Curse of blood 
O'er his los' throne— then pass'd the Jihon's flood, 6 
And gathering all, w hose madness of belief 
Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall'n Chief, 
Rais'd the white banner within Ncksl.eb's gaies,t 
And ;here,u:itam'd, the' approaching conqueror waits. 

3 The Tecbir. or cry of the Arabs. " Alia Acbar !» 
sajs Ockley, means, "God is most mighty." 

* The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the 
women of the East sing upon joyful occasions. — 
Russet. 

» The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor 
vegetable life. 

s The ancient Oxus. 

' A city of Transoxiana. 



270 



LALLA ROOKH 



Of all his Haram, all that busy hive, 
With mu-icand with sweets sparkling alive, 

He took but one, the pa tier of his flight, 

One — not for love— not f >r he' beauty's light — 

No, Zelica stood withering midst the gay, 

Wan as the blossom thai fell >esterday 

From the' Alma tree and dies, while overhead 

To-day's young fl >wer is springing in its stead, l 

Oh, not for love — the deepest D'imii'd must be 

Touch'd with Heaven'- glory, ere such fiends as he 

Can feel one glimpse of Love's divinity. 

But no. she i- his victim ; — there lie all 

Her charms for him — charms that cm never pall, 

As long as hell within his heart can stir, 

Or one' faint trace of Heaven is left in her. 

To work an angel's ruin,— to behold 

As whi e a page as Virtue e'er unioil'd 

Blacken, benea'h his touch, into a scioll 

Of damning -ins, -eal'd with a burning soul — 

This is his triumph ; 'his t lie joy accurst, 

That ranks him among demons all but fvst: 

This gives the victim, that before him lies 

Blighted and lust, a glorv in his eyes, 

A light like that w i,h which hell-fire illumes 

The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes ! 

But other tasks now wait him — tasks (hit need 
All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
With which the Ones* have gifted him — for mark, 
Over yoD plains, which night had else made daik, 
Those huterns. c un'less as the winged ligh s 
That spangle India's fields on showery nights,3_ 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed, 
I he mighty tents of the beleaguerer spieid, 
Glimmering along the' horizon's dusky line, 
And thence in nearer circles, till they thine 
Among the founts and groves o'er which the town 
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
Ye', fearle--, from nis I fly b.Vtlements 
Mokanna views that multitude of tents; 
I Nay. smiles to think that, though enloil'd, beset, 
Not less than myriads dare o front him yet ; — 
That friendless, throneless, he thus s'and- at bay, 
Ev'rj thus a ma'ch for myriad* such as they. 
"Oh, fur a sweep of lhat da k Angel's " nig, 
" Wh> brush'd the thousuids of the' Assyrian King * 
"To darkness in a moment, that I might 
"People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night! 
" Bat, come what may, let who will grasp the throne, 
"Caliph or Prophet, 'man alike shall gr an ; 
"Let who will torture him. Prie t-C liph— King— 
"Alike this loathsome wold of his -hill ring 
" Wiih victims' sbiieks and ho Oings of the slave,— 
"Sounds, that shall glad me rv'u within my giave!" 
Thus, to himself - but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a f\r diife en: str.ii : — 
"Glorious 1) fenders f the sacred C own 
"I bear from Heav'u, whose light nor blood shall 

drown 
" Nor shadow of earth eclipse; — before whose gems 
"The paly pomp of i his world's diadem-, 
"The crown of Gerashid, thepillar'J throne 
"Of Parviz,5 and the heron crest that sh ne,s 



» "You never can cast your eyes on this tree, but 
you meet there either blossoms > r fruit ; and as the 
blossom drops underneath on the ground (which is 
frequently en end with these put pie-coloured flow- 
ers), others come forth in their stead," ic. &c— 
Nieufioff. 

3 The Demons of the Fersian mythology. 

3 Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India during the 
rainy s-ason.— See his Travels. 

* Sennacherib, called by the Orientals King of 
Moussal —D'Herbtlot 

* Chosroes. For the description of his Throne or 
Palace, see Gibbon and D'Hcrbeiot. 

There were said to be under this Throne or Palace 
of Khosrou Parviz a hundred vaults filled with " trea- 
sures so immense lhat some Mahometan writers tell 



" Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous eyes,i 
" Fade l,ke the stars when morn is in the sties : 
" Warriors, rejoice — the port to which we 've passed 
" O'er Destiny's dark waw beams out at last ! 
" Victory's our own — 't ,; written in that Book 
'Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, 
" lhat Islam's sceptre shall beneath 'he power 
" Of her great foe fall broken in that hour, 
" When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes, 
"From Neksheb's Holy Well portentously shall rise! 

" Now turn and see " 

Ti.ey turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendour all ar uud hem broke, 
And they beheld an orb. amp e and bright, 
Rise from the Holy Well.* and est its'light 
Round the rich city and the plain for miles, 9 — 
F ing n^ such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 
Of ma y ad me and fair-roof U imaret 
As aut 'inn suns -bed round them w hen they set. 
Instant from all who saw the' i lusive sign 
A murmur broke — "Miraculous ! divine !"' 
The Gheler bnw'd, thinking his idol star 
Hid wak'd and burst impatient through the bar 
Of mid igh', to inflame him to Ihe war; 
While he of Mous-a's c eed saw, in that ray, 
The gloriou- Light which, in his freedom's day, 
Had rested on the Ark.'O and now -gain 
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain. 

" To victory '." is a 1 once the cry of all — 
Nor sta, ds Mnbanna loitering at that call ; 
But instant the huge gates are (lung as'.de, 
And forth, like a diminutive moun aiu-'iJe 
Into the boundie s sea, they speed their course 
Right on ino the Moslem's migh y foice. 
Ihe wa'chmeu of the camp, — who, in their rounds, 
Had paus'd. anJ ev'n forgo the punctual sounds 
Of the small drum n ith »h ch they count the night," 
To gaze upon 'hat supernatural ligh', — 
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, 
And in a de th-groin give their last alarm. 
'On lor he lamp-, that light >on l.fty screen, '» 
" Nor blunt your blides wi h mis-acre so mean ; 



us. their Prophet, to encourage his disciples, carried 
them to a rock, which at his c mm mJ opened, and 
gave them a pro-pec through it of the treasures of 
Kho-rou."— (Juivnsal Biliary. 

6 '- The crown of Ge ashid is cloudy and tarnished 
before the her n tuf' of hy turban."- From one of the 
- >ugs in prai-e of Ah, w r i Hen in characters 
< f gold round the gallery of ALbas's toml.— See Char- 
din. 

'• The beauty of Ali's eyes was so remarkable, that 
wherever the Persians: would de cribe anything as 
iey fitly the] say it is Ayn Hali, or ihe Byes if 
Ali.— Char-din. ' 

8 We are not told more of this trick of the In.pstor, 
thin hat it w.s ' une machine, qn'il dis>>it elre la 
Lune." Acr-rdi g to Richardson, the miracle i- per- 
petuated in Nekscn b.— - Nak-i.ab. the name of i city 
in Trusoxi 'iiia. where they say there is a well, in 
which the appeaiance of the moon is to be seen night 
and dav." 

9 " II amu-a pendant deux mnis le j euplede la ville 
de Nekhscheb. en fai-ant sorlir toutes les nuil- du I nd 
d'un putts uu c r| s himineux semllable a Lune, qui 
portoit >a lumit-re jusqu'a la distance de plusieurs 
niilles.'— nee be was called Sizen- 
dehmah, or the Moon-maker. 

io The Shechinah, called Sakinat in Ihe Koran.— 
See Sole's A'ofr, chap. ii. 

>' The parts of the night are made known as well 
by ins'r.iuie' ts of music, as by the r 
men wih cries ad small drums. — >ee Jiurdcr't Ori- 
ental Customs, vol. i. p. 119. 

>"* The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiff- 
ened with cane, used to enclo-e a considerable space 
round the royal tents.— Arotas on the Bahirdanuik. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAX. 



271 



" There rests the Caliph — speed — one lucky lance 
•• May now achieve n.a ki :"s dtlire 
Desper'e he die — uch as be. on 

. 9t-ke Ibeir last 
But |'a e 

. to meet them th>o' the g .mmering shade, 
-i:x3, as the cla-h - ..- soon 

Pour t the S|«\ . er>oni 

To the *hrill 'itubrel's s mm ns — till, at length, 
The mighty can. r rh. 

■ he phia 
ad venturous train; 
An ng the las' of wh m the Silver Veil 

r >i. z at tunes. Ike the «hi e sail 
Of sime tns.*d vessel. On a sonny r.ight, 
Ca'chmg he iempes "s uiomenary light ! 

And na'h not this brough - the j.r^ud spi-it low ? 
Nor dash'd his bow, nor check'd fa -: 

■ hough half the wre cies, whom at night he led 
To throne? i 

Yet morning hears him with uis ;rinKing ere--, 
Still vaunt of tbr ne-, and v etury to herds' — 
And they believe h:m ! — i h, 'he lo-.er may 
Oistnist eha lo«k which >fe»ls his sou! a«av; — 
The babe may cease to 'hinfc lliat it can play 
With Heaven'* rnnbow; — alchymi-ts may doubt 

t h- shming gild heir crurib e gi\r- 
But Faith, fana-'ic Fvith. once wedded fast 

To s me dear falsehood, hug-, it to the last 

And well the' Impostor knew a 1 lures and art* 

N r, mid these I is bold workings of his plot 

- 's souls is Zel c 
Ill-fa ed Zel ca ! had reas 

Awake, through half -he horrors thou hast seen, 
Thou never could'st have borne it — Death bad come 
At o. ce. and taken thy wrung -pint home. 
But 'l was not si — a torp r, a su=: 

le o'er the in'ense 
And pa sii 
Whe-i her last h pe of peace and he v'n fob flight : 

ih, at tinier, a gleam of f enzv broke, — 
As through s me dull volcano's veil of am be 
Uminr-ui flashings now and :hen wi 
Which sn ) heart ; 

Yet was she mostly wnp| ns,— 

Not such as Azitu's, bro ding o'er i's doom, 
And calm with 'Ut. as is the brow of 

While buy worms are gnawing undernea h 

But in a blank and pnlsele 1 

From thought or paiu, a seai'd-up >| 

Which left her oft. with scirce one living thrill, 

The cold, pale victim of her torturer's wild. 

Again, as in Merou, he had her deck'd 
Gorgeou-ly out, 'he Pnestes* of the 
And led her glittering forth before the eyes 
Of his rude train, as "to a -acrifice.— 
Pallid as she. the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fieice Nile.' when, deck'd in all the f 
Of nup'ial pomp, she sinks in'o his 
And while the wretched maid hung down her head, 

. is one just risen from the dead, 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell 
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell 



her now. — and from that darken'd trance 
Should da«n ere I ng heir Farh s deliverance. 
Or if. at times, goaded by guilty shan.e. 
Her soul was ro.s'd, ai d words of wiidness came, 
Ins'anl the bold b a phones would translate 

rs into oracles : 

». s in her fla-hing eyes, 
And call her shrieks the language of the ikies! 

Bat vain at lene*h bis arts — despair is seen 
Gathering around : and famine comes 10 glean 
All that the sword had left onreap-'d : — in vain 
At mom and eve across the ncr bern plain 
He looks impaienr for the | romis'd - 
Of the wild Hordes and Tartar rnouir 
They c me not — » hi!e his fierce beleaguerers poor 
Engines of havoc in. uni: 
And horrible as n al fly 

i fark sky, 
And red-i 
Discharge, as from a kindled Nanhiha fount* 



The ten's of Prir.ces were generally il'oniinatej. 

Norden tells us that the tent of :he Bev <T Girge was 

shed from the othe lanterns 

being suspended before it— See Harmer'% Observations 

00 Job. 

1 '"From the groves of orange trees at Kanzemon 
the bees cull a celebrated honey "—Morier's Travel*. 

* " A custom s'ill siib-i- seems to 

me to prove that the Ezyptians formerly sacrificed a 
young virgin to the God rf the N le: for (hey now 
make a statue of earth in shape of a girl, to 'which 
they give the name of the Betrothed Brfde, and throw 
it into the river." — Savary. 



3 Tha" they knew- the reek fire 

- eleventh century, 
•■ When 
he arrived a" Moultan, 

Jits was defended by great rivers, he ordered fifteen 
:->ats to be built, each of which he armed 
with six iron spike 

s des, to prevent 'her teiug hiarded by tbe eneniy, 
woo were veiyei fw.v. When he 

had launched' 'his fl;et. he ordered twenty archers 
into each b"at, and fi.e others with fire-balls, to burn 
■f the Jits, and naphtha to set the whole 
river on 

The asrnu aster, try, in Indian pr-ems ihc 
ment of } cannot be extinguished, is 

of tndi •. 

poem, the JSrafa Yudha given bv .Sir Stamford 

Raffles in his History of Jav ., we find, • He aimed 

at 'he heart of Soeta with the shar. - 

of Fire.'' 

The mention of gunpowder as in use among the 
Arabians, Ions te •, in Eu- 

rope, is io'rodi.ctd by Ebn Fadhl, the Eeyp ian geo- 
■ Bodies," 
■ in the f rm of sc rpioi s, bound round and 
tilled wih nitrous row: mat ing a 

gentle n' ise ; 'hen, ei[ en, as" it 

were, and Bom. But there are 1 thers which, cast 
■Bin the air, <tre'ch along like a cloud, roar 
bly. as thunder roars, and on all side^ vomiting out 

comes in 'heir way." The hi-'orian JSen .ildilla, in 
speakiig of the sieges of Abuluaii : 
Hrjira - of combus- 

tible mat'er, wi h a migl . emitted, 

rilb the f rce oi -,kes the 

ci'ade!.' - — See the tirac's fr..m CasirPs Biblioth. 
Anb. Hispan. in the Appendix 10 Struigton^ Lite- 
rary History of the Middle Ages. 

* The Greek fire, which was Dceasiona] 
theemfr - Gibbon, 

\ mched in red-hot balls of stone and iron, or 
da'tcd in arro«s .-ind javelins, Iwis'ed rouu.: 
and tow, which had deeply imbibed the innUmmable 
oil. - ' 

5 See Hanicay'i Account rf the S 
tha at Baku (which is called by Lieutenant Pcttingcr 
Joala Mookee, or the Y. -:ing fire 

and running into the sea. Dr. Cicke, in h s 
mentions some wells in C 

nated wih this inflammable oil, from which issues 
boiling wa'er. -'Though the wt 
••was now very c Id the warmth 

ei rroduced near them tbe verdure and flowers 
of spring.' 7 

icott Waring says, that naph'ha is osed by 
the Persians, as we are told it was in hell, for lamps. 



272 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Showers of con liming fire o'er all below ; 
Looking, as through the' illumin'd night Ihey go, 
Like those wild birds « ihal by llie Magiaus oft, 
At festivals of fire. viere sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing fagots lied 
Jo their huie wings, scattering combustion wide. 
All night the groans of wretches who expire, 
In agony, beneaih these dans of fire. 
Ring thiough the city — while, descending o'er 
lis shrines and domes and streets of sycamore, — 
Its lone bazars, with iheir bright cloths of gold, 
Since the list peaceful pageant left unroll'd,— 
Its beau'eous marble baths, whose idle je s 
Now gush with bio d,— and iis tail minarets, 
'ihal late have stood up in the evening glare 
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer;— 
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall, 
And death and conflagration throughout all 
The desolate city hold high festival '. 

Mokanna sees the world is his no more ;— 
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
"What: drooping Dow ?" — thus with unblushing 

cheek. 
He h ils the few, who yet can hear him speak, 
Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying, 
And by the light ot blazing temples dying; 

What ! — drooping now?— now, when at length 
we press 
•' Home o'er the very threshold of success ; 
'• When Alia from our ranks huh (hinn'd away 
" Those grosser branches, ilia' kei t out his ray 
" Of favour from u-, and we s a d at lei.gth 
'• Heirs of his light and children of his s rength, 
"The chosen few, who shall survive the fill 
"Of King- anJ Thrones, triumphant over all ! 
"Have \ou then lost, weak murmurers as y u are, 
"All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star? 



•'Could, like a sun-stroke of the de-ert. wither 
'• Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither? 
" Long have its lightnings slept — too long — but now 
"All ear h shill feel the' unveiling of this brow! 
" Tonight — yes, sainted men ! this very night, 
" I bid you all to a fair festal rite, 
" Where — having deep refresh'd e'eh weary limb 
" With vi mds, such as feast Heav'n's cherubim, 
" And kindled up your s ouis, n >w sunk and dim, 
" Wi h that pure wine the Dark-ei'd Maids above 
" Keep, seal'd with p ecious musk, for those they 

love, a— 
"I will myself unontain in your sight 
" The wonders of tins brow's ineffable light ; 
•• Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
" Yon myriads, howling through the universe :" 

Eager they listen — while each accen' darts 
New life into their chill'd and hope-ick hearts; 
Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies 
1 o bun up n the stake, who drinks and dies! 
Wildly they point their lances to the liglr 
Of the fast sinking sun, and shout "To-night ! r — 



many a row 

Of ("tarry lamps and blazing cm 

With naphtha and atpballue, yielding light 

As from a sky. 

i "At the great festival of fire, called the ShebSeze, 



" To-nigh'," their Chief re-echoes in a voice 
Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice. 
Deluded victims '. — never hath this earth 
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood 
This racking waste of famine and of blood, 
F'iut, dying wretches clung, from whom the shoul 
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out : — 
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, 
Danc'd, like »an ghosts about a funeral pyre, 
Among the dead and d\ nig, stiew'd around ; — 
While some pale wretch look'd on, and from bit 

wound 
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, 
In ghastly transport wav'd it o'er his bead! 

'T was more than midnight now — a fearful pause 
Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild a: plause. 
That lately from tho-e Koyal Gardens burst, 
Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst, 
When Zelica — alas, poor ruin'd heart, 
In eieiy horror do n.'J to bear il« part ! - 
Was bidden to the banque' by a slave, 
Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, 
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat 
Hi- mess >ge through, fell lifeless at her feet I 
Shuddering she went — a soul-felt pang of fear, 
A presage that her own dark doom was near, 
P.ous'd every feeling, and brought Reason back 
Oiice more, o n nlhe her last upon the rack. 
All round seem'd tranquil — even the foe had ceas'd, 
As if aware of that demoniac teas', 
His fierv bolts ; and though the heavens look'd red, 
'I was Lu some distant conflagration's spread. 
But bark — she stops — she listens — dreadful tone! 
'T is her Tormen'or's laugh — and now, a groan, 
A long death-groan comes u ith it : — can this be 
The pi ce of mirth, the bower of revelry ? 
She enters— Holy Alia, what a sight 
Was there before her 1 By the glimmering light 
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with tie flare of brands 
That round I y burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands, 
She saw the board, in sple idid mockery spread, 
Rich censers breathing — ga lands over head — 
The un.s, the cups, from which they late had quafTd, 
'All g Id and gem-, but— what had been the draught? 
Oh ! utio need ask. that saw those livid guests, 
I With their suoll'ii heads sunk blackening on their 
breasts. 
Or lnoki g pale to Heav'n with glassy glare, 
As if Ihey sought but saw no mere) "there; 
As if ibey felt, though poison rack'd them through, 
Remorse the deadlier torment nf the 'wo ! 
While some, the brivist h rdiest in the train 
Of their false Chief, who on the baule-plaia 
Would have met death wit - side. 

Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; — but as the; 
Look'd horrible vengeance w ith their eyes' 1 ">t sirain, 
And clench 'd the slackening hand at him in vain. 

Dreadful it was to see the ghasllv stare, 
The stoni look of horror at. I 
Which some of these expiring victims cast 
Upon their souls' tormen or to the la-' : — 
Upon that nn eking Field, who-e Neil, now rais'd, 
Show'd them, as in dea h's ag nv ihey gaz'd, 
Not the long-pn mis'.) light, he brow, whose teaming 
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, 
But features hornbler than Hell e'er rac'd 
On its own brood ; — no Demon of the NVaste.S 



they used to se, fi.e to large bunches of dry coml,i.sI No church-yard Ghole caught lingering ID the light 
tihles. fastened round wild beasts and birds, which Of the blest sun, e er bh-ted human sight 



being then let loose, the air and earth appeared one 

great illumination ; and as these let r tied creatures] 3 "The Afghauns believe each of the numerous 

naturaliv fled to the woods for shelter, it is eisy to sn i i(udes an d deserts of their countrv 'o be 

coucr.vethecoufiagration they produced."- Richard- hy a lone | y demon. »h in they call the Ghoolee . 

so/i's Dissertation. Beeahau. or Spirit of the NVaste. They often iltus- ( 

* "The righteous shall be given to drink of pure trate 'he wildness of any u 

wine, sealed; the seal whereof shall be musk."— they ae wild as the Demon of the NVaste. ••—Eiji'un- > 

Koran, chap, lxxxiii. ttont't CaubuL I 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



273 



With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those 

The' Impostor now, in grim ing m ckery, shows: — 

'• There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star— 

'Ye wuuid be dupes and victims, and ye are. 

" Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 

" Lives in your sapie t oosoBis, cheat you still? 

"Swear that the burning dea h ye feel wi bin 

'• Is but the trance wi b uhicb ileav'i.'s joys begin; 

" That ibis foul vi-age, f»ul as e'er disgrae'd 

" Ev n monstrous man, is — af er God s own taste ; 

" And thai — but see . — ere 1 have half-way said 

" My greetings through, the' uncourteous souls are fled. 

" Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die, 

"If Eblis loves you half so well a- I.— 

"Ha, my young bride ! — 'tis well — take thou thy 

" Nay, come— no shuddering— didst thou never meet 
"The Dead before.-— they grae'd our wedding, sweet ; 
"And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true 
" Their parting cups, I hat lliuu slialt pledge one too. 
"But — how is this ? — all empty ? all drunk up ? 
•' Hot lip. have been before thee in the cup, 
" Young bride— yet say— one precious drop remains, 
'• Enough o warm a gentle Priestess' veins ; — 
"Here, diink — and should thy lover's conquering 

a m 
"Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charm, 
" Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, 
"And I'll forgive my haughty rival's blits! 

"For, me — I too must die — but not like these 
'• Vile, ra kliug things, to fester in the breeze ; 
"To.have this biow in ruffian triumph shown, 
" VVi'h all deah's grimness added to it- own, 
"And iot to dust bene th he taunting eyes 
" Of slaves, exclaiming, ' There his Godship lies !' 
" N'i — cured race — since first my soul drew breath, 
" They 've been my dupes, and shall be ev'n in death. 
"Thou see'st you cistern in the shade — 'tisfiil'd 
" With burning drugs, for ibis last hour distill'd: I — 
" I here will I plunge me, in that liquid flame — 
" Fit bath to I ive a dying Prophet's frame ! — 
" There perish, II — ere" pulse of thine shall fail — 
" Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. 
"So shall my vnaries, wheres e'er they rave, 
'• 1'ioclaim tint Heav'n ook back the Saint it gave;— 
"That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile, 
"To come ag in, with bright, unshrouded smile! 
"So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 
" Where knaves sball minister, and fools shall kneel ; 
" Where Faith may utier o'er her mystic spell, 
' Written in blood — and Bigotry may swell 
" The sail liespieads for Heav'n wiih blasts from hell ! 
"So shall my banner, through long ages, be 
" The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; — 
" Kings yet u born shill rue Mokaniia's name, 
"And, though I die. my spirit, still the same, 
"Shall "alk abroad in all the stormy stiife, 
" And guilt, aid blood, that were ils bliss in life. 
•' But, hark I their battel ing engine shakes the wall — 
" why let i shake — thus I can brave them all. 
' No race of me sh ill gree^ them, when hey come, 
"And I cm trust thy faith, for— thou 'It be dumb. 
" Now maik how readily a wietch like me, 
" In one bold plunge, commences Deity 1" 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were said — 
Quick clos'd the burning wa'ers o'er his head, 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing; 
The only wretched one. still curs'd with breath, 
In all that frightful wilderness of death! 



* "II donna du poison dans le vin a tous ses gens, 
et se jetta lui-meme ensuite dans une cuve pleine de 
drogues bruiantes et ennsumante*, afin q ,'il ne rest.it 
rien de t"us les memb'es de sou corps, ei que ceux qui 
resloient de sa secle puisseut cnire qu'il etoit mnne 
au ciel, ce qui ne manqua pas d'arriver."— D'Hcrbe- 
lot. 



More like some bloodless ghost — such as, they tell, 
In the Lone Cities of the silent^ dwell, 
And there, unseen of all but Alia, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it. 

But morn is up, and a fresh warlare stirs 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 
Their globes of fire (the dread artillery lent 
By Greece tc conquering Mahadi) are spent; 
And Don the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent 
From high balistas, and ihe shielded throng 
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, 
All speak the' impatient Islamite's intent 
To try, at length, if tower and battlement 
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win, 
Less tough to break down than the hearts within. 
First in impatience and in toil is he, 
The burning Azim — oh ! could he but see 
The' Impostor once alive within his grasp, 
Nol the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp, 
Could match that gripe of vengeance, or keep pace 
With Ihe fell heartiness of Hale's embrace! 

Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; 
Now shakeihe rampart-, now a buttress falls, 
But still no breach — "Once more, one migh y swing 
"Of all your beams, together thundering!" 
There— ihe wall shakes — Ihe shouting troops exult, 
"Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult 
" Right on tint spo'. and Neksheb is our own !" 
'Tis done — the battlements cme crashing down, 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in two, 
Yawning, like s me old cater, ien' anew, 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through. 
But strange! no signs of life— nought living seen 
Above, below — what cm this stillness mean ? 
A minute's pause suspends all bear s and eyes — 
"In through the breach," impetuous Azim cries; 
But the cool Caliph, feaiful of some wile 
In this blank stilless. checks the iroops awhile. — 
Just then, a figure, with slow sep, advaoe'd 
Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there glanc'd 
A sunbeam over it, all e\es c uld see 
I he well-known Silver Veil ! — -"Tis He, 'tis He, 
" Mokanna, and alone !" they shout around ; 
Young Azim from his steed springs to Ihe ground — 
"Mine, Holy Caliph! mine," he cries, '• the task 
"To crush yon daring wretch — 't is all I ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demnu foe, 
Who still across « ide heaps of ruin slow 
And falteiingly comes, (ill they are near; 
Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, 
And casting off the Veil in falling, shows — 
Oh ! — 'I is his Zelica's life-blood that flows ! 

"I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said, 
As on his trembling arm she lean d her head, 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there 
Beyond all wounds i he quive>ing flesh can bear — 
" I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this : — 
" Though death, with 'bee thus tasted, is a bliss 
"ThouVouldst nut rob me of, didst thou but know, 
" How oft 1 've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
"But the Fiend's venom was loo scant and slow; — 
" To linger on were maddening — and I thought 
"If once that Veil— nay, look not on it— caught 
"The eyes of your fierce soldiery I should be 
"Struck by a thousand death-darts ins a> tly. 
"But this is sweeter — oh ! believe me, yes — 
" 1 would not change this sad, but dear caress 
"This death within thy arms 1 would not give 
" For the most smiling life the happiest live! 
" All, that stood dark and diear before the eye 
"Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by ; 

2 "They have all a great reveence for burial- 
grounds, which they sometimes call by 'he poetical 
name of Cities of the Silen , and which they people 
wi'h the ghosts of the departed, who sit each at ihe 
head of his own grave, invisible lo mortal eyes." 
Elphinstcmc. 



=j 



274 



LALLA ROOKH. 



"A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, 

"Like the first dawn of mercy from ab>ve; 

•'And if Ihy lips but tell me I 'm forgiven, 

•♦Angels will echo the blest words in Heaven I 

" But live, my Azim ; — oh ! to call thee mine 

" Thus once again ! my Azim — dream divine ! 

" Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet 

"Thy Zelica hereafter would be sweet, 

"Oh, live lo pray tor her — to bend the knee 

" Morning and night before that Deity, 

"To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 

"As thine are, Azim, never breath'd in vain, — 

'■And pray thai He may pardon ber,— may take 

"Compassion on her s6'd forthydeir sake, 

" And, nought remembering but her love lo thee, 

" Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 

'■Go to those happy fields where first we twln'd 

"Our youthful hearis together — every wind 

" That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known 

flowers, 
" Will bring ihe sweetness of those innocent hours 
"Back to thy soul, and thon mav'st feel again 
" For thy poor Zelica as 'hou diist then. 
"So sbill tby orisons, like dew that flies 
"To Heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise 
" With all love's earliest ardour to the skies ! 
" And should they — bu', alas, my senses fail — 
"Oh fur one minute '. — should thy p aye's prevail — 
" If pardon'd souls may, from that VVor d of Bliss, 
'■ Reveal their joy to those they love in this — 
" I 'II come to thee— in some sweet dream— and tell— 
" Oh Heav'u— I die— de,ir love ! farewell, farewell !" 

Time fleeted — years on years had pass'd away, 
And few of those who, on that mournful day, 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic gnve, 
Beside the swift Arm o's transparent wave, 
An aged man, who had grown aged there 
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 
For the last time knelt down — and, th ugh the shade 
Of death hung darkening over him. there play'd 
A gleam of rpure on his eye and cheek, 
That brighten'd even Death — like the last streak 
Of intense glory on the horizon's brim. 
When night o'er all Hie rest hangs chill and dim, 
His sou] had seen a Vision, while he slept; 
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
So many years, had con e to Dim, all drest 
In angel s'miles, and told him she «as blest! 
For this the old man breath'd his thanks ai d died, 
And there, upon the banks of thai lov'd tide, 
He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 



The story of the Veiled Prophet of Kliorassan being 
ended, they were now doomed to hear Fadladeen's 
criticisms upon it. A series of disappointments nd 
ace din's h>d occurred lo this learned Chamberlain 
during the jnurnev. In the fir>t place, 'hose couriers 
s'atinned, as in the reign of Shah Jel.an, between 
Delhi and the Western coast of lr..!ia. t> secure a con- 
stant supply of mangoes for Ihe Royal 'I able, had, by 
some cruel* rr eginaiity, f.ii'ed in their duty; and to 
eat any mangoe- but those of Maxasnog was. of course, 
impossible.* In the next place, the elephant, laden 
with his fine antique porcel.ii ,* had, in an unusual 



fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces : — 
an irreparable loss, as mar.y of the vessels were so ex- 
quisitely old, as to have been used under the Empe- 
rors Yan and Chun, who reigned many years before 
the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, too, supposed to be 
the identical copy between the leaves of which Ma- 
h> met's favourite pigeon used to nestle, bad been mis 
laid by his Koran bearer three whole days ; not with- 
out much spiritual alarm to Fadladeen, who, though 
professing to hold with other loyal aid orthodox Mus- 
sulmans, that sal va ion could only be f. und in the 
Koran, was strongly suspected of believing in his 
heart, that it could only be found in b'S own par icular 
copy of it. When to all these grievances is added the 
obstinacy of the cooks, in potting ihe pepper of Canara 
into his dishes instead of the cinnamon of Serendib. we 
may easily supp se that he came to the task of criti- 
cism with, a least, a sufficient degree of irritability 
for the purpose. 

•' In ( rder," said he, importantly swinging about 
his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my 
opinion of Ihe story this young man has related, it is 
necessary to take a review of all the stories that have 

ever " — '• My good Fadladeen!" exclaimed the 

Princess, interrupting him, " we really do not de- 
serve that you should give yourself so much trouble. 
Your opinion of ihe poem we have just heard, will, I 
have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, withou 1 any- 
further waste of your valuable eruditijn." — "If that 
be al ," replied the critic, — evidently mollified a' not 
being allowed lo show how much he knew about 
every thing, but the subject immedia ely before him — 
"if that be all that is required, 'he mailer is easily 
despacbed." He then proceeded to analyse the poem, 
in that strain (so well known to the unfortuna'e bards 
of Delhi), whose censures were an infliction from 
which few recovered and whose very piaises were 
like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers rf 
the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, if 
he rightly understood them, an ill-favoured gentleman, 
wih a veil over his face; — a young lad] 
reason went and came, r-ccordir g as it sui'cd the poet's 
convenience ;o be sensible > r otherwise ; — and a youth 
in one of those hideous Bucharian bonnes, who took 
the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a divinity. 
"From such materials," said he, "what can be 
expected ?— after rivalling each other in longspeeches 
and absurdities, through some thousands of liurs as 
indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, our friend in the 
veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady 
dies in a set speech, whose only rec mma 
that it is her last; and the lover lives on lo a good 
old ace, for the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost, 
which he at lasl hapi ily accomplishes, and expires. 
This, you will all >w, is a fair summary of : 
and if" Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, 
our Holy Prophet (to whom be all honour and gloiy '.) 
had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story- 
telling »» 

With respect to the style, it was worthy of Ihe mat- 
ter ;— it had not even lho-e po;iric coi trivaoces of 
structure, which make op for the commonness of the 



» " The celebrity of M.izagong is owing to its man- 
goes, which are certainly the lest fruit I ever tasted. 
The parent-tree from which all those of this species 
have been grafted, is honoured dining the fruit season 
by a guard of sepoys; and. in Ihe reign of Shah Jelan, 
couriers were st > ioned between Delhi aid Ihe Mah- 
s-jpplyof 
». Graham's Jour- 
j nal of a Residence iu IuJia. 

I » This old porcelain is found in digging, and " if if 
, is esteemed, it is not because it his acquired any pew 



decree of beauty in the earth, but because it has re- 
tained its ancient beau'y ; and this alone i 
importance in China, "here they give lar~e 
the smallest vessels which were used under the Em- 
perors Yan and t ; 
the dvnas'v of la ;, a' » h eh I n 
to be used by the Emperor-" (abonl the year 442). — 
Dunn's C< flection of C"i -c ; — a 

bad translation of s'me parts of the l.ettres Edifian'es 
et Curieuses of the Missionary Jesuits. 
3 " La lecture de ces Fables plaisoit si fcrt aux 
nue, quartd Marnmet les ettretenoit de PHis- 
toire de I'Ancien les am 
disant que celles que Nasser leur r 
beaucon) e preferec.ee attira a N -s- 

ser l< malediction de Mahomet et ie tous s<s disci- 
ples." — DHarUlct. 



VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 



275 



thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner, nor that 
stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments 
mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's* apron 
converted into a banner, are so easily gilt and em- 
broidered inio consequence. Then, as to the versifi- 
cation, it was, to say no worse ol it, execrable: it 
Lad neither the copious How of Ferdo-i, I he sweet- 
ness of Hafez, nor the sententious maich of Sadi ; but 
appeared to him, in the uneasy heaviness of its move- 
ments, to have been modelled upon the gait oC a very 
tired dromedary. The licenses, too, in which it in- 
dulged, were unpardonable ; — for instance this line, 
and the poem abounded with such; — 

Like ihe faint, exquisite music of a dream. 

" What critic that can count," said Fadladeen, " and 
has his full complement of fingers to count withal, 
would toleia'e fur an instant such syllabic superflui- 
ties?"— He here looked round, and discovered ihat 
most of his audience were asleep; while the glim- 
mering lamps seemed inclined to follow their exam- 
ple. It bee ime nectssaiy, therefore, however painful 
to himself, 10 put an end 10 his valuable animadver- 
sions for the pre-eot, and he accordingly concluded, 
with an air of dignified candour, thus : — " Notwith- 
standing Hie observations which 1 have though' it my 
duly to make il is by no means my wish to discourage 
the young man: — so far from it, indeed, that if he 
will but totally alter his style of writing and think- 
ing, I have very little doubt that I shall be vastly 
pleased with him." 

Some days elapsed, after this harangue of the Great 
Chamberlain, before Lalla Rookh could venture lo ask 
for another story. The you h was still a welcome 
guest in the pavilion— to one heart, perhaps, too dan- 
gerously welcome ; — but all mention of poetry was, 
as if by common con-ent, avoided. Though none of 
the party had much respect for Fadladeen, yet his 
cen-ures, thus magisterially delheied, evidently made 
an impression on them all. The Poet, liim-elf, to 
whom criticism was quite a new operation, (being 
wholly unknown in that Paradise of ihe Indies, Cash- 
mere,) felt the shock as it is generally fell at first, till 
u»e has nude it more tolerable lo Ihe | atient ; — Ihe 
Ladies begin to suspect that they ought not lo be 
pleased, and seemed to conclude >hat theie mu-t have 
been much good sense in what Fadladeen said, fiom 
its having set them all so soundly to sleep; — while 
the self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph 
in the idea of having, for the hundred and fiftieth 
time in his life, extinguished a P e'. Lalla Rookh 
alone — and Love knew why — persisted in being 
deliichled with all she had heard, and in resolving to 
hear more as speedily as possible. Her manner, how- 
ever, of first returning to the subject was unlucky. 
It was while they rested during Ihe heat of noon near 
a fountain, on which some hand had rudely traced 
those well-known words from the Garden of Sadi,— 
" Many, like me, have viewed this fountain, but they 
are gone, and their eyes are closed forever!'' — lhat 
she took occasion, from the melancholy beauty of this 
pas-age, to dwell up n the charms of poetry in gen- 
eral. '• It is true," she said, "few poels can imitate 
that sublime bird, which flies always in the air, and 
never touches the earth : 2 — it is only once in many 



» The blacksmith Gao, who successfully lesis'ed 
the tyrant Zoliak, and whose apron became the Ro)al 
Standard of Persia. 

2 " The Huma, a bird peculiar to the East. It is 
supposed to fly constantly in the air, and never touch 
Ihe ground ; it is looked upon as a bird of happy 
omen ; and that every head it overshades will in time 
wear a crown."— Richardson. 

In the terms of alliance made by Fuzzel Oola Khan 
with Hyder in 1760, one of the stipulations was, 
"that he should have the distinction of two honorary 
attendants standi; g behind him, holding fans com- 
posed of the feathers of the humnia, according to the 



ages a Genius appears, whose words, like those on the 
Written Moun ain, last for ever : 3 — hut still there 
are some, as delightful, perhaps, though not so won- 
derful, who, if not stars over our head, are at least 
flowers along our path, and whose sweetiie-s of the 
moment we ought gratefully to inhale, without call- 
ing upon them for a brightness and adur bilily beyond 
their naiure. In shor , continued she, blushing, as if 

iscious of being caught in an oration, " it is quite 
cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions 
of enchantment, without having a critic for ever, 
like the old Man of Ihe Sea, upon his back !" * — 
Fadladeen, it was plain, look this last luckless allu- 
sion to himself, and would treasure it up in his mind 
as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sudden 
silence ensued ; and the Princess, glancing a look at 
Feramorz. saw plainly she must wait for a more 
courageous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fragrant 
airs, playing freshly over the cunent of youthful spi- 
rits, will so n heal even deeper wounds Ihan the dull 
Fadladeens of this vvnild cm inflict In an evening 
or two after, they came >o the small Valley of Gardens, 
which had been planted by order of Ihe Emper r, for 
his favourite sister Rochinara, during their progress to 
Cashmere, some years before ; and never was Iheie a 
more spaikling assemblage of sweets, since the Gul- 
zar-e-Irem, or Rose-bouer of lrem. Every precious 
flower was there to be fund, that poetry, or love, or 
religion, has ever consecrated; from the dark hya- 
cinth, to whicli Hafez compares his mistress's hair,' to 
the Camalala, by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of 
lndra is scented. 6 As they sat in the cool fragrance of 
this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked that she 
could fancy it the abode of that Flower-loving Nwnph 
whom they worship in the temples of Kalhay,'' or of 
one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air, 
who live upon peifuines, and lo whom a place like 
this might make some amends for the Paiadise they 



practiceof his family." — fPilAs's Soulh of India. He 
adds in a note; — "The Humma is a fabulous bird. 
The head over which its shadow once passes will 
assuredly be circled with a crown. The splendid 
little bi d su-pended over the Ihrone of Tippoo Sul- 
taun, found at Seringij atam in 1799, was intended to 
represent this poetical fancy." 

3 "To the pilgrims to Mount Sinai we must attri- 
bute the inscriptions figures, &c. on those rocks, 
which have from thence acquired the name of the 
Written Mountain." — f-'olney. M. Gebeliu and 
o'hers have been at much pains to attach some mys- 
terious and important meaning to these inscriptions ; 
but Niebuhr, as well as Volney, thinks lhat they must 
have been executed at idle hours by the travellers to 
Mount Sinai, " who were satisfied with cutting the 
unpolished rock with any pointed instrument ; adding 
to iheir names and the dale of their journeys some 
rude figures, » hich bespeak Ihe hand of a people but 
little skilled in the arts." — Niebuhr. 

« The Story of Siubad. 

5 See Noll's Hafez, Ode v. 

6 "The Camalala (called by Linnaeus, Ipomaea) is 
the most beautiful of its order, both in the colour and 
form of its leaves aid flowers; its elegant blossoms 
are 'celestial ro*y red, Love's proper hue,' and have 
justly procured it the i.ame of Camalata, or Love's 
Creeper."— Sir IV. Jones. 

" Camalala may also mean a mythological plant, by 
which all desires ate gtanted to such as inhabit the 
heaven of lndra; and if ever flower was woithyof 
paradise, il is our charming Ipomaea." — lb. 

i "According lo Father Premare, in his tract on 
Chinese Mythology, Ihe mo her of Fo-hi was the 
daughter of heaven, surnanied Flower-loving; and as 
the nymph was walking alone on the bank of a river, 
she found herself encircled by a rainbow, alter which 
she became pregnant, and, at the end of twelve years, 
wasdeliveed of a sen ladiant as herself."— Jisiat. Res. 



276 



LALLA ROOKH. 



have lest, — the young Poet, in who*e eyes she ap- 
peared, while she spoke, to be one of the bright spi- 
ritual creatures she «a« des.ribiiig. said hesitatingly 
thai he remembered a Story of a Feri, which, if the 
Princess had no objection, he would venture to relate, 
"li is,'' said he, wi h an appealing look to Fadladeen, 
"in a lighter am) humbler sirain than the other:" 
then, s riking a few caiele^s but melancholy chorda 
on his kitar, he thus began : — 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden at od, disconsolate; 
And as she listeu'd to the Springs 

Of Life within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open por al glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 

' How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
1 Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 

" Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; 
'Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
' And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 

''One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all ! 



1 Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, 
; With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,i 

"And mim ly the f Hints of ihat Valley fall ; 
' Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-bav, 
• And the golden floods that 'hitherward stray,* 
'Yet— Oh, 'I is only the Blest can say 

"How the waters of He >veu outshine them all ! 



"Go, wing thy flight from s'ar to star, 
" From world to luminous world, a* far 

" As the universe spreads its flaming wall : 
"Take all 'he pleasures of all Hie spheres, 
"And mill iply e.ch through endless years, 

"One minute of Heaven is worth them all 

The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
The gales of Light, beheld her weeping; 
And, as he nearer drew and listened 
To her sad son?, a tea'-drop glisten d 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flow'r, which — Bramins say 

Bl onis nowhere but in Paradi : e,3 

" Nymph of a fair but erring line !" 
Gently ho said — " One hope is hine. 
"'T is written in the Hook of Fate, 

" Tin Peri yet may be forgiven 
" Who limits tu this Etcrnm gate 

" The Gijl that is most dear to Heaven ! 



> "Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake 
of Cashmere, One is called Char C'henaur, from the 
plane trees upon it." — Foiter. 

a "The Alan Kol or Golden River of Tibe', which 
runs into the Lakes of Sing-.u-hav, has abun lance of 
gold in its sands, which empl ys the inhabitants all Ihe 
summei in gathering it.'' — Description of Tibet in 
Pinkerton. 

' "The Brahmins of this province insist that the 
blue campac flowers only in Paradise."— Sir IV. Jones. 
It appears, however, from a curious let'er of the Sul- 
tan of Mr.uangeahow. given Ly Ma sden, that one 
place on eanh may lay cliim to the possession of it. 
'•This is the Sultan, w'h > keeps the fl o>ei ch mpaka 
thst is blue, and to be fou d in n > other country but 
hit, being yellow elsewhere." — Marsdafs Sumatra. 



'Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin — 
•') is si\eet to let the Pardon'd in." 

Rapidly as comets run 

To the' embraces of the Sun ; — 

Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel hands* 

At those dark and daring spri es 

Who would climb he' empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the Peii flies, 

And, lighted earthward by a glance 
That just then bioke fiom morning's eyes, 

Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 

But whither shall the Sprit go 

To find ihisgilt fr Heav'u?— "I know 

"The wealth," she cries, "of even- urn, 

"In which unnumber'd rubies burn, 

" Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ; 4 

" I know wheie the Isles of Perfume are* 

" Many a fathom down in he sea, 

" To tiie souh of sun-bright Araby ; 1 

" I know, too, where the Gen.i hid 

"The jewell'd cup of theii King Jamshid,8 

'• With Lite's elixir sparkling high — 

" But gifts like these are not for He sky. 

" Where was there ever a gem hat shone 

" Like the steps of Alla's »omlerful Throne? 

"And the Diop- of Life— oh ! what would they be 

" In the boundless Deep of Eternity r" 

While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 
The air of tha' sweet iud an land, 
Whose air is balm , whose ocean -preadi 
O'er coral rocks, and amber beds ; 9 
Who-e mountains, pregnant by the beam 
Of the waim sun, with dnmonds teem; 
Whose rivuiets are like rich bride-, 
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides; 
Wh se modal groves and bowers of spice 
Might beaPeri'sPaiadi-e! 
But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood — the so ell of death 
Came reeking fr mi those spicy bowers, 
And man, the sacrifice of man, 

Mingled DM dint with every' breath 
Opwafted from the innocent fljwers. 



* "The Mahometans sup|>ose that falling stars are 
the firebrands wherewith the go<>d angels drive away 
the bad, when they approach too near the empyrean 
or verge of the heaveus."— fryer. 

* I he Forty Pillars ; so the Persians call the ruini 
of Persepolis. It is imagined by them that this place 
and the edifice* at Balbec were built by Genii, for 
thepuiposeof hiding in their subterraneous caverns 
iminei.se treasures, which still remain there. 
D'Hcrbelot. Koriity. 

* Diodorus mentions the isle of Panrhaia, to the 
soulh of Arabia Felix, w here theie was a temple of 
Jupiter. I his isla d or la her cu-lei of i-les. has 
disappeared, "suok (says iirandpre) in 

made by Ihe lire beneath their foundations."— i'oyagt 
to the Indian Ocean. 

l The Isles of Panchaia. 

«" The cup of J mshid, discovered, they say. when 
disgiig for the foundations of Persepjlis."'— kichard- 
tmi. 

9 " It is not like the Sea of India, whose bot om is 
rich with pear.s and an ! .n'ainsof 

the c ast are sored with g Id aud pieci us stones, 
whose gulfs breed crea: wry, and 

among the plants of whose -h res are e 
wood, and the wood of H iivan, aloes, ci 
clove-, saudal-wood, and all o'her -pices aid aro- | 
n.atics ; w here parrots and peacocks aie birds of the 
. L.j>ou the 
lands."— Ti 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 



277 



Land of the Sun ! what foo - invades 

Thy Pagod- and thy pillar'd shades' — 

Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones, 

Thy Monarch* and their thousand Thrones?* 

>T is He of GaztiaS _ fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
Lie scalter'd in his ruinous path.— 

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Tom from the violated necks 

Of many a young and lo«M Sultana ; * 
Maidens wi hiu their pure Zenana, 
Priests in the very fane he slaughters, 
And choaks up with the glittering wrecks 
Of golden shrines the sacred waters! 

Downward ihe Peri turns her gaze, 
And, 'hrough the war-field's bloody baze 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand, 

Alone beside his native river. — 
The red blade broken in his hand, 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 

" Live," said the Conqueror, " live to share 

"The trophies and llie crowns I bear!' 

Silent thai youthful warrior stood — 

Silent he pointed to the flood 

All crimson with his country's blood, 

Then sent his last remaining dart, 

For answer, to the' Invader's heart. 

False flew the shaft, though pointed well j 

The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell I — 

Yet maik'd the Fed where he lay, 
And, » hen the rush of war was past, 

Swiftly descending on a ray 
Of morning light, she caught the last — 

Last glorious drop his heart h.d shed, 

Before its free-born spirit lied ! 

Be this," she cried, as she wing*d her flight, 
, My welcome gift ai the Gates of Light. 
I " Though foul are the drops that oft distil 

'• On the field of waifare, blood like (his, 

" For Libeity shed, so holy is,* 

It would not sta.n the purest rill, 

"That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 



l in the ground 

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow- 
About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, 
High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between. 
Mil'.on. 

For a particular description and plate of the 
Banyan-tree, see Cordintr's Get Ion. 

3 •' With this immense treasure M>mood relumed 
'o Ghizni, and in the year 400 prepared a magnificent 
festival, where he displayed to the people his wealth 
in g Iden thrones and in other ornaments, in a great 
plain without the city i f Ghizn ."— FLrishta. 

3 " Mahmnod of Gazna, or Ghizni. who conquered 
India in 'he beginning of the llth century." — See his 
History in Duw and Sir /. Malcolm. 

* " II is reported that the hunting equipage of the 
Sultan Mahmond was so magnificent, that he kept 400 
greyhounds and bloodh mn Is, each of which wore a 
collar set with jewels, and a covering edged with 
gold and pearls "—Univirsal History, vol. iii. 

s Objections may be made to my use of the word 
Liberty in this, and more especially in the story that 
follows it. as totally inapplicable to any state of t'hings 
that has ever existed in the Eat; but though I can- 
not, of course, mean to employ i' in that enlarged 
and noble sense which is s" well underst"oi at the 
presen - day. and, I grieve to say. so I it' le acted up >n, 
vet it is no disparagement to tie word to apply it to 
that national independence ih't freedom from the 
in erference and dic'ati>n of foreigners, without 
which indeed, no 1 brrty nf any kind cm exist ; and 
for wh'ch both Hindo s and Per-ians fought against 
their Mussulman invaders wi'h in many cases, a 
bravery 'hat deserved much better success. 

24 



1 Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 

' A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 

' 'T is the la^t liba'ion Liberty draws 

' From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause! 



The gift into his radiant hand, 
"Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 

'• Who die thus for their native Land.— 
" But see — alas 1 — the crys at bar 
" Of Eden moves not — holier far 
" Thau ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
" That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee !" 
Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 

Now among Afr.c's lunar Mountaius,6 
Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 

And sleek"d her plumage at the fountains 
Of that Egyptian tide — whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth 
Deep in those solitary woods, 
Wheie oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail Ihe new-born Giant's smile.* 
Thence over Egypt's palmy groves, 

Her gros. and sepulchres of Kiogs,8 
The exil'd Spirit sighing roies ; 
And HOW hangs listening to the doves 
In warm Risetta's vale 9 — now loves 

To watch Ihe m onlight on the wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Moeris' Lake.iO 
'T was a fair scene — a Land more bright 

Never did mortal eye behold ! 
Who could haie thought, that saw this night 

Those valle\s and their fruits of gold 
Basking in He'av'n's serenest light ;— 
Those groups nf lovely da r e trees bending 

Languidly iheir leaf-crown'd heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 

Wans them to their silken beds ; " — 
Those virgin lilies, all Ihe night 

Bulling Iheir beau'ies in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and bright, 

When their beloved Sun 's awake ; — 
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
The relics of a splendid dream; 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Nought but the lapwing's crv is heard, 
Nought seen but (when the shadows, Hitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam,) 
Some purple-wing'd Sullana 12 sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 



6 "The Moun'ains of ihe Moon, or Ihe Monies 
Lunx of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is 
supposed to arise.' — Bruce. 
| "Sometimes called,'' says Jackson, "Jihbel Kum- 
i rie. or Ihe white or lunar-coloured mountains ; so a 
white horse is called by the Arabians a moon-coloured 
, horse." 

i " The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by the 
names of a hey and Alawy, or the Giant." — Asiat. 
Research., vol. i. p. 387. 

8 See Perry's View of the Levant for an account of 
the sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless 
gr ts covered all over wi b hieroglyphics in the 
mountains of Upper Egypt. 

s "The orchards of Rose'ta are filled with turtle- 
doves."— Sonnini. 

io Savry mentions Ihe pelicans upon Lake Mceris. 

11 "The superb da'e-lree. who«e head languidly 
reclines, like that of a handsome woman overcome 
with sleep" — Difard el Hadad. 

i* " That beautiful bird, with plumage of ihe fines' 
shining blue, with purple beak and legs, the na'ural 
and 1 ■ v ing ornament of the temples and palaces of the 
Greeks and Romans, which, fr m the siateliness of its 
port, as well as the brilliancy of its colours, has ob- 
tained the title of Sultana.'' — Sonnini. 



278 



LALLA ROOKH. 



And glittering like an Idol bird ! — 

Who could have thought, th.it there, ev'n there, 

Amid those scenes so still and fair, 

The Demon of the PI .gue hath cast 

From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 

More mortal far than ever came 

Fiom the red Desert's sands of flame! 

So quick, that every living thing 

Of human shape, louch'd by h s wing, 

Like plains, where the Simoom hath past, 

At once falls black and withering ! 

The sun went down on many a brow, 

Which, full of bloom and freshness then, 
Is rankling in the pes'.-house now. 

And ne'er will feel that sun again. 
And, oh ! to see the' unburied heaps 
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away, 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hyaena sialks i 
Throughout the city's desolate walks* 
At midnight, and his carnage plies : — 

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
The glaring of those large blue eyes 3 

Amid the darkness of the streets ! 

•'Poor race of men!" said the pitying Spirit, 

" Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall — 
"Some flow'retfl of Eden ye still inherit 

'• But the trail of the Serpent is over them all ! 
She wept — the air grew pure and clear 

Around her, as the bright drops ran 
For i here's a magic in each tear, 

Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 
Just then beneath some orange trees, 
Whose fruit aid bloss >ms in the breeze 
Weie wantoning together, free, 
Like age at play with infancy — 
Beneath that fiesh and sprinting bower, 

Close by the Lake, she heard ihe moan 
Of one who, ai this silent hour, 

Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
One who in life where'er he mov'd, 

Drew after him the hearts of many; 
Yet now, as though he ne'er were l«v'd, 

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! 
None to watch i.ear him — none to slake 

1 be lire that in his bosom lies. 
With ev'n a sprinkle from that like, 

Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No voice, well known through many a day 

To speak 'he last, the par ing word, 
Which, when all o>her soonds decay, 

Is still like distant music heard ; — 
That lender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
Which cheers Ihe spirit, ere its bark 
Tuts off into the unknown Dark. 

Deserted youth ! one thought ill ne 

Shed joy arotrod his soul in death — 
That she, whom he f r year had known, 
And I'v'.l. and might have call'd his own, 

Was sale from this foal midnight'; breath, — 
Safe in her father's princely halls. 
When- the cool airs from f unain falls, 



i Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in 
West Barbary, when he wis there, says "The birds 
of the air ted away from he abodes of men. The 
hyenas, on the contrary, visited the cemeteries,'" &c. 

3"Gondar was full of hyena* from the time it 
turned dark, till the dawn of d ly, seeking the differ- 
ent pieces of slaughtered carcasses, which this ciuel 
and unclean people expose in the streets without 
burial, and who firmly believe that these animals are 
Falashta from 'he neighb uring mountains, trans- 
formed by magic, and come d >wn to eat human flesh 
in the dark in safety." — Bruce. 

* Bruce. 



Freshly perfum'd by many a brand 
Of the' sweet wood' from India's land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. 

But see — who yonder comes bv stealth,* 
This melancholy bower to seek, 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 

With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? 
'T is she— 'far off, through moonlight dim 

He knew his own be rothed bride, 
She, who would rather die with him, 

Than live to gain the world beside ! — 
Her arms are round her lover now, 

His livid cheek to hers she presses, 
And dips, to bii d his burning brow, 

In the cool lake her loosend tresses. 
Ah! once, how little did he think 
An hour would come, » hen he should shrink 
With horror from that dear embiace, 

Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he j ields — now turns away 
Shuddering ..s if the venom lay 
All in those prutfer'd lips alone — 
Those lips Iha', then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his uuask'd or without shame. 

" Oh '. let me only breathe the air, 

"The blessed air, that s breath'd by tbee, 
"And, whe her on its wings it bear 

" Healing or death. 'I is sw eel to me ! 
"There — drink my tears, while yet they fall - 

" Would that nn bo om's bind were balm, 
"And, well ihou kn iw'st, I d shed it all, 

" To giie thy brow one minute's calm. 
" Nai . turn not from me that dear face — 

"Am I not thine — thy own lov'd bride — 
"The one, the cln sen one. whose place 

" In life or death is by thy s de ? 
" Think'st thou that she, Whose only light, 

" In this dim woild, from thee ha'h shone, 
" Could bear the long, the cheerless night, 

" I ha' i ii thou ait gone ? 

" That I can live, and !ei thee go, 
" Who art my life itself!- — No, to — 
'• When the stem dies Ihe leaf that grew 
" Out of its heart mu-t perish too ! 
" 1 hen tuni to me, my own hue, turn, 
" Before, like thee, I ta le and burn ; 
'• Cling to these vet cool Irps, an I share 
" The last pure life that lingers there !" 

She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In chamel airs, or cavern-damp, 

S ■ quicklv d i his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One strugge — and bis pain is past — 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kiss the maiden gives ' ne last. 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving! 

"Sleep," said tlte Feri. as sofilv -): e states 
The faiewcli si-h - I that v.n i.-hi g o 1, 
As true as e'er » arin'd a woman's breast — 
■ Slerp i n. in visions of i di ur rrs', 
" In balmier airs ih in evei j 

chanted pile i f that Innely bird, 
" Who sings at the last his own di 
"And in mi-ic and perfume dies v 



* This circumstai rr has I een often introduced into 
poetry;— bv Vincentius Fati-ici.s. bj Darwin, and 
lately, with very p >we ful effec', by Mr. Wil-on. 

s •• In the En-t, they -• K to have 

and that, afe' ii. 
himself a funeral ; 
eiit harmonies it, 

wings w ith a velocity which se's fire to the wooi,aad 
- himself."'— Richcudson. 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 



279 



Thus saving, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the plice, 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and sited 

Such lustre o'er each paly face, 
Tint like two love y saints, they seem'd, 

Tpoii the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping; 

\Vhi:e that benevolent Peri beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken. 

But mnrn is blushing in the sky; 

Again the Pen soars above, 
Bearing to Heav'u ihat piecious sigh 

of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 

The Ehsiau [aim she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 

Smii'd as she gave that offering in j 
And she alirady hears the trees 

Of Eden, with thrir crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

Ilia' from the throne of Alia swells; 
And she can see the starry howls 
That lie around thai lucid like, 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take ! * 

But, ah ! even Peris' hopes are vain — 

Again the Faies foibade, again 

'1 he' immor'al barrier closM — " Not yet," 

The Angel said, as with regret, 

He shut from her that glimp e of glory — 

"True was the maiden, and her story, 

«' Written in light o'er Alla's head, 

"Bv -e aph eyes shall long be read. 

"But, Peri, see — the crystal bar 

"Of EJen movc:s not — holier far 

" Than e 'n this sigh the boon must be 

"That opes the Gates of Heavn fur thee." 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses » 
Sofily the light of Eve reposes, 
And, like a glory, > lie broid sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, 

And whi ens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of flowers, 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet 

To 01 e, who look'd from upper air 
O'er all the' enchmted regions there, 
How beau eous must have been the glow, 
The life, the sparkling from below 1 
Fair girdens, shining s reams, with ranks 
Of gi Iden melons on their banks, 
More g Iden where the sun-light falls; — 
Gay lizirds, glittering on the walls3 
Of ruin'd shrine-, busy and bright 
As they were all alive with light ; 
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pi<e ms, set ling on the rocks. 
With their rich re- less wings, that gleam 
Variously in ihe crimsou beam 



i '• On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a 
thousand goblets, made of stars, out of which souls 
predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave." 
—From Chateaubriand's De-crip-ion of the Mahome- 
tan Paradise, in his Beauties of Christianity. 

» Richa.'dson thinks that Syria had its inme from 
Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which 
tha' country has been a!wa\s famous ; — hence, Suris- 
tan, the Land of Roses. 

3 ■' The number of lizards I saw one day in the 
great enort of the Tetr.ple • f the Sun at Ealhec, amount- 
ed to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones 
of the ruined buildings, were covered with them."— 
Bruce. 



Of the warm West,— as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
The' unclouded skies of Peristan. 
And then the mingling sounds that come, 
Of shepherd's ancient reed,* with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, s 

Banquet.rig through the flowery vales; 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods, so full of nightingales.* 

But nought can charm the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary — 
Joyless she sees the Sun look down 
On that great Temple, once his own,i 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 

Flinging their shadows from on high, 
Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 

Had rais'd to count his ages by ! 

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 
Benra'h those Chambers of the Sun, 

Some amulet of gems, anneal'd 

In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes, 

May teach her where, beneath the moon, 

In earth or ocean, lies the boon, 

The charm, that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies. 

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither j 

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 

Nor have the golden bouers of Even 
In the rich West begun to wither ; — 
When, o'er the vaie of Balbec winging 

Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
Among the rosy wild flowers singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies.* 
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flowers or fl> ing gems: — 
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play 
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw- a wearied man dismount 

From h:s hot s eed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount S 

Impatient Ming him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
Sullenly fierce — a mix ure dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; 
In which the Pen's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ru'hless deed ; 
The ruin'd maid — the shiine profan'd — 
Oaths broken — and the threshold slain'd 



* "The Syrinx or Pan's pipe is still a pastoral 
instrument in Syria.'' — Russel. 

s " Wild bees, frequent in Palestine, in hollow 
trunks or branches of tiees, and Ihe clefts of rocks. 
Thus it is said (Psalm lxxxi.1. ' fumey out of the 
stony rocA.' " — Burdens Oriental Customs. 

6 "The river Jordan is on both sides beset with 
little, thick, and pleasant woods, among which thou- 
sands of nightingales warble all toge.her." — Theve- 
not. 

t The Temple of the Sun at Balbec. 

8 " You behold there a considerable number of a 
remarkable species of ben utiful insects, the elegance 
of whose appearance and their attiie procured for 
them the name of Damsels.'' — Sunnini. 

9 Imaret, " hospice ou on loge et nnurrit, gratis, les 
pelenns pend.mt tr is jours.'' — Todtrini, translated 
by the Abbe de Cour'nand. — See also Castellan's 
Mceu s des Ottomans, torn. v. p. 145. 



280 



LALLA ROOKH. 



With blood of guests ! — there written, all, 
Black as the damning drops 'hat fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Ere Mercy weeps them out again. 

Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(As if the balmy evening time 
Soflen'd his spiiit) look'd aud lay, 
Wa clung 'he rosy infaui's play : — 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell en the boy's, its lurid gauce 

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, i hat h .ve buiUt ali night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 

Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But, hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 

As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
The boy has siarled from the bed 
Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon the fragrant -od 

Kneels .'- wilh his fmetieaJ to the south, 
Lisping the' eternal name of God 

From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of fVadi-e, 
Just lighted' on that r.owery plain, 
And seeking for i s home ig in. 
Oh ! 't was "a sight — that Heav'n — that child — 
A scene, which might have well beguil'd 
Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 
For glories lost and pe>ce gone by! 

And how felt he, the wre ched Man 

Reclining there — while memory ran 

O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 

Flew o'er the dark flood of his lite, 

Nor found one sunny resting-place, 

Not In ought him back one branch of grace. 

"There was a time " he said, in mild, 

Heart-humbled mnes — " ih u blessed child ! 

" When, young and haply pure as thou, 

"I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " 

He hung his head — each nobler aim. 

And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant c.me 

Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redccmi: 4 flow 
Is felt the tir-t, the only - 

Of guiltless joy that guili c^n know. 
"There's a drop,'' said the Peri, "that down from 

the moon 
" Falls through the wi'herine airs of June 
" Upon Egypt's land/* of so beating a power, 
" So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in ihe hour 



That drop descends, contagion dies. 

And health remimaes earth and skies! — 

Oh, is it not thus, hou man of sin, 

" The precious tears of repentance fall ? 

Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 

" One heavenly drop hath dispel I'd them all !" 

And now — behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
While the same sunbeam shines upon 
The guiliy and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven ! 

'T was when Ihe golden orb bad set, 
While on their knees hey linger'd yet, 
There fell a light mo e lovely far 
Th .n ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the lea tha", w.,rm and meek, 
Dew'd tha repentant sinnei's cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A noithern ila-h or me eor beam — 
But well th' enraptured Fen knew 
>T was a bright smile Ihe Angel threw 
From Heaven's gate, to hail That tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

"Joy. joy for ever! my task is done — 

" T he Caes are a-s'J, and Heaven is won ! 

" Oh ! am I not happy ? I am. I am — 

" To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad 
" Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiim. 3 

"And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad ! 

" Farewell, ye odours rf Farth. that die 
" Pas-ing away like a lovei's sigh ; 
'• Mv feast is now of the Tooba Tre.« 
" Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 

'• Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
" In my f- 1 r y w re.vh. sn bright and brief ;- 

"Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er have blown, 

"To the loe-tree. springing by Alla^ throne,* 
" Whose floweis have a sou! in every leaf. 
. for ever ! — my ta-k is d uc — 

" The Gates are pass'd, and heav'n is won !" 



i •' Such Turks as at the common hours of prayer 
are on the road, or so employed as not to rind con- 
venience to afei.d the mo-aues, are still obliged to 
execute th 't du'y; nor ire ihey ever known to fail, 
whatever busine-s they are then about, hut pray iui- 

i mediately when the hour alarms them, whatever 
they are about, in that very place they chance to stand 

' on ; insomuch that when a janissary, uhnm you have 

I to guard y u up and down ihe city, hears the notice 
which is given him from the stee'ples, he will (urn 
about, stand still, aid b.-ck >n wi h his hand, to tell 
his charge he must have i a 'ien< e for awhile; when, 
taking out his handkerchief, he spreads it on the 
ground, sits cross-legged thereupon, and says hi* 
pravers, though in Ihe open market, which, having 
ended, he leaps briskly up. salutes the pe son whom 
he undertook hi convey, am! rt-new s his journey Willi 
the mild expression of Ghell goAnniun erhdL, or 

, Come dear, follow me."— Moron HUl's, Travels. 

I * The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in 



" And this.'' said the Great Chamberlain, " is 
! s nim-y manulactu'e rf ihe tram, which, 
in coinuai 

of genius, is as the g Id filigree work of Zan-ara be- 
side ihr i After this 
. which, with a few n.' re of ihe 
en kept by I. tin f r a>e and im- 
I ortaut ny of Ihe 
short poem ju«t reci'ed. •;. kind of 

* hicb it was wriiten ought to be dc 
lie said, as One of the le : 

m t given to this lawless facility, we shou 

over-iun by a rce of baids as numerous and as thai- 



Egyp' precisely on St. John's day, in Ji 

igue. 
s The Country of Delight — the name of a province 
in -he kingdom 

capial of which is called the Citv rf Jew, 
berabad is amther of tie cil.es . f Juinisan. 

* Ihe sicds in Paradise, in Ihe 
palace .i See 5 .>'< Prtlim. Di-: - 

svvs lSfhrUUi, signifies beat.tude, or eternal happi- 

* Mahome 1 is . ; r of the 

Ko a- , \s havi- g seen tic 

I d which there is 

! Ete nal Abode."* 'I ': is 're, «ys 

;n the seven h Heaven, on the right 
hand of the T hrone 



LALLA ROOKH, 



231 



low as Ihe hundred and twenty thousand Streams of 
Basra.i They who succeeded in this style deserved 
chastisement for Iheir very success ; — as warriors 
have been punished, even after gaining a victory, 
because they had taken the liberty of gaining it in an 
irregular or joeslablished manner. Wba>, then, was 
to be said to those who failed ? lo those who presumed, 
as in Ihe present lamen able ir.s'ance, '0 imitate the 
license and ea-e of the bolder sons of song, without 
any of that grace or vigour which gave a dignity even 
to negligence;— who, like hem. flung the jereed * 
carelessly, but riot, like them, to the mirk; — '"and 
who," said he, raising bis voice to exci e a proper 
decree of wakefulness in his hearers. " contrive to 
appear heavy and constrained in the midst of all the 
latitude they .How themselves, like one of those 
young pagans that dance before the Princess, who is 
ingenious" enough to move as if her limbs were fet- 



stant the elevation of Fadladeen's eyebrows, or charms 
him into Miivthiug like encnur gement, or even tolera- 
tion, of her'pnei. Toleration, indeed, was not among 
the weaknesses of Fadladeen :— he carried ihe same 
s|:i'il into matters of poetry and of religion, and, 
though little versed in the beauties or sublimities of 
em er, was a perfect master of the art of persecution 
in both. His zeal was the s me, loo, in either pur- 
suit ; whetl er the game before ltini was pagans or po- 
etasters,— worshippers of cows, or write s of epics. 

Thev had now arr.ved al the splendid civ of Ig- 
nore, whose mausoleums and shrines, magnificent and 
numberle-s, where Death appeared to share equal ho- 
nours with Heaven, would have powerfully affec'ed the 
heart and imagination of T-alla Rookh, if feelings more 
of (his earth had not 'aker, enlire possession of her al- 
ready. She was here me' by messengers, despatched 
from Cashmere, who informed her that Ihe King had 



i a pair'of the lightest and loosest drawers of arrived in the Valley, and was himself superintending 
Masulipa'ain "' ,ne Wiuptuous prepaiaiions that were :hen making in 

It «as but little suilable, l.e continued, to the grave I 'he Saloons of the Shalmiar for her reception. The 
march of criticism In follow this fantastical Peri, of chill she felt on receiving this iiitell.gence.-which to 
whom Ihey had just heard, through all her flights and a bride whose heart was free and light would have 
adventures between e.nh and heaven; but he could brought only images of affection and pleasure,— COn- 
not help adverting to the puerile enneei'eduess of the vinced her that her; peace was gone for ever, ard t„at 
Three Gifts which she is supposed to carry to the she was ,n love, irretrievably in love with young 
-kies,-a drop of blond, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear! Fcramorz. The veil had fallen off id which his pas- 
How the first of these articles was deltvered into the s.on a; first d,gu ses itself, and Ipkirow that she hived 
Angel's "radiant hand' he professed himself at a was now as painful a- to love without knowing it had 
loss to discver; and as to the safe cxnhge of the been delicious. Feramort too,— whal misery would 
si-h and the tear, such Peris and such poets were be his, if ll.e sweet hours ot intercourse so _m.prude.it y 
beings by far too incomprehensible for him even lo flowed hem should have svolen into his heart Ihe 
guess how thev managed such matter?. "But, in same tatal fa ctnat.on as into hers; — if notwuhstaiid- 
short » s„d he, " it is a waste of time and patience to wg.her rank, and the modest homage he always pa d 
dwell lom-er upon a thing so incurably frivolous,- 'o it, eve,, he should have yielded to the influence of 
puny even among its own puny race, and such as only those long and happy tnen lews, n here music, poetry, 
the Banyan Hospital 3 for Sick Insects should under- the delightful scenes of ,„ture,-all bad tendeato bring 
uke „ ' v their hearts doe together, and ;o waken by e.ery 

In vain did Lalla Rookh try to soften this inexorable "»«">« 'hat ,on re:la y P^-ion, which often, like the 
critic; in vaind.d she reso.t'tohrr most eloquent com- r» n g <* ,|le de-erl-b.id is warmed into lite by Ihe 
mon-ilaces,- reminding him thai poets were a limid eyes alone ! 6 she saw bu' one way to preserve hei- 
and sensitive r-ce, whose sweetness was not to be self from being culpable as well as unhappy, and this, 
drawn forth, like that of the frag.ant grass near the however painful, she was resolved to adopt. Fen.- 
Ganges, by crushing and trampling upon them;*- ">orz must no more be admitted to her presence lo 
that sever! y often extinguished every dunce of Ihe have strayed so far mto the dangerous I, byr.nth was 
perfection which it demanded; and that, after all, » ron *. b "' '° Imger in it, while the clue waa yet in 
perfection was like the Mountain of Ihe Talisman.— her hand would be criminal I hough the heart she 
no one 1. .d ever yet reached its summit.* Neither had In offer to the King of Buchana might be cold and 
these gentle axioms, nor the sill gentler looks with broken, n should at lessl be pure ; and she .mis' only 
which" they were inculcated, c „ll l-.»er f r one in- endeavour to i..reet the short drem. of happiness she 
: had enjoyed,— like that Arabian shepherd, who. in 

l '• It is 'aid that ihe rivers or streams of Basra wandering into the wilderness, caught a glimpse of 
wee reckoned in the time of Pelal brn Abi Bordeh, the Gardens of Irim, and then lost them agum for 
and am muted to the number of one hundred aud ever It 
twenty thousand streams." — Ebn Hauhal. I The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was cele- 

* The name of the javelin wi'h which the Easterns bra 1 ,e < 1 in ,he "" ,st enthusiastic manner. The R.jas 
exerci-e. See Castellan, Mxurs des Otliomans, torn. a,,d Un <™ in he <" •»»», who had kept al a cera.n d.s- 
jjj^ p igi, tance during the journey, and never encam; el nearer 

'- .. ri ■' „„ f „„.;,„j , a„>^ „r • :>: .v.. to the Pnncess 'h'rn was stncly ' ecessarv f r her safe- 

. "Tins account exc led a desire of ™'*»>g 'he ard here rode in i endid ^valcade through Ihe 
Banyan Hospita- as I had heard much of the.r benevo- J, d dis , ribulea , he m08 , C0 . Uy nts ° l0 the 

e.,ce to all kinds , of animals ihal were either sick, cr > wd . E jres were erec . ed jn 'JJ „ ie 
lame, or infirm, through age or accident. On my whic|| forth showers of confectionary among Ihe 

ainvn thpre were nr.-seiilerl tn n,v vi^iv manv hfsrst-s. . .... .. . . . ~ J . .-.. 



.j. • w ■" wn.cn cast rortn siio-sers 1 1 coriecn nan among the 

presented to my view many horses, , wl|ie ;he ,. . charioM adorned with 

1 Tclkns^raw fxfhTm *. ins . el * n<1 nyU ' S s !' ean ' ers .exhibited the badges of 



arrival, there 

cows, and oxen, u, one a)i 
sheep, goats, and monkeys 
to repose on. Above B'airs were deposi'ories for 
seeds of many sorts, and tlat. broad dishes for water, 
for the use of birds and imec's." — Parson's Travels. 
It is said that all animals know the Banyans, that 



their respective trades through Ihe streets. Such b, 
liant displays of life and pageantry among the palaces, 
and d' 'lues, and gilded minarets of Laln-re. made the 
city altogether like a nla, e of enchantment ; — particu 
larly on the day » henXa'* 



>lla Rookh set out again upon 
apanied to' the gate 



the most limid approach them, and that birds will fly her journey when she 
nearer to then, than lo other people. -See Grandjpre. by a f, t[)e (a ' ires| and ri 

* a A very fragrant gra-s from the banks of the aiong between ranks of beautiful bovs and" girls, i«no 
Ganges, near Heridwar, which in some places covers kept" waving over their heads plates of gold and silver 

whole acres, and diffuses, when crushed, a strong 

odour." — Sir W. Jones on the Spikenard of the An- 
cients. 

s « Near this is a curious hill, called Koh Talism, 
Ihe Mountain of the Talisman, because, according to 
'.he traditions of ihe country, no person ever succeeded 
in gaining its summit."— Kinntir. 

~ 24* 



6 "The Arabians believe lhat the ostriches hatch 
their you, g bv only looking at them." — P. t'anslebe, 
Relat. d'Egypte. 

i See Halt's Koran, note, vol. ii. p. 4Ssi. 

8 Oriental Tales. 



282 



LALLA ROOKH 



flowers," and then threw them around to be gathered 
by the populace. 

For many days after their departure from Lahore, a 
considerable degree of gloom hung over the whole 
party. Lalla Rookh, who had intended to mate ill- 
ne-s her excuse for not admitting the young minstrel, 
as usual, to the pavilion, soon found that lo feign in- 
disposition was unnecessary ; — Fadladeen felt the less 
of the good road they had hitherto travelled, and was 
ve y near cursing Jehau-Guire (of blessed memorv !) 
for not having con'inued his delectable alley of trees,* 
at least as far as the mountains of Cashmere ; — while 
the Ladies, who had nothing now to do all day but to 
I)- fanned by peacocks* le thcrs and iis en to Fadla- 
deen, seemed heartily weary of the life they led, and, 
ID spite of all the Great Chamberlain's cri icisms, were 
so tasteless as o wish for ihe p<et again. One even- 
ing, as they were pr ceeding to their place of rest for 
the night, the Princess, who, for Ihe freer enjoymeD*. 
of (he air, h d mounted her favourite Arabian palfrey, 
in passing by a small grove heard the no-es of a li'e 
from m iihin'its le ve-, and a voice, which she but too 
well knew, singing the following words ; — 

Tell me not or joys above. 

If lhat world cao give no bliss, 
Truer, happier than the L>,ve 

Wllloa enslaves our souls in this. 

Tell me not of Hotiris' eyes; — 
Far from me their dangerous slow, 

If those louka that light Ihe skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 

Who, lhat feels what Love is here. 

All its falsehood — all its pain — 
Would, for eT'u Klysium's sphere. 

Risk the fatal dream again 1 

Who, that midxt a desert's heat 

Sees Ihe waters fade away. 
Would not rather die thau meet 

Streams again as false as they 7 

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these 
wo ds were uttered, weni lo Lalla Rookh's heart; — 
and, as she reluctantly rode on, she could not help 
feeling it to be a sad but s'ill sweet certainty, that 
Feramorz was to the full as enamoured and miserable 
as herself. 

The place where they encamped that evening was 
the first delightful spot they had come to since they 
left Lahore. On one side of them was a grove full 
of sin ill Hindoo temples, and pianled with tr.e m. si 
graceful trees of the East; where the tamarind. Ihe 
ci-si<. and the silken plantains of Ceylon were 
mingled in rich contrast with the high fm-'like foliage 
of Ihe Palmyra,— that favourite iree of the I 
bird thai ligli's up Ihe chambers of iis nest wi h fire- 
flies. 3 In the middle of the lawn where the pavilion 
stood there was a tank surrounded by small mangoe- 
brees, on the clear e >ld waters of which floated mul- 
titudes of the beautiful red lotus; * while a: a dis- 



tance stood the ruins of a strange and awful-looking 
tower, which seemed old enough to have been the 
temple of some religion no longer known, and which 
spoke ihe voice of desolation in the midst of all lhat 
bloom and loveliness. This singular ruin eicited the 
wonder and conjectures of all. Lalla Rookh guessed 
in vain, and the ali-i .retendiug Fadladeen, who had 
never till this journey been beyond the precincts of 
Delhi, was proceeding most learnedly to show that he 
knew nothing whatever about the matter, when one 
of the Ladies suggested thai perhaps Feramorz could 
sa'Ufy their curiosity. They were now approaching 
his naive mountain-, and his lower might perhaps 
be a relic of some of those dark super-titions, which 
had prevailed in lhat country before the light uf 
Islam dawned upon it. The Chamberlain, who 
usually preferred his own ignorance to the best 
knowledge tha' any one else ould give him, was by- 
no means pleased with this officious reference ; and 
the Princess, too, was ab;ut to interpose a faint word 
of objection, but, before either of them could speak, 
a slave was despatched (or Feramorz, who, in a very- 
few minues, made his appearance before them — 
looking so pale a: d unhappy in Lalla Rock h's eyes, 
that she repen'ed already of her cruelty in having Be- 
long excluded him. 

That venerable tower, he told them, was the re- 
mains of an ancient Fire-Temple, built by those 
Ghebers or Persians of the old religion, who, many 
hundred years since, had fled hither "from their Arab 
conquerors, 5 preferring liberty and their altarj in a 
foreign lai d to the alternative of apo-ta-y or persecu- 
tion "in ttieir own. It was imp ssible. he adde-i, not 
to feel interesed in Ihe many glorious but g 
ful struggles, which had been made by these original 
na ues of Persia to cast off the y ke of the - 
conquerors. Like their own Fire in the Burning 
Field at Bakou,6 when suppressed in one nlaee, they 
had but broken out »ith fresh flame in ami- her; and, 
as a na'ive of Cashmere, of ih*! fiir and Holy Val- 
ley, which had in the same manner bec»nie the prey 
of Strang rs.i and seen her ancient shrines and native 
princes swept away before the ma'ch of her intoler- 
ant invaders, he felt a swnrathy. he owned, with the 
sufferings of the persecuted Ghebers, w Inch every 
monument like this before tbem but tended more 
powerfully to awaken. 

I! w s the first tune that Feramorz had ever ven- 
tured upon so much j.rose before Fadladeen, and it 
may ea-ily be conceived what effec such prose as 
this must have p-uduced upon that most or!!. 
in st pagan-hating personage. He sat t 
minu'es aghast, ejaculating only at intervals 
ed conquerors: — sympathy with Fire-worshi| 
— while Feramorz, happy to take advantag 
almost speechless horror Of the ChamberFiin, pro- 
ceeded to say that he knew a melancholy s'ory, con- 
nected with the events of one of I 
the brave Fire-worshippers against iheir Arab I 



i Ferishta. " Or rather *' says .Scoff, upon the pas- 
sage of Ferishta, from which this is taken, "small 
n. ped with the figure of a Sower. They are 
sill used in India to disinbute in charity, and, On oc- 
casion, thrown by the purse-bearers of the great among 
the p pulace." 

- The fine road made by Ihe Tmperor Jehan-Guire 
from Agra to I-ahore, planted with nees on each side. 
This road is £30 leagues in length li has •' linle pyr- 
amids or lurrets," svs Bernier, "erected even ha f 
mark the ways, and fiequeut wells to afford 
drink to passengers, and to water the young n 

3 The Baya, or Indian Gross-beak.— Sir IK Janes. 

* " Here is a large pagoda by a tank, on the water 
of which float multitudes of the beau'iful red lotus: 
the flower is larger than that if the white water-lily, 
and is the m st lively of the nymptueas 1 hav 
— Jfri. Qraham's Jourul of a Residence in India. 



* * On les voit persecutes par les Khalifes se retirer 
dans les montagi.es du Herman: plusicurs c. 
pour retraite la Tartarie et la Chine; d'autres 
s'arretereut sur les bords du Gan;e. 
— M. AnquAliL Memoires de I'Acadcmie, lorn. lUti. 
p. 346. 

s The "Ager ardens*' described by Kcmp/cr, 
Amcciiitai. . 

t " Cashmere (says its historians) had i's own prin- 
ces 4000 years before its conquest by Akta 
Akhar would have found I d reduce 

this paradise of the Indies, situ ted as 'it is within 
such a fortress of ut untains, but its nionarc: 
Khan, was basely betrayed by bis Omrahs. 
watt. 

» Voltaire tells us that in his Tragedv, " Les Gue 
bre." he was generally supposed to have alluded to 
the Jansenists. I should not be surp: i-ed if this i 
of the Fire-worshippers were fou 
similar doubleness of application. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



283 



(ens, which, if the evening was not too far advanced, 
lie should have much pleasure in being allowed to 
relate to the J J rincess. It w as impossible for Lalla 
Kookh to refuse ;— he had never before looked half so 
animated ; and when he spoke of the Holy Valley, his 
eyes had sparkled, she though!, like the talismanic 
characters on the scimitar of Solomon. Her consent 
was therefore most readily granted ; and while Fad- 
ladecn sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason 
and abomination in every line, the poet thus began 
his story of the Fire-worshippers: — 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

'Tis moonlight over Onan's Sea; i 

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
Bask in the night-beam beau'eously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
'Tis moonlight in Harmozia's* walls, 
And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 
Where, some hours since, was heard the swell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel.3 
Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell ; — 
The peaceful sun, whom better suits 

The music of the bulbul s nes', 
Or the light touch of lovers' luies, 

To sing him to his golden rest. 
All hush'd —there 's not a breeze in molion; 
The shore is silent as the ocean. 
If zephyrs come, so light they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven J — 
The wind-tower on the Emir's dome* 

Can hardly win a breaih from heaven. 

Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 

Calm, while a nation round him weeps; 

While curses load the air he breaches, 

And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths 

Are s'arting t i avenge the shune 

His race haih brought on Iran's s name. 

Hard, heartless Chief, unmov'd alike 

Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike J— 

One of that saintly, murderous brood, 

To carnage and the Koran given, 
Who think through unbelievers' blood 

Lies their directest path to heaven ; 
One, who will pause and kneel unshod 

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, 
To mutter o'er some <ext of God 

Engraven on his reeking sword ; 6 — 
Nay, who can coolly note the line, 
The letter of ih"se words divine. 
To which his blade, with searching art, 
Had sunk into its victim's heart 1 



Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,— 

Turning the leaves with blood stain'd hands, 

And wresting from its page sublime 

His creed of lust, and haie, and crime;— 

Ev'n as those bees of Trebizond, 

Which, from the sunniest fl wers that glad 

With their pure smile the gardens round, 
Draw venom forth that drives men mad.'' 



* The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which 
separates the shores of Persia and Arabia. 

% The present Gombaroon, a town on the Persi: 
side of the Gulf. 

3 A Moorish instrument of music. 

4 "At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they 
have towers for the purpose of catching the wind, and 
cooling the houses " — Lt Bruyn. 

b " Iran is the true general name for the empire of 
Persia." — Asiat. Res. Disc. 5. 

6 "On the blades of their scimitars some verse from 
the Koran is usually inscribed." — Jtussel. 



Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great : 
Ne\er was Iran doom'd to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
Her throne had fall'u — her pride was crush'd — 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, 
In their own land, — no more their own, — 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd, 
To Moslem shrines — oh shame ! — were turn'd, 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd. 
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd. 
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, 
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 
With hope and vengeance ;— hearts that yet 

Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
They 've treasur'd from the sun that >s set,— 

Beam all the light of long lost days! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 

To second all such hearts can dare; 
As he shall know, well, derly know, 

Who sleep- in moonlight luxury there, 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray. 
Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine ; 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd 

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power; — 
None but the loving and the lnv'd 

Should be awake at this sweet hour. 

And see — where, high above those rocks 
That o'er the deep Iheir shadows Ring, 
Ton lurret stands;— where ebon locks, 
As glossy as a heron's wing 
Upon the turban of a king,8 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild,— 
'Tis she, that Emirs blooming child, 
All truth and tenderness and grace, 
Though born of such ungentle race; — 
An image of You h's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain '.'■> 

Oh what a pure and sacred thing 

Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight 
Of the gross world, illumining 

One only mansion with her light! 
Unseen by man's disturbing eye, — 

The flower that blooms beneath the sea, 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
So. Hinda, have thy face and mind. 
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrin'd. 
And oh, what transport for a lover 

To lift the veil that sh ides them o er! — 
Like those who, all at once, discover 

In the lone deep some fairy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before, 
And sleep and wake in scen'ed airs 
No lip had ever breath'd but theirs. 
Beautiful are the maids that glide, 

On summer-eves, through Yemen's "> dales, 
And bright the glanch g looks they hide 

Behind their litters' roseate veils; — 
And brides, as delicate and fnir 
As the white jasmine flowers they wear, 



i "There is a kind of RhododenJros about Trebi- 
zond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey 
thence drives people mad " — Tournefort. 

8 " Their kings wear plumes of black herons' fea- 
thers upon the right side, as a badge of sovereignty." — 
Hanivay, 

» "The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahometan tra- 
dition, is situa'ed in some dark region of the East." — 
Richardson. 

io Arabia Felix. 



234 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 

Who, lull'J in cool kiosk or bo\ver,l 
Bet re their minors cunt the tiiue,» 

And grow s'iII lovelier every hour. 
Bui never yet hath bride or maid 

In Araby's gny Haram smil d. 
Whose boa- e:. brightness would not fade 

B fore Al Bissau's blooming ch Id. 

Li-ht as Hie angel shapes that bless 
An infant's dream ye' not the less 
Ri h in all woman's loveliness . — 
Willi eyes so pute, thai from their ray 
Dirk Vice would 'iiru abash'd away, 
Blin.led like seipens, when they ^aze 
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze:' — 
Yet fili'd with all youth'* sweet de-ires, 
Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
Of o her worlds with all the Hiss. 
The fond, weak tenderness of this: 
"A soul, too, more than half divine, 

Where through some shades of earthly feeling, 
Religion's s--f end glories shine, 

Like ligh' through -uminer (oliage stealing, 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too. 
As makes the very darkness there 
More beiutiful h u light elsewhere. 
Such is the maid who, at this hour, 

Hal i I i~t:i\ from tier rtst ess sleep, 
And sits alone in that high lower, 

Watch. ng the still md shining deep. 
Ah ! 't was not 'hus. — wi'h tearful eyes 

And bea in* heart. — she us'd to gaze 
On the magnificent eai th .n I skies," 

In her own land, in happie> day>. 
Why lO'ks she now s ' anxious down 
Amone those p cks, who-e rugged frown 

Bl ickena the mirror ot the deep ? 
Whom wmi'i she .-> 11 this lonely night 

Too rough he rocks, too bold the steep, 
F'T man to scale tha turrei's heigh' ! — 
And hail it deck'd with costliest skill, 

And fondly thought it safe as fair: — 

So deetn'd at least her thoughtful sire, 
When high, to ca'ch the cool night-air, 

After the day-beam^ withering fi e.« 
He built her bower of freshness there, 

i " In the mi <st of 'he tra .. that is, 

a large room, common!) beautified with a tine fountain 
in the midst of I*. It is rai-ed nine or ten st 
incl >sed with gilded lat ices, round which v 
■amines, and honeysuckles, make a sor' of green uall ; 
large trees a'e pi Mod round lips pi ice, which is the 
scene of their greatest pleasures ."'— Lady M. W. Man- 
tag". 

3 The women of the East are never without their 
looking-glasses *• In Barn hey are 

r their Inaking-ets-see, which they hang upon 
their breas's. ilial they >> ill not lay them' a-i.le. even 
when a ter the drudgery of the day they are obliged to 
go two or three miles « ilh a pitcher or a goafs skin 
Ed letch water"— 7' 

In ottu r parts of Asi • they wear li'tle looki-'g-glas es 
on their thumbs. " Hence' (and fiom ttie lotus beii g 
considered the emblem of btaaty) is the m 
the following mute intercourse of two lovers before 
their parents: — 

•" He with salute of de fere we due, 

A lutna to his forehead i 

She rai*'d her miiror to b - 

Then turn'd it inward la her tip-ast.'" 

Anatic MiscrlUnf. vol. 11. 

» "They say tha» if a snake or serpent fix his eyes 
on the lustre of those s'(wes (emeralds), he immedi- 
ately becomes blind." — Mmtd ben .ibdalaziz, Trea- 
tise on Jewels. 

« «* At Gomharoon and the Isle r.f Ormus it is some- 
times so hot, that the people are obliged to lie all day 
in the water. ">— Marco Polo. 



Think, reverend dreamer! think so still. 

Nor wake to learn what love can dare ; — 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease; — 
Whose rirest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are jluck'd on Danger's precipice! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive 

F r pearls, b.t when the sea - s at rest, 
Love, in the tempest most alive. 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
Yes — A raby's uiirivallM daughter, 
Though high that tower, that rock-way rude, 

I here "s one who, but to kiss thy cheek, 
Would climb the' umr' dJeu solitude 

Of Ararat's 'reniendous peak.s 
And think i's steeps, though dark and dread, 
HeaVu's pathways, if to thee Ihey led ! 
E 'n now thou secst the flashing spray, 
That lights his oar's impatient way ; 
Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
Of his swift bark against the rock. 
And stre'ehest d iwn thv IBM of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 
Like her to whom, at dead of night. 
The Lrideemom, with his locks of light,* 
Came, m the Hush of love and pride, 
And scal'd (he terrace of his br.Jc . — 
When, as she saw him rasl. 
And midway up in dai ger 
She flung him down her long black hair. 
Exclaiming, brca'hle s, ' There, love, there V 
Ai d scarce did manlier nerw 

The hem Zal in thai f nd hour, 
Than wings the youth n ho. fiee and bold, 

Now climbs the r cks to Hinda's bower. 
See — light as up their granite steeps 

The rick-goats of Arabia clamber,* 
Fearless from oas to eras h 

And now is in (he mai Jen's chamber. 
She loves — but knows Dot whom she loves, 
I hi, race, u t ■ l.ei.ce he came; 
Like one who meets in Indian gr 

Some beauteous bird without a name, 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, 
From isles in the' undUcover'd seas, 
To show his plumage I r 
To wonder _ away ! 

Will he thus fly — her nameless lover? 

Alia forLid ! 1 was by a moon 
A? fair as this, » 

Some ditty to her soft Kanonu,a 



* This mountain is generally supposed to be it ac- 
ces-iMe Stray -ays. "I cm well assure t> 
that their opi ion is not true, who suppose 'i 

ressib'e.'' He ad 
the m untain is cl udy, misty, aid dark, the middle- 
most part very cold, and like cloud- 
upper regions | eifec'ly c li 

alter the 
De use. >n,l par 

which SIruv thus graveh 'Whereas 

none can remember that the air on "he top of he hill 
did ever charge • r was sul : or rain, 

which is pre-un e I that 'he Ark has 

endured so long without tr '.'nrrrrrt 

Travels, where the Doctor laughs at this whole ac- 
count of Mount Ararat. 

s In one of the books of the Sh-h Nameh. when Zal 
(a celebrated hero of Persia, ren ar • 
hair.) comes to the terr-ce labveral 

night, she lets do. ■ - him in 

: — he. hi«e\rr | less Io- 

nian ic way b> fixing hi- cr ok in a projecting beam." 
— See CAompion'i »raV<ji. 

l " On the lofty hills cf Arabia Felrs-a are roek- 
goa ( s. r — Sit bukr. 

8 •• Ca ,um, es;iece de psalterion. avec das cordes de 
boyaux; les dames en toucbent dans le serratl, avee 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 



285 



Alone, at this same witch-ins; hour, 

She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bower, 

Where nign ly now ihey mix heir sighs j 
And Iho'gh a me spirit of the air 
(For wh't could waft a m rtal there?) 
Was | an- ngon his moonlight way 
To listen to tier lonely la> 1 
This fancy neVr hath left her mind : 

And — though, when terror's swoon had past, 
She saw a youth, of mor al kind, 

Before her in obeisance ca-t,— 
Yet often since, when he ha h spoke 
Strang--, awful words, — and gleams have broken 
From hit) dark eyes, too bright to bear, 

Oh ! she ha h fear'd her soul was given 
To some unhallow'd child of air, 

Some erring Spirit cast fiom heaven, 
Like those angelic you hs of old, 
Who huni'd for maids of mor'al mould, 
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies, 
A d lovt their heaven for woman's eyes. 
Fond girl I nor fiend nor angel he 
Who woos thy young simplicity ; 
But one i f earth's impa-sion'd sons, 

As warm in love, as fie'Ce in ire 
As he best heart whose cunen' runs 

Full of the Day-God>.< living fire. 

But quench "d to-night that ardour seem«, 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow j 
Never before, but in her dreams. 

Had she beheld him pale as now: 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep, 
From which 't was joy to wake and weep ; 
Visions, th t will not be forgot, 

But sadden even waking scene. 
Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 

All wiiher'd where they once have been. 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 
Of her own gentle voice afraid, 
So long had thev in silence stood, 
Looking upon that tranquil flood — 
" How sweetly does the moon-beam smile 
"To-night upon yon leafy Me! 
"Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 
" I 've wish'd that little isle had wings, 
•'And we, within its fairy bowers, 

" Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
«* Where not a pul>e should beat but ours, 

"And we might live, love, die alone! 
"Far fmm the ciuel and the cold,— 

" Where the bright eyes of angels only 
"Should come around us, to behold 

"A paradise so | ure and lonely. 
" Would this be world enough for thee?" 
Playful she turn'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek put on; 
But when she mark d how mour. fully 

His p\es met hers, that smile was gone; 
And, bursting into heart-felt ears, 
" Yes, yes," she cried. ' my hourly fears, 
" My dreams have boded all too right — 
" VV e part — for ever part — to-night ! 
" I knew, I knew it could not last — 
" 'T was bright. 'I was heavenly, but 't is past! 
"Oh I ever thus, from childhood's hour, 
" 1 've seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
" 1 never lov'd a tree or flower, 

«' But 't w is the first to fide away. 
" I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, 

"To glad me with its soft black eye, 
'' But when it came to know me well, 

"And love me, it was sure to die! 
" Now too — the joy most like divine. 

"Of all I ever dremit or knew, 



des decailles armees de pointes de cococ. "— Toderxni, 
translated by De Courttand. 



"To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,— 

" Oh misery ! must 1 lose that too ? 
"Yet go — on peril's brink we meet; — 

"Those frightful rocks— that treacherous sea 
" No, never come again — though sweet, 

" Though heaven, it may be death to thee. 
" Farewell — and blessings on thy way, 

" Where'er thou gost, beloved stranger! 
"Better to sit and watch that ray, 
"And think thee safe, though far away, 

" Than have thee near me, and in danger !" 

" Danger ! — oh, tempt me not to boast — " 
The youth exclaim'd — •' thou little know'st 
" What he can brave, who. horn and nurst 
" In Danger's paths, has dar'd her worst; 
"Upon whose ear the signal-word 

"Of strife and death is hourly breaking; 
" Who sleeps with head upon the sword 

" His fever'd hand must grasp in waking. 
" Danger 1 — " 

" Say on — thou fear's' not then 
" And we may meet — oft meet again ?" 

" Oh ! look not so — beneath the skies 

" I now fear nothing but Ih se eyes. 

" If aught on earth could charm or force 

" My spirit from its de-tin'd course, — 

" If aught could make this soul foiget 

"The bond to which is seal is set, 

" 'T would be those eyes ;— they, only they, 

" Could melt that sacred seal away ! 

" But no — 't is fix'd — my awful doom 

" Is fix'd — on this side of the tomb 

" We meet no more; — why, why did Heaven 

'"Mingle two soi.ls that earth has riven, 

" Has rent asunder wide as ours? 

"Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers 

"Of Light and Daikne-s may combine, 

"As I be iink'd with thee or thine! 

"Thy Faiher " 

"Holy Alia save 

" His grey head from that lightning glance! 
" Thou know'st him not — ne loves the brave; 

'• Nor lives there under heaven's expanse 
"One who would prize, would worship thee 
"Ai d thy bold spirit, mote than he. 
" Oft when, in childhood, 1 have play'd 

" Wi'h the bright filchion by his side, 
" I 've heard him s" eai his lisping maid 

"In time should be a warrior's bride. 
"And s'ill, whene'er at Haram hours, 
"I take him cool sherbets and flowers, 
" He ells me, when in playful mood, 

"A neio shall my brideg oom be, 
•'Since maids a>e besi in hat'le wood, 

•' Aid won wi'h sho, :ts of victory ! 
"Nay, turn not from me — thou alone 
" Art form'd to make both hearts thy own. 
"Go — join hU sacred ranks — thou know'st 

" The' u holy strife the?e Per-i ms wage : — 
"Good Heav'n.lhal fiown !— even now ihouglow'st 

" With more than mortal warrior's rage. 
"Ha-'e to ihe camp by morning's light, 
"And, when that swmd ; s rais'd in tight, 
"Oh still remember, Love ami I 
'• Beneath it:, shadow trembling lie! 
"One victoiy o'er th' se Slaves of Fire, 
"'those in.pious Ghebers, whom my sire 

"Abhors ' 

"Hold, hold — thy words are death— " 

The s'ranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back, and show'd beneath 

The Gheber belt hat round him clung.t — 



1 "They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress on their 
cushee or girdle, as not to dare to be an instant with- 
out it." — Grose's Voyage. — " I.e jeune homme nia 
d'abord la chose; inais. ayant e'e depouille de sa 
robe, et la large ceinture qu'il portoil comn.eGhebr," 



286 



LALLA RUOKH. 



" Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see 
" All (hat thy sire abhors in me ! 
"Yes — /am of that impious race, 

" Those Slaves of File who, morn and even, 
" Hail their Creatoi's dwelling-place 

" Among the living lighis of heaven : *■ 
" Yes — I am of thai ouicast few, 
" To Iran and to vengeance true, 
' Who curse the hour your Arabs came 
"To desolae our shrines of tiame, 
'• And swear, before God's burning eye, 
"To break our country's chains, or die! 
" Thy bigot sire, — nay, tremble not, — 

" He, who gave bir h (o those dear eyes, 
" With me is sacred as the spot 

"From which our hres of worship rise ! 
" But know — 't was he 1 sought that night, 

•' When, from my watch-boat on Ihe sea, 
"I caught this turret's glimmering light, 

"And up the lude rocks despe ately 
" Rush'd to my prey — thou kuow'st the rest — 
"I climb'd the gory vulture's net, 
" And found a tiembling dove within ; — 
''Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin — 
" If Love balb made one thought his own, 
" That Vengeance claims first — last — alone! 
" Uh 1 had we never, never met, 
" Or could this heait ev'u now forget 
" How liuk'd, how bles^'d we might have been, 
" Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
" Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 

"In neighbouring valleys had we dwelt, 
" Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 

" At the same kindling al ar knelt, — 
" Then, then, while all those namele-s ties, 
"In which the charm of Country lies, 
" Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
" Till Iran's cause and thine were one; 
" While in thy lute\ aw.ikcuing >igh 
" I heard the \oice of days gone by, 
'• And saw, in every smile of thine, 
" Returning hours of glory shine ; 
" While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 

"Liv'd, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through 
thee,— 
"God ! who could then this sword withstand? 

" I s very flash were victory ! 
" But now — estrang'd, divore'd for ever, 
" Far as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 



&c. &c— D'Hcrbclot, art. Agduani. "Pour se dis- 
tinguerdes Idolaresde I'lnde, lesGuebres seceignent 
tous d'un cordon dc laine, ou de poil de chameau." — 
Encyclopedic Francoise. 

U'Hrrbelot sa>s this belt was generally of lea- 
ther. 

i "They suppo-e the Throne of the Almigh'y is 
seated in the sun, and hence their worship of that 
luminary " — Hanway. "As to fire, the Ghebers 
place the spring-head of it in that globe of fire, the I 
Sun, by them called Mythras, or Mihir, to which 
they pay the highest reverence, in gta'iluJe fir the 
manifold benefits flowing from i's ministerial omni- 
science. But they are so fir from confounding ihe ! 
subordination of the Servant with ihe maje-ty of its 
Creator, that they not only attribute no sort of sen-e 
or reasoning io the sun or fire, in any of its opera- 1 
tions, but consider it as a purely pas-ive blind instru- 
ment, directed and governed b> Ihe immediate im- 
pre sion on it of ihe will of God ; but they do not 
even s,i\e ihat luminary, all-glorious as it is. m re 
than ihe second rank amongst his works, reserving 
the first (or that stupendoos production of divine 
lower, the mind of man. '—Grote. The false charges 
brought against the religion of these people by their 
Mussulman 'yrants is t-ut one pr of am >as many of 
the tru'li of this wri'ers remark, that "calumny is 
ofvn added to oppression, if but for the sake of justi- 
fying „." 



" Our only lies what love has wove, — 

"In fai h, trends, country, suiider'd wide; 
"And then, then only, irue lo love, 

" When false lo all that 's dear beside! 
"Thy lather Iran's deadliest foe — 
"Thyself, perhaps, ev'n u.w — but no — 
" Hate never look'd so lovely yet! 

'■ No — sacred to thy soul will be 
" The land oi hiiu who could forget 

"All but that bleeding land for ihee. 
"When other e) es shall see, unmov'd, 

'• Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
"Thou 'It think how well one Gbeber lov'd, 

" And for his sake thou 'It weep lor all ! 

" But look " 

With sudden start he turn'd 

And pointed to the distant wave, 
Where lights, like charnel meieors, burn'd 

Biuely, as o'er some seaman's grave ; 
And fiery darts, at intervals,* 

Flew up all sparkling from ihe main, 
As if each star that nightly falls, 

Were shooting back to heaven again. 

"My signal lights! — I must away — 

" Both, both are min'd, if I stay. 

" Farewell — sweet lile ! thou cltng'st in vain — . 

"Now, Vengeance, 1 am thine again !" 

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 

Nor look'd— bui from :he lattice dropp'd 

Down mid Ihejxiiiiled crags beneath, 

As if he fled from love to death. 

While pale and mute young Hiuda stood, 

Nor mov d, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her Iroui her trance of woe ; — 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

•' I c >me — I come — if in that tide 
"Thou sleep's! to-night, 1 'II ,leep there too, 

"In death's cold wedlock, by thy side. 
"Oh I I would ask no happier bed 

" Than the chill wave my love lies under: 
" Sweeter to rest together dead, 

" Far sweeter, than lo live asunder!" 
Bui no — their hour is not yel couie — 

Again »he sees bis pinnaci 
Watting him rleeth to bis home. 

Where'er that ili-si<rr'd home may lie; 
And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 

It< moonlight way before the wind, 
As if it bore"all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 



The Princess, whose heart was sad enough already, 
could have wished that Feramorz had chosen a less 
melancholy s'ory ; as it is o ly to the happy thai tears 
are a luxury. 'Her Ladies, however, were by no 
means s >rry that love was once more t! e 
theme ; for, w hei ever he spoke of love, ibcy said, his 
voice was as sweat as if he had chewed the leaves of 
that enchinted tree, which grows over ihe tomb >f 
the musician, Tan-Sein. 3 

Their r ad ill ihe morning had lain through a very 
dreary country ;— through \ : h a low 

* " The Mameluks that were in the other boat, 
when it was dark used to shoot up a sort of fiery 
arrows into the air which in some measure resembled 
lightning or fatting stats."' — Baum^arten. 

3 " Within the enclosure which surrounds this mo- 
nument (at Gualior) is a small tcmb 'o the memory of 
Tan-Sein, a musician of incomparable skill, who 
flourished al the court of Akbar. The tomb U over- 
shadowed by a tree, concerning w hich a superstitious 
notion prevails, that the chewing of its leaves will 
give an ex raordniTy melody In th- 
in* of a Journty Jmm Jgra lo Ouzein. i« tV. Bun- 
Ur. K q. 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 



287 



bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the 
awful -i;<iial of the bamboo staff,* with the white flag 
nt its top, reminded the traveller that, in that very 
spot, the tiger had made some human creature his 
victim. It was, the>efore, with much pleasure that 
ihey arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and 
jncamped under one of those holy trees, whose smooih 
columns and spreading roofs seem to destine litem for 
natural temples of religion. Beneath this spacious 
shade, some pi '>us hands'h.d erected a row of pillars 
ornamented with the most beauiiful porcelain^ which 
now supplied the u>e of mirrors to 'he young maidens, 
as they adjusted their hair in descending from the 
palankeens. Here, whiie, as usual, the Princess saf 
listening anxiously, with Fadladeen in one of Lis 
lofiiest moods of crilicism by her side, the young 
Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus con- 
tinued his story : — 



The morn hath risen clear and calm, 

And o'er the Green Sea 3 palely shines, 
Revealing Bahiein's* groves of palm, 

And lighting Kishma's * amber vines. 
Fresh smell the shores of Araby, 
While breezes from the Indiau sea 
Blow round Selama's 5 sainted cape, 

And curl the shining flood beneath, — 
Whose waves are rich with many a grape, 

And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath, 
Which pious seamen, as they | ass'd, 
Had tow'rd that holy headland cast — 
Oblations to the Genii there 
For gentle skies and breeze-: fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her flight 6 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen; 
And hides her from the morning star 

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn, — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose night-drops would not stain 
The besl and brightest scimi'ari 
That ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign. 



1 " It is usual to place a small while triangular flag, 
fixed to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve feet long, at 
the place where a tiger has destroyed a man. It is 
common for the passengers also to throw each a stone 
or brick near the spot, so that in the course of a little 
time a pile equal to a good wagon-load is collected. 
The sight of these flags and piles of stones imparts a 
certain melancholy, not perhaps altogether void of 
apprehension." — Oriental Field Sports] vol. ii. 

2 "The Ficus Indica is called the P^god Tree and 
Tree of Councils: the fiist, from the idols placed 
under its shade; the second, because meetings were 
held under its cool branches. In some places it is 
believed to be the haunt of spectres, as the ancient 
spread : ng oaks of Wales have been of fairies; in 
others are erected beneath the shade pillars of stone, 
or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented with the 
most beautiful porcelain to supply the use of mirrors." 
— Pennant. 

3 The Persian Gulf. — "To dive for pearls in the 
Green Sea, or Persian Gulf."— Sir W. Jones. 

4 Islands in the Gulf. 

» Or Selemeh, the genuine name of the headland at 
the entrance of the Gulf, commonly called Cape Mus- 
seldom. '' The Indians, when they pass the promon- 
ton", throw cocoa-nut-, fruits, or flowers into the sea, 
to secure a propitious voyage."— Morier. 

« "The nightingale sings from the pomegranate- 
groves in the day-time, and from the loftiest trees at 
night." — RusscPs Aleppo. 

1 In si eaking of the clima'c of Shiraz, FrancMin 
wys, " The dew is of such a pure nature, that if the 



And see — the Sun himself ! — on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sublime, 
Hath first of all the starry chOT 
Trod in his Maker's steps of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, 
When Iran, like a sun-flower, turn'd 
To meet that eye wheie'er it burn'd ? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeer 
To the nut-grove- of Samarcand, 
Thy temples flam'd o'er all the land ? 
Where are they? ask the shades of them 

Who, on Cadessia'sS bloody plains, 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem, 

And bind her ancient faith in chains: — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
On foreign shores, unlov'd, unknown, 
Bevond the Caspian's Iron Gates,!* 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
Far from his beauteous land of dates, 

Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains : 
Yet happier so than if he trod 
His own belov'd, but blighted, sod, 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
Oh, he would rather houseless roam 

Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches lo the conqueror's creed ! 

Is Iran's pride then gone for ever, 

Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves?— . 
No — she has sons, thai never — never — 

Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 

While heaven has light or earth has graves — 
Spirits of fire, that brood not long, 
But flash resentment back for wrong; 
And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds 
Of vengeance ripen into deeds, 
Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, 
They burst, like Zeilan's giant palm,»o 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round ! 
Yes, Emir * he, who scal'd that tower, 

And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast, 
Had taught thee, in a Gheber's power 

How safe ev'n tyrant heads may rest — 
Is one of many, brave as he, 
Who loathe thy haughty race and thee; 
Who, though ihey know the strife is vain, 
Who, though they know the riven chain 
Snaps but to enter in the heart 
Of him who rends its links apart, 
Yet dare the issue,— blest to be 
Ev'n for one bleeding moment free 
And die in pangs of liberty ! 
Thou know'sl them well — 'tis some moons since 

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, 
Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, 

Have sw amid among these Green Sea crags ; 
Yet here, ev'n here, a sacred band 
Ay, in the portal of that land 



brightest scimitar should be exposed to it all night, it 
would not receive the least rust." 

8 The place where the Persians were fina'ly de- 
feated by the Arabs, and their ancient monarchy de- 
stroyed. 

8 Derbend. — "Les Turcs appellent celte ville De- 
mir Capi, Porte de Fer ; ce cont les Caspiae Portae des 
anciens." — D'Herbelot. 

J" The Talpot or Talipot Iree. "This beautiful 
palm-tree, which grows in the heart of the forests, 
may be classed among the loftiest trees, and becomes 
still higher when on the point of bursting forth from 
its leafy summit. The sheath which then envelopes 
the (lower is very large, and, when it bursts, makes 
an explosion like the report of a cannon."— Thun- 
berg. 



2S8 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own, 
Their spears across hy pain have Ihrown 
Here — ere the winds half-wing'd ihee tfer- 
Rebellion brav'd thee from the shore. 
Rebellion ! foul, dishonouring word, 

Whose wrongful blight so of' lias slain'd 
The holiest cause hat tongue or sword 

Of mortal eve; losl or gain'd. 
How many a spiii', born to bless, 

Hath sunk bcnea'h thai withering name, 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 

Had walled to eternal lame! 
As exhalations, when they burat 
From ihe warm earth, if chill'd at first, 
If check'd in soaruu from the plain, 
Darken to fogs and sink again ; — 
Bui, if they once triumphant spread 
Their wings above ihe mountain-bead, 
Bee meeulhroud in upper air, 
And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 

And who is he, that wields the might 

Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sable's dazzling light » 

The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink? 
Who comes, embo.ver'J in 'he spears 
Of Herman's hardy mountaineers? — 
Those mountaineers that trues', last, 

Cling to he.r countrv's ancient rites, 
As if dial God, whose eyelids cast 

Their closing glean- on Iran's heights, 
Among her snowy mountains threw 
The last light of his worship too! 

'T is Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 

Chills like the mutiern g of a charm ! 
Shout but that awful name around, 

And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
'T U HafVd, most accursd and dire 
(So rank'd by Moslem ha'e and ire) 
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire; 
Of whose malign, 'remendous power 
The Arabs, at their mi j-watch hour, 
Such tales of frarful wonder tell, 
That each affrighted sentinel 
Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 
Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 
A mm. they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and car h. 
Sprung from those old enchanted kings,* 

Who i'i their fairy helms, of yore 
A feather from the mystic winjs 

Of the Sim orgh re-istiess wore; 
And gified by the Fields of Fire, 
Who groan'd to see their shrines expire. 
With charms that, all in vain withstood. 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood 

Such were ihe tales, tint won belief, 

And such the colouring Fancy gave 
To a young, wann, and dauntless thief, 

One who, no more than m rial brave, 
Fought for the land his s"ul ador'd, 

For hippy homes and al'ars free, — 
His only talisman, 'he s ■■■ 

His only spell-word, Liberty! 
One of that ancient hero line. 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Nanus, tint have sue ineJ their blood ; 
As Lebanon's small mountain-flood 



Is render'd holy by the ranks 

Of sainted cedars on its banks. 3 

>T was not for him to crouch the knee 

Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 

'T was not for him, whose soul was cast 

In the bright mould of ages past, 

Whoee melancholy spirit, fed 

With all the gl ries of the dead, 

Though fram'd for Iran's happiest years, 

Was born among her chains and tears 1 — 

>T w as no' for him lo swell the crowd 

Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 

Before the Moslem, as he pass'd, 

Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast — 

No — far he tied — ind gnant fled 

I he pageant of his country's shame; 
Whiie eveiy tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Ot a first smile, so welc^m'd he 
The sparkle of the first sword drawn 
For vengeance and for liberty ! 

But vain was valour — vain the flower 

Of Kerman, in thatdeahful hour, 

Agams' Al Hassans whelming power. — 

In vain they met him. helm to helm, 

Upon the threshold of >hat realm 

He c me in bigot pomp o sway. 

And with iheircorpes block'd'his way — 

In vain —for every lai ce tbry rais'd, 

Thousands around the co> queior blaz'd ; 

For every arm that lin'd their shore. 

Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 

A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 

Before whose swarm as fa-t they bow'd 

As dates beneilh the locus' cloud. 

There s ood — but one shori league away 

From old Harmozia's sul'r 

A rocky mountain, o'er the Sea 

Of Oman bee'ling aw fully ; * 

A la^t an-l solitary link 

Of those stupendous chai ns that reach 
Fr m the br ad Ca«p.aiA reedy brink 

Down winding to the Grteo Sea beach. 
Amund its ba e ihe bare r cks stood, 
Like naked giants in the flood, 

As if lo guard the Gulf across; 
While, on its peak, that brnv'd the sky, 
A ruin'd Temple tower'd, -o hich 

Tha' of' tbe sleiping al! ftl 
Struck the wild rums «i h her wing. 
And from her cioud-rock'd slumbering 



t " When the bright cimitars mate the eyes of our 
heroes wink.''— The Muallakal, Poem of Am.ru. 

3 Tahmuras, and other ancient Kings of Persia ; 
whose adven'ures in Fairy-land among the Peris <nd 
Dives may be found in R.'chirdson's curious Disserta- 
tion. The griffin Simoorgh, they say, took mum fea- 
thers friin her brcisi f r Tahmuru, with winch he 
| adorned Ins helmet, and transmitted them al erwards 
| tc his descendant. 



a This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy 
River from the '• ceil'ar-saints ' among w hich it ri-es. 

In the Lettres Edifiaiita. there is . differen' cause 
assigned for its name of I are deep 

■ ■hich foimeily served a< so u any i 
great number of rec'us'es, who hai 
treats as the onh • itnesses U|Oii e.v 
oftheirpenai.ee. The tears 
gave the river of which we have 
name of 'he Ho| v River."' — See Chateaubriand* \ 
Beauties of Christianity. 

* This mountain is my own creation, as the "stu- 
pendous clain " of u hich I supj.'se it a link, 
extend qui e so far as the shores of the Prrsi 
" I his long and I [ 

darv of iiokish emi ires. 

parallel with He river 1 ijr s nd Persian G 
! almost disappearing in the vieir 

(Harm' ?ij.\ -ten s ooce m re to rise in II . 

dist icls of Ke>.. - an easterl) course 

th'Oiigh ihe ceo're of Meckraum and Balouchislaa, is 

entirety losl in tl 

sian Ba ; 

*The-e birds sleep in the air. They are most cone 
j mon about the (' pe f Good Hope. 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 



289 



Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caveri s save 
Daik welcome to each stormy wave 
That dashd, like midnight revellers, in; 
And such the strange, m>sterious din 
At liu.es throughout loose caverns roll'd,— 
And such the fearful wonders told 
Of restless sprites imprison'd there, 
That bold were Moslem, who would dare, 
Al twilight hour, to sleer his skiff 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff, t 

On the land side, those towers sublime, 
That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
Were sever'd from ihe haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom, 

No eye could pierce the void between: 
It seem'd a place where Gholes might come 
Wilh their foul banquets from the tomb, 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below. 

The sound of many toi rents came, 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If 't were the sea's imprison'd flow, 

Or floods of ever restless flame. 
For. each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on tire; 
And, though for ever past the days 
When God was worshipp'd in the blaze 
That from its lofty aliar shone, — 
Though fled the priests, the votaries gone, 
Still did the might; flame burn on, 3 
Through chance and change, through good and ill, 
Like tfs own God's eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 

Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led 

His little army's last remains; — 
*• Welcome, terrific glen '." he said, 
"Thy gloom, that Ebhs' self might dread, 

" Is Heav'n to Him who flies from chains !" 
O'er a dark, narrow bridge-way, known 
To him a'd to his Chiefs alone. 
They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the towers, — 
'' This home," he cried, " at least is ours ; — 
" Here we may bleed, unmock'd by hymns 

"Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
"Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 

" To quiver to the M slem's tread. 
"Stretch'd on this rock, while vultures' beak* 
"Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks, 
" Here — happy that no tyrants eye 
"Gloals on our torments — we may die!" — 

'T was night when to those towers they came, 
And gloomily the fitful flame, 



• " There is an extraordinary hill in this neighbour- 
hood, called Kohe Gubr, or the Guebre's mountain. 
It rises in Ihe form of a lofty cupola, and on the sum- 
mit of it, 'hey say, are Ihe remains of an Atush Kudu 
or Fire Temple It is s .perstili usly held to be the 
resilience of Deeves or Sprites, and many marvellous 
s'ories are recounted of the injury and witchcraft suf- 
fered by those who essayed in former days lo ascend 
or explore i«.»— Pottinger's Beloochistan. 

* The Ghebers generally built their temples over 
subterraneous fires. 

3 "At the city of Yezd, in Persia, which is di-tin 
i g'i-hed by the appellation of the Dirub Abadut, oi 
Seit of Religion, the Guebres are permitted lo have ar 
Atu-h Kudu or Fi e Temple (which, they assort, has 
had the sacred fire in it since the d iys of Z Toaster) in 
their own compartment of the city ; but for this indul- 
gence they a>e indebted to the avarice, not the toler- 
ance of the Persian government, w hich taxes them at 
twenty -five rupees each niau." — Poitinger's Beloo- 
chstaa. 



25 



That from the ruin'd altar broke, 

Glared on his features, as he spoke : — 

">Tis o'er — what men could do, we've done - 

" If Iran will look tamely on, 

"And see her priests, her warriors driven 

" Bef.iie a sensual bigot's nod, 
"A wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven, 

"And makes a pander of his God ; 
" If her proud so is, her higl.-born souls, 

'•Men, in whose veins — oh last disgrace! 
" The blood of Zal and Rustain * rolls',"— 

" If they will court this upstart race, 
" And turn from Mithras ancient ray, 
" To kneel at shrines of yesterday ; 
" If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 

" Why, let them— till the land's despair 
" Cries out to Heav'n, and bondage grows 

" Too vile for ev'u the vile to bear ! 
" Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
" Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
" Bach coward tear the slave lets fall 
" Back on his heart in drops of gall. 
" But here, at least, are arms unchain'd, 
" And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 

" I his spot, at least, no foot of slave 
" Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 

" And though but few — though fast the wave 
" Of life is ebbing from our veins, 
" Enough for vengeance still remains. 
" As pan I hers, after set of sun, 
" Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
*■ Across the dark -sea robber's way, 5 
" We'll bound upon our slarlled prey ; 
" Ai d when some heaits that ptoude'st swell 
" Have felt our falchion's last farewell ; 
" When Hope's expiring thr. b is o'er, 
"And ev'u Despair can prompt no more, 
" This spot shall be the sacred giave 
"Of the last few who, vainly brave. 
" Die for Ihe land they cannot sue !'' 

Kis Chiefs stood round — each shining blade 

Upon the broken altar laid — 

And though so wild and desola'e 

Those curs, where once 'he Mighty sa'e; 

Nor longer on tho-e mouldeiii g towers 

Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers, 

With which of old Ihe Magi fed 

The wandering Spirits of their Dead ; « 

Though neither priest nor rites were there, 

Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate ; 1 
Nor hymn, nor censer's flagrant air, 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ; 8 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard litem, while on that altar's fires 



* Ancient heroes of Persia. " Among the Guebres 
there are some, who boast their descent from Rus- 
taui." — SttphCu's Persia. 

5 See Rus-el's account of the panther's attacking 
traveller in the night on Ihe sea.shoie about the roots 
of Lebanon. 

6 •' Among other ceremonies the Magi used to place 
upon the tops of high towers various kinds of rich 
viands, upon which it was supposed the Heii- and the 
spirit of their departed heroes regaled themselves."— 
Richardson. 

i In the ceremonies of the Ghebers round their 
Fire, as described bv Lord, "the Diroo." he si vs. 
'•giveth them water to diink, and a pomegranate leaf 
to chew in the moulh, to clean e them frum inward 
uncleanness." 

s "Early in the morning, they (the Parsees or 
Ghebers at Oulain) go in crowds to pay their devo- 
tions to Ihe Sun. to whom upon all the allais there are 
spheres co'secra'ed, made by limbic, resemblirg the 
circles of the sun, and when the sun ri es, these orbs 
seem to be iiirluned, and to 1 urn round with a great 
noise They have every one a censer in their hands, 
and offer incense to the su:i."— Rabbi Benjamin. t 



290 



LALLA ROOKH. 



> E 



They swore i the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts, Bill) left to bleed, 
Should be, in Iran's injur'd name, 
To die upon ihat Mount of flame 
The hst of all her patriot line, 
Before her last unlrampled Shrine ! 

Brave, suffering souls ! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one genile foe, 
Whom love hist touch'd with others' woe 
Whose life, as free from thought as sin 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and w ke the tide, 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once, Emir! thy unheeding child, 
Mid all this havoc, blonm'd and smil'd, 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and lowers,* 
Before the combat's reddening stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flowers. 
Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd, 
While Heav'n but spar'd the sire she lov'd, 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlisteniug and aloof she stood — 
And oft, when thou hast pac'd along 

Thy Har.im halls with furious heat, 
Hast thou not curs'd her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's coufiues, that the damn'd can bear! 

Far other feelings Love hath brought — 

Her soul all Maine, her biow all sadness, 
She now has but the one dear thought, 

And thinks that o'er, almost to madness ! 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 
His woids — " for my »a!;e weep for all ;" 
And bitterly, as day on day 

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, 
She weeps a lover snatch d away 

In every Gheber wretch thai bleeds. 
There 's not a sabre meets her eye, 

But with his life-blood seems to swim ; 
There's not an arrow wines the sky, 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with foots ep ligbt 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fighl ; 
And — had he look'd with clearer sight, 
Had not the mists, thai ever rise 
From a foul spirit, dimm'd his eyes — 
He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, 
When from the field of blood he canie, 
The faltering speech — the look estrang'd — 
Voice, step, and life, and beauty changd — 
He would have mark'd all this', and known 
Such change is wrought by Love alone! 

Ah ! not the Love, that should have bless'd 
So voung, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosperous Love, 
That, pledg'd on ear h and seal'd above, 
Grows in the world's approving eyes, 

In friendship's smile and home's caress, 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness! 
No, H'mda, no,— thy fatal flame 
Is nurs'd in silence, sorrow, sl^vme; — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul's darkness buried deep, 

It lies, like some ill-gotten trer-sure,— 
Some idol, without shnue or name, 
O'er which its pale-ey'd votaries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep. 



l " Nul d'entre em rsetoi! se parjurer, quand il a 
pris a temoin cet element terrible et veugeur.''— En- 
cyclopedic Francoise 

* "A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal rains, 
and the ploughed fields are coveied with the Persian 
lily, of a resplendent yellow colour.— RuiseTs Aleppo. 



Seven nights have darken'd Oman's sea, 

Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, 
She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Ghebers bark away,— 
And still she goes, at midnight liour, 
To weep alone in that high bower, 
And watch, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles first made her weep;— 
Bui watching, weeping, all was vain, 
She never saw his baik again. 
The owlet's solitary cry, 
The night-hawk, hitting darkly by, 

And oft the hateful carrion budj 
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
Which reek'd with that day's banqueting 

Was all she saw, was ail she beard. 

'T is the eighth morn — Al Hassan's brow 

Is brighten'd with unusual joy — 
What mighty mischief glads him now, 

Who never smiles but lo destroy? 
The sparkle upon Heikend's bea," 
When toss'd at midnight furiously, 3 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, 
More surely than that smiling eye ! 
" Up, daughter, up — the Kerua'.- * breath 
" Has blown a blast would waken death, 
'• And yet thou sleep's! — up, child, and see 
•' This blessed day lor Heaven and me, 
" A day more rich in Pagan blood 
'' Than ever rlash'J o'er Oman's liood. 
** Before another dawn shall shine, 
"His head — heart — limbs— will all be mine* 
" This very night his blood shall sleep 
" These bands all over ere I sleep '." — 

" His blood !" she faintly scream'd — ber mind 
Still singling one from all mankind — 
" Yes — spite ol his ravines and towers, 
" Hafed, my child, this night is ours. 
"Thanks to all-conquering treachery, 

'• Without w h se aid the links accurst, 
"That bind these impious slves, would be 

" Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
" Thai rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
" My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
" Whose baffling speils had almost driven 
" B ick from their course the S»ords of Heaven, 
" This night, with all his band shall know 
'• How deep an Arab's s eel can go, 
" When Cod and Ye.zeance speed the blow. 
" And — Prophet ! by that tmlj wreath 
'• Thoo wor'st on (.hod's field of death,* 
" I swear, for every sob that parts 
" In anguish fr in ihoe heathen hearts, 
"A gem from Persia's plundered mines 
•'Shall ehtter on thv Shrine of Shrmea. 
" But. ha ! _ she siiiks — 'hat 1... k so wild — 
. vid lips— my child, my child, 



'This life 

J must back to Ar .1 y. 
' had I risk'J lb) 






" In scenes that man him sell might dread, 
'•H .1 I unt hop'J our every tread 

" Would be on | i,L-rks — 

"C'ursi race, Ihi | 

" But cheer thee," maid.— the wind that now 
'• Is blowing o'er ihy feverish brow, 



3 "It is observed, with respect lo the Sea 
Herkend, thit when it i* 

winds it sparkles like fire." — Travdi o/ Tux> J 
hammedans. 

«A kind of trumpet; — it "was that used 
Tamerlane, the sound of which is described as i 
commonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard at I 
distance of several miles." — Richardson. 

* "Mohammed had two helmet-, an interior a 
exterior one; the latter of which, railed Al * 
washah, the fillet, wreath, or wre.r 
wore at the ba tie of Oh. J." — l/nicu lal History, 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



291 



" To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
" And, e'er a drop of this night's gore 
" Have time lo chill in yonder towers, 
" Thou 'It see thy own sweet Arab bowers !" 

His bloody boast was all too true ; 

There lurk'd one wreich amtn:; the few 

Whom Hafed's eagle e>e could Count 

Around him on thai Fiery Mount, — 

One miscreant, who for gold belray'd 

The palhway through the valley's shade 

To those high towers, where Fre'dom stood 

In her last hold of flame acd blood. 

Left on l he field that dreadful night. 

When, sallying from their Sacred height, 

The Ghebers foughl hope's farewell fight, 

He lay — but died not wiih the biave"; 

That sun, which should have gilt his grave, 

Saw him a traitor and a slave; — 

And. while the few, who thence retnrn'd 

To their high rocky fortress, m urn'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

'I hey left behind on glory's bed, 

He liv'd, and, in the face of morn, 

Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn. 

Oh, for a tongue lo curse the slave, 

Whose (reason, like a deadly blight, 
Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 

And blasts them in their hour of might! 
May Life's unblessed cup for him 
Be drugg'd w ith treacheries lo the brim,— 
With hopes, that but allure lo fly, 

With jays, that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead-Sea fruits, hat empt Ihe eye. 

But turn :o ashes on the lips! <■ 
HiscountryV curse, h s children's shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, aid fame, 
May he, at last, with lips of dune 
On the oarch'd desert thirsting die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh, 5 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blas'ed ! 
And, when from ear h h s spitit flies, 

Just Prophet, let the d amn'd-one dwell 
Full in he siKht of Paradise, 

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell ! 



i "They say that Ihere are apple-trees upon the 
sides of this sea. which bear very lovely fruit, but 
within are all full of ashes.^ — Tnevenot. I he same 
is asseittd of Ihe oranges Ihere; v. K'ilmaji's Tra- 
vels in Asiatic Turkev. 

'•The A-phalt Lake, known by the name of the 
Dead Sea, is very remarkable on account of the con- 
siderable proportion of salt which it contains. In 
this re-pect it surpasses every other known water on 
Ihe surface of the earth. This geat proportion of 
bitter tastel sails is the reason why neither animal 
nor plant can live in this water.' — Ktaproth's Chemi- 
cal Analysis of the Water of the Dead Ser, Annals of 
Philosophy, January. 1813. Hasselquist, however, 
doubts the truth of this last asseition, as there are 
shell fiSh to be found in the lake. 

Lord Ryrou has a similar allusion to (he fruits of 
the Dead Sea, in that wonderful display of genius, his 
third Canto of (Jhilde Harold, — magnificent beyond 
any thing, perhaps, that even he has ever writ'en. I 

3 "TheSnhrab or Water of the Desert is said to be 
caused by the rarefaction of the atmosphere from ex- ' 
treme heat ; and, which augments the delusion, it is 
most frequent in hollows, wheie wa'er misfit he ex- 
pected (o lodge. I have seen bushes and trees refitt- 
ed in it, with as much accuracv as though it had been 
the face ot a clear and still lake."— Pottinger. 

"As to the unbelievers, their works are like a 
vapour in a plain, which Ihe thir>ty traveller (hinketh 
to be water, until when he Cometh therelo he findeih 
It to be nothing." — Koran, chap. 24. 



Lalla Rrokh had, the night before, been visited by 
a dream which, in spite of the impending fale of poor 
Hafed, made her heart more than usually cheerful 
during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the fresh- 
ened animation of a flower that the Bid-musk has just 
passed over » She fancied that she was sailing on that 
Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsres, who live for 
ever on the water, * ei joy a perpetual summer in 
wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small 
gilded batk approaching her. It was like one of Ihose 
boats which the Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the 
mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, 
flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to Ihe 
Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this 
little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming 
nearer 

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to 
her Ladies, when Feramorz appeared at the door of 
the pavilion. In his presence, of course, everything 
else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story 
was instmtly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes 
was set to burn in the cassolets:— the violet sherbets* 
were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude 
on his lute, in the pathe ic measure of Nava,K which 
is always u-ed to expre-s the lamentations of absent 
lovers, the Poet thus continued: — 



The day is lowering— stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
Dispers'd and wild, twist earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy. 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 

But tells of storm to come or past ; — 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war-horse in Ihe blast ; — 
There, roll'd in mas-es dark and swelling, 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
While some, already burs' and riven, 
Seem melting down the verge of heaven; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty womb that gave him birth, 



3 "A wind which prevails in February, called Bid- 
musk, from a small and odoriferous flower of that 
name.'' — "The wind which blows these flowers com- 
monly lasts till the end of the month."— Le Bruyn. 

* "The Biajus are of two races: the one is settled 
on Borneo, and are a tude but warlike and industrious 
nation, who reckon themselves the original possessors 
of Ihe Mand f Borneo. The other is a species of sea- 
gipsies or itinerant fishermen, who live in small cov- 
ered boats, and enjoy a perpetual summer on the east- 
ern ocean, shifting lo leeward from island to i-land, 
with the variations of the monsoon. In some of their 
customs this singular race resemb'e the na'ives of the 
Maldivia islands The Maldivians annually launch a 
small baik, loaded with perfumes gums, flowers, and 
odoriferous wood, and turn it adrift at the mercy of 
winds and waves, as an offering to the Spirit of the 
Winds ; and sometimes similar offerings are made to 
the spirit whom thev term the Kins; of the Sea. In 
like manner the Biajus perform their offering to the 
god of evil, launching a small bark, loaded with all 
Ihe sins and misfor'unes of Ihe nation, which are im- 
agined to fall on the unhappy crew that may be so 
unlucky s first to meet with it " — Dr. Ley.icn on the 
Lai.guigesand Liteiature of the Indo-Chinese Nations. 

5 "The sweet-scented violet is one of Ihe plants 
most es'eemed, particularly for its great u-e in Sorbet, 
which they make of violet sugar,"— Hasselquist. 

" The sherbet ihey most esteem, at d wh.cli • drank 
by the Grind Sienor himself, is made of violets and 
sugar.'' — Tavemier. 

6 '• Last of all she took a guitar, and sung a pathetic 
air in the mea ure called Nava, which is always u-ed 
to express the lamenations of absent lovers." — Persian 
Tales. 



292 



LALLA ROOKH, 



And, having swept Ihe firmament, 
Was now in fierce carter for earth. 

On earth 't was yet all calm around, 
A pulseless si'ence, drea.l. profound, 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 
The diver steer'd f r Onnus' howers, 
Ai.d nioor'd his skiff till calmer hours ', 
The 8«-hird', with portentous screech, 
Flew fast to lai d ; — i pon the beach 
The pil..t oft had paus'd, with gl .nee 
Turn'd upward to that wild expan-e; — 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 
As her own soul, when Hi da's bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore. 
No music tim'd her parting oar, i 
Nor friends upon Ihe lessening s'rand 
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
Or speak the farewell, heard no more; — 
Bui lone, unheeded, from ihe bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way, 
Like some ill-des in'd bark lha' steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears.* 
And where was stern Al Hassan then 
Could noi ihat saintly sco.ige of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there? 
No — clo e within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night ni blood, — 

With that keen, sec md-scent of death, 
By which he vulture snutfs his food 

In the still warm and living breath ! 3 
While o'er the wave his weeping daughter 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter- 
As a young bird of Babylon,* 
Let loose to tell of victory won, 
Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain'd 
By the red liauds that held her cbaiu'd. 

And does the long-left home she seeks 

Light up no gladness on her cheeks? 

The flowers she nurs'd — the well-known groves, 

Where oft in dreams her spirit roves — 

Once more to see her dear gazelles 

Come bounding wilh their silver bells; 

Her birds' new plumage to behold, 

And the gay, gleaming fishes coust, 
She left, all filleted with gold, 

Shooting around their jasper fount ; * 
Her little garden mosque to see, 

And once again, at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby rosary 6 

In her own sweet acacia bower. — 



i " The Easterns ust d to set out on their longer voy- 
ages with music."— Hornier. 

» " The Gate of Tears, the strai's or passage into the 
Red Sea, commonly called Babelniandel. It received 
this name from ihe old Arabians, on account of the 
danger of the navigation, and Ihe number of ship- 
wrecks by which it wa< distinguished ; which induced 
them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for 
all who had the bildness to hazard Ihe passage through 
it into Ihe Elhiopic ocean."— Richardson. 

3 «' I have teen told that whensoever an animal falls 
down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, in- 
stautly appear."— Pennant. 

* '• They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bag- 
dat, or Babylonian pigeon."— Travels of certain Eng- 
lishmen. 

* " The Kntpress of Jehan-Guire used to divert her. 
self with feeding tame fish in her cmals, some of 
which were many yens afterwards known by fillets 
of gold, which she caused to be put round them.'' — 
Harris. 

s <• Lb Tespih, qui est un chapelet, compose de 99 
jsetites boules d'agalhe, de jaspe, d'anibre, de corail, ou 



Can these delights, that wait her now, 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No,— silent, from her train apart, — 
As if even now she felt at heart 
The chill of her approaching doom, — 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 
Ai d o'er Ihe wide, tempestuous wave, 
Looks, w i h a shudder, io those towers, 
U here, in a few short awful hour-, 
Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
' Wheie art thou, gloiious stranger! thou, 
' So lov'd, so lust, where art thou now ? 
" Foe — Gheber— infidel— whaie'er 
" The' unhallow'd name thcu 'rt doom'd to bear 
"Sill gloiou— still to this fond heart 
'' Dear as i's blood, whaie'er thou art! 
"Yes — Alia, dieadful Alia! yes — 
" If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
•' Let Ihe black waves thai round us roll, 
«■ Whelm ine this ins'ant. ere my soul, 
"Forgetting faith — home — father — all — 
" Before its earthly idol fall, 
"Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him — 
" For, oh, so » ildly do I love him, 
"Thy Paradise i'setf were dim 
" And joyless, if not shard w ilh him !" 
Her hand's were clasp'd — her eyes upturn'd 

Dropping their teats like moonlight rain ; 
And, though her lip, fond raver! burn'd 

With words of pa-sion, bold, profane, 
Tel was there light anund her biow, 

A holiness in th-se daik eyes, 
Which show'd, — though wandering earthward 
now, — 

Her -r iri;"s home was in Ihe skies. 
Yes — for a spirit pure as hers 
Is always pure, ev'n while it errs; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! 

So wholly had her mind forgot 

All thoughts but one, she heeded not 

The rising storm — the wave tliat ^ast 

A moment's midnight, as it pa-s'J — 

Nor heard Ihe frequent stv u\ the tread 

Of gatheiing tumult o'er her head — 

Clash d sword-, and t* n^ues that seem'd to vie 

With the rude not of the sky. — 

But, hark ! — that war-whoop on the deck — 

That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and a'l, were gone to wreck, 

Mid yells and stampings of despair! 
Merciful Heaven ! what can it he ? 
•T is not the storm, (hough fearfully 
The ship has shudder'd as she rode 
O'er mountain-waves — '' Forgive me, God ! 
" Forgive n.e" — shnek'd the maid, and knelt, 
Tren.b ing all over — for she felt 
As if her judgnienMvur was tear; 
While crouching round, half dead wilh fear. 
Her handmaids clunr, nor breaih'd. nor stirr'd — 
When, hark ! —a second cash — a third — 
And now. as if a boll < f Ihui der 
Had riv'n the labouring planks asunder, 
The deck falls in — w hat bormrs then ! 
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords ,md men 
Come mix'd together through the chasni, — 
Some wre'ehes m ihe ir dying spasm 
Still fighting on — and some that cill 
" For God and Iran !" as they fall ! 

Whose was the hand that turn'd away 
The perils of the" infuriate fiay. 



d'autre ma'iere precieuse. J'en at vu un superbe an 
Seigneur Jerpos ; il e oit de belles et grosses perles 
paifaites et egales. estime treule mdle piastres." — 
IWmni 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS 



293 



And sna'ch'd her breathless from beneath 
This wildemient of wreck and death? 
She knew not— for a raininess came 
Chill o'er her, and her sinking trune 
Amid Hie iiiins of that h„ur 
Lay like a pale and scotched flower, 
Beneath the red volcano's shower. 
But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread 
Thai shock'd her ere her senses fled ! 
The yawning deck —the cr wd that strove 
Upon the totlering planks above — 
The sail, who-e fragments, shivering o'er 
The strugjlers' heads, all dash'd with gore 
Fluttered like bloody Hags — the clash 
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 
Upon their b ades, high 'os-'d about 
Like meteor brands » —as if throughout 

The elements one fury ran, 
One general rage, that left a doubt 

Which was the fiercer, Heav'n or Man ! 

Once loo — but no — it could not be — 

'T was fancy all — yet once she thought, 
While yet her" fading eyes could see, 

High'on 'he ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of lhat unearthly form, 

That glory of her soul,— even hen, 
Amid ihe whiil of wieck and storm, 

Shining above his fell w-men, 
As, on Kime black and tToubtnoa night. 
The Star of Knyp , a whose proud light 
Never hath beam'd on those who rest 
In ihe Whi e Islands of ihe West, 3 
Burns ihrough the storm wi h lo>ks of flame 
That put Heav'n's cloudier eyes t > shame. 
But no — 't was bu' the minutes dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had half-»ay pass'J her pallid lips, 
A death-like' swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul an I sense its daikness spread 
Arouid her, aod she sunk, as dead. 

How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone; 
When w .ir.ng winds have dird away, 
And clouds, beneah Ihe glancing ray, 
Mell off, and leave ihe land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity, — 
Fresh as if Day again weie born, 
Again upon the lap of Mom ! — 
When the lighi blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter'd at the whirl" ind's will, 
H.ng floating in Ihe pure air still, 
Filling is all "ith precious balm, 
In graitude for this sweet calm ; — 
And every drop Ihe thunder-showers 
Have left upon Ihe grass and flowers 
Spirkles, a> 't were that lightning-gem « 
Whose liquid flame is born of them! 
When, 'stead of one unchanging bieeze, 
The r e blow a thousand gentle air-, 
And each a different perfume bears,- 
As if the loveliest plan's and trees 
Had vassal breezes of Iheii own 
To watch and wail on then alone, 
And wafi no other breath thin theirs: 
When ihe blue waters rise and fall, 
In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 



« The meteors lhat Pliny calls " faces." 

•l " The brilliant Canopus, unseen in European 
climates." — Brown. 

s See Wilford's learned Essays on the Sacred Isles 
in the West. 

* A precious stone of the Indies, called by Ihe 
ancien's, Ceraunium, because it was supposed to be 
found in places where thunder had fallen. Tertullian 
says it has a glittering appearance, as if there had 
been fire in it ; and the author of the Dissertation in 
Harris's Voyages, supposes it to be the opal. 

25* 



And ev'n lhat swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves 
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest, 
Too newly to be quite at rest. 

Such was the golden hour that broke 
Upon the world, when Hinda woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 
No motion but the water's sound 
Rippling against ihe vessel's side, 
As slow it mounted o'er Ihe tide. — 
But where is she? — her eyes are dark, 
Are wilder'd still — is this the bark, 
The same, tlia' from Harmozia's bay- 
Bore her at morn — whose bloody way 
The sea-dog track'd ? — no — strange and new 
Is all ihat meets her wondering view. 
Upon a salliot's deck she lies, 

Benea'h no rich pavilion's shade,— » 
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 

Nor j smine on her pillow'laid. 
But the rude lifer, roughly spread 
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 
And sh tw I and sash, on javelins hung, 
For awning o'er her head are fluug. 
Shuddering she look'd around— ihere lay 

A gioup ol warriors in the sun. 
Res ing their limbs, a- for that day 

Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
Lost in unconscious reverie; 
And some, who seeni'd but ill to brook 
Thai sluiiish calm, with many a look 
To the slack s < i 1 impa'ient cast, 
As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 

Blest Alia ! who shall save her now ? 

There's no! in all that warrior band 
One Arab sword, one turban'd brow 

From her own Faithful Moslem land. 
Their garb — the leathern belt 5 that wrap* 

Each yellow vests — lint rebel hue — 
The Tartar rUece upon their caps ' — 

Yes — yes — her fears are all too true, 
And Heav'n hath, in this dreadful hour, 
Abandon'd her lo Hafed's power; — 
Hafed, 'he Gheber! — at Ihe h ught 

Her very heart's blood chills B ithin ; 
He. whom her soul was hourly taught 

To loathe, as some foul tiend of sin, 
Some minis er, whom Hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where'er he went, 
And fling, as o'er our earth he trod, 
His shadow betwixt man and Gi d ! 
And she is now his captive,— thrown 
In his fierce hands, alive, alone j 
His the infuriate band she sees, 
All infidels — all enemies! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross'd her like light'ning, as again, 
With boldness that despair had Tent, 

She darted through lhat armed crowd 
A look so searching, so in'ent, 

That ev'n the sternest warrior bow'd 
Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 
As if he guess'd it hose form they sought. 
But no — she sees him not — 1 is gone, 
The vision that before her shone 
Throogh all the maze of blood and stotm, 
Is fled — 't was but a phantom form — 
One of Ihose passing, rainbow dteams, 
Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams 



* D>Herbelot, art. Agduani. 

s '• The Guebres are known by a dark yellow 
colour, which the men affect in their clo lies." — 
Thevenot. 

' " The Kolah, or cap, worn by the Persians, is 
made of the skin of the sheep of Tartary."- 
Waring. 



294 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 
In trance or slumber round the soul. 

But now the bark, with livelier bound, 
Scale- the blue wave — Ihe c. ews in motion, 

The oars are ou\ and with light sound 
Break the bright mirror of the ocean, 

Scattering its brilliant fr agmen ts round. 

And now she sees — with horror sees, 

Their course is toward that mountain-hold, — 

Tho-e towers, that make her life-blood freeze, 

Where Mecca's godless enemies 
Lie, like beleguer'd scorpions, roll'd 
In their las deadly, venomous lold ! 

Amid the' illumi 'd land and flood. 

Sunless that mighty mount-in stood; 

Save where, above i's awful head, 

There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 

As 't were the flag of destiny 

Hung out to mark where death would be J 

Had her bewilder'd mind the power 
Of thought in this terrific hour, 
She well might marvel where or how 
Man's foot could scale that m un aiu's brow, 
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
Of path but through the glen alone.— 
But every thought was lost in fear, 
When, as their b landing bark drew near 
The craggy La-e. she fell the waves 
Hurry them tow'rd those dismal caves, 
That from the Deep in windings pass 
Benea'h that Mount's volcanic mas. ; — 
And I ud a voice on deck commands 
To lower the mast and light the brands! — 
Inst willy o'er the dashing tide 
Within a cavern's mouth they glide, 
Gloomy as (hat eternal Porch 

Through w hich departed spiri's go : — 
Not ev'n the fl.re of brand aid torch 
Us flickering light could further throw 
Than the thick no >d II. at boil'd below. 
Silent they floated— as if each 
Sat breathless, and too aw'd for speech 
In that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seein'd dark,— so sullenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mu teiM it o'er the long bl.ck wave, 
As 't were some secret of the grave ! 



But soft — 'hey pause — the current turni 
Beneath 'hem from is onward track ;- 
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 
The vexed tide, all roaming, back, 
And scarce the oars' red ubled f.uce 
Can stem the eddj's whirling force; 
When, hark ! —some despera'e foot has 
Among the rocks— the ctiain is flu g — 
The oars are up — the grapple dines. 
And the tos-'d bark in mom ray swii gs. 
Just then, a d>y-beam through the shade 
Broke tremulous — bu , ece the nnid 
Can see from whence he bnghtne-s steals, 
Ujion her brow she shuddering feels 
A viewless hand, 'hat promptly ies 
A bandage round her burning eyes ; 
While the rude lifer where she lies, 
Uplifted by the w irrior '. 
O'er the steep rocks is borue along. 

Blest power of sunshine ! — genial Day, 
What halui, what life is in thy ray ! 
To feel thee is such real bliss, 
That had the world no joy b.l this, 
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,— 
It were a world too exqni-ite 
For man to leave it for the gloom. 
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
Ev'n Hind*, though she saw not where 

Or whither wound the perilous road, 
Tet knew by that awakening air, 

Whict suddenly around her glow'd, 



That 'hey had risen from darkness then, 
And breath'd the sunny world again ! 

But soon this balmy freshness fled — 
For now the sleepy labyrinth led 
Through damp and gloom — 'mid crash of 
And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 
fr m Lis luiugiy sleep, 

Who, star ing, thinks each crag a prey, 
And long is heard, from s eep to steep, 

Chasing them down their thundering way! 
The jackal's ery — the distant moan 
Of the hyaena, tierce and lone — 
And that eternal saddening sound 

Of torrents in ihe glen beneath, 
As 'I were the ever-da k Profound 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death! 
All, all is fearful — ev'n to see. 

To g ze on those terrific things 
She now but blindly hears, would be 

Relief to her imaginings ; 
Si ce never yet was shape so dread, 

But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 
And by such sounds of horror fed, 

Could frame more dreadful of her own. 



But dres she dream ? has Fear again 

Perplex'd the workings of her brain, 

Or diJ a voice, all music, then 

Come from the gloom, low whispering near — 

" Tremble not. love, thy Gheber's here f 

She dots not dream — ail sense, all ear, 

She drinks the words, '• Thy Gheber 's here." 

T m his own v ice — slie could not err — 

Throughout the breathing world's extent 
There was but one such voice for her, 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
Oh, s oner shall the race of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minsir 

Open her bo-om's glowing nl,l 
Than L ve shall ever d-ubt a tone, 
A breath of the belovea one ! 

Though bles', 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near. 
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink, 

Hah power to make ev'n ruin dear, — 
Yet soou thi- gleam of rapture, crost 
By fears for him, is chill'd aod lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 
That one of Gheber blood should look, 
With augb' but curses in his eye, 
On her— a maid of Araby — 
A Moslem mud —the child of him, 

Who~e bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars Cold and dim. 

And their fair laud a wilderness! 
And, woise than all, that night of blood 

Which comes so fas' — Oh ! « ho shall stay 
The sword, that once ha'h tasted food 

Of Persian hears, or turn its way ? 
What am shall then the victim cover, 
Or from her father shield ber lover ? 

" Save him. mv God !" she inlr cries — 
"S>vehim this nigh' — and if Ihme eye* 

"Have ever welcom'd with delight 
" The sinner's tears, ihe sacrifice 

" Of sinners' hearts — guard him this night, 
"And here, before thv throne, I swear 
" Fr m mv heart s inmost c re to lear 

" L ve.'hope, renieu brance, 'hough they be 
" Lmk'd with each quivering life-string there, 
" And eive it hleedme all to Thee ! 
"Let him but live — the burning tear, 
"The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 



» A frequent image among theorienal poets. "The 
nightingales warbled their enchanting notes 
the ihiii veils of the rcse-bud and the ro 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



295 



' Which have been all too much his own, 

"Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. 

"Youth pass'd i:i peni ence, and age 

"In long and painful pilgrimage, 

"Shall leave DO tiaces of ti.e limine 

" Thai wastes me now— noi shall his name 

" Ere bless my lips, but when 1 pray 

" For his deai spiri , that away 

'• tasting from its angelic ray 

u The' eclip-e of earth, he, too, may shine 

" Redeem'd, all glorious and a I Thine! 

" 1 In; k — think what victory to win 

" One radiant soul iike his from sin, — 

" One wandering; star of virtue back 

"To its own native, heaven-ward track I 

"Let him but live, and both are Thine, 

" Together thine — for, blest or crost, 
" Living or dead, his doom is mine, 

" And. if he perish, both are lost !» 



The next evening Lalla Rookh was en'reited by her 
Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful 
dream; hut he fearful interest that hung round the 
fate of Hinda and her lover had completely removed 
every trace of it from her mind; — much to the disap- 
pointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who 
prided themselves on theirskill in interpreting vision-, 
and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, 
«hat the Pri Cess, on the very morniiii alter the 
dream, had worn a silk dyed wiih the blossoms of the 
sorrowful tree. Nilica. 1 

Fadladecn, whose indignation had more than once 
broken out during the recital of some parts of this 
lie eiodox poem, seemed at length to hive made up 
his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this even- 
ing with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet 
resumed his profane and seditious story as follows: — 



To tearless eyes and hearts at ease, 

The leaty slior.s a d BUn-bi ight seas, 

Thai lay beneath that mountain's height, 

Had been a fair enchanting sigh'. 

'T was one of those ambrosial eves 

A day of s oun so often leaves 

At its calm setting — when the West 

Opens her golden boweis of rest. 

And a moist radiance from the skies 

Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 

Of some meek peni ent, whose last, 

Bright hours atone for dak ones past, 

And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiven, 

Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven! 

'Twas stillness all — the winds Ih.V late 

Had rush'd through Herman's almond groves, 
And shake . from her bowers of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves, * 
Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 

Were mel'ed all to form the s ream : 
And her fair islets, small and bright, 

With their green sh res reflecied there, 
Look like those Peri isles of light. 

That hang by spell-work in the air. 



f " Blossoms of the sorrowful Nyclanhes give a 
durable colour to silk."— Remarks mi the Husbandry 
of Bcnsal p. 200. Ni ica i- one of the Indian i ames 
of this flower. — Sir W. Junes. The Persians call it 
Gul. — Carrerx. 

2 " In parts of Kerman, whatever dates are <haken 
from the trees by the wind they do not touch, but 
leave them for those who have not any, or for tra- 
vellers." — Ebn Hauhal. 



But vainly did those glories burst 
On H.nd.'s dazzled eyes, when first 
1 he bandage from hei brow was taken. 
And, pale and aw'd as 'hose who waken 
In Iheirdark tombs — when scowling near, 
'I he Seaichers of the Grave 3 appear, — 
She shuddering turn'd lo read her fate 

In the tierce eyes that flash'd around; 
And saw those towers •11 desolate, 

That o'er her head terrific frown'd, 
As if defying ev'n the smile 
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. 
In vain with mingled hope ai d fear, 
She looks for him » hose voice so dear 
Had come, like music, to her ear — 
Strange, mocking dieam ! again 't is fled. 
And oh, the snoots, the pangs of dread 
That through her inmost bosom run. 

When voices from without proclaim 
"Hafed the Chief!" — and, one by one, 

The warriois shout that fearful name! 
He comes— the rock resounds his tread — 
How shall she dare to lift her head, 
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boidest sons cm bear? 
In wh se red beam, the Moslem tells, 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 
As in those hellish tires ih t light 
The mandr ke's charnel leaves at night* 
How shall she hear that voice's tone, 
At whose loud b Itle-cn alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
Sea ter'd like some vast caravan, 
When, stretch'd at evening round the well, 
They hear the thirsting tigei's yell ? 

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, 
Shrinking beneath the tiery frown. 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now : 
And shuddering as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior hand. — 
Never was pau-e so full of dread ; 

Till Hafed with a trembling hand 
Took hers, and. leaning o'er her, said, 
"Hinda;'' — that word was all he spoke, 
And 't was enough — the shriek that broke 

From her full bosom, told the rest. — 
Panting with terror, joy, surprise, 
The maid but lifts her wondering eyes, 

To hide them on her Ghebi-r's breast I 
>T is he. 't is he — the man of blond, 
The fellest of the Fire-fiend"s biood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight. 
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,- 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smil'd 
In her lone tower, and Iff such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 
That she believ'd her bower had given 
Rest to some wanderer from hcs.vea ! 

Moments there are, and this wis one, 
Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of fun 
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse — 

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's burning lips. 

Sweetening the very edge of doom ! 
The past — the future — a'l ihi( Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they last ! 



3 The two terrible anzels, Mon'kir and Nakir. who 
are called " the Searchers of the Grave" in the '• Creed 
of the orthodox Mahometans" given tj Ockley, 
vol. ii. 

* "The Arabians call the mandrake 'the Devil's 
candle,' on accoi.nt of its si iuing appearance in the 
night."— Richardson. 



296 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Ev'n he, this youth — though dimm'd and gone 

Each siar of Hope that cheer'd him on — 

His glories lr.st — hi-, cause betra>'d — 

Iran, l : s dcar-lov'd country, made 

A land . f carcasses a. d slaves, 

One dreary wa-te nf chains and graves! — 

Himself but lingering, dead at heait, 

To see the last, lung struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart, 

Tlien lay hjm down and share her death 
Ev'n be, s> ?u:.k in wretchedness, 

VVib doom still daker gatheiing o'er him, 
Vet, in th s moment's pure caress, 

In the mild eyes that shone befnre him, 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other innsports known on earth, 
That he was lov'd — well, warmly 1 -Yd — 
Oh ! in this precious hour he prov'd 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of woe j 
How exquisi'e one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of misery's cup — how keenly quaff'd, 
Though death must follow on the draught ! 

She, too, while gazing on thr.se eyes 

That si; k into her soul so deep, 
Forgets all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
Whom fa' cy cheats into a smile, 
Who dreams of joy and sobs the while! 
The mighty Ruins where thry s'ood, 

Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, 
Lay open tow'ids the ocean flood. 

Where lightly o'er the jllumin'd surge 
Many a fur bark tlia', all the day, 
Had lurk*d in sheltering creek or" bay, 
Nowb unded on, and gave their sails, 
Vet diipping, to the eveuing gales; 
Like e liles. when the s.orru is done, 
Spreading their wet wingi in the sun. 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star 
Had sunk behind (he hills of Lar, 
Were still wiih lingering- glories bright,— 
As if. to grace the gorgeous West, 

I he Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny ve«t 

Behind him, eie he wing'd hi» flight. 
Nevei was >cene so f >rm'd for love ! 
Beneath 'hem waves of crystal move 
In silent swell — Ht-.iv'n gl >ws ftl 
And their pure hearts, to transport given, 
Swell like the nave, and glow like Heav'n. 

But ah ! loo soon that dream is past — 

Again, again her fear returns; — 
>"igh', dreadful night, is gatheiing fast, 

More family the horizon burns, 
And every rosy lint that lay 
On the smooth sea hath died away. 
Hastily to the darkening skies 
A glance she casts — then w ildly cries 
" At night, he said — and, look, 'I is near— 

" Fly. fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly — 
" Soon will his murderous band be here, 

"And I shall see thee bleed a-id die.— 
" Hush ! heard'st thou u. t the tramp of men 
" Sounding from yonder fearful glen ? — 
'•Perhaps ev'n now ihev climb the wood — 

•' Flv, flv — though still the West is bright, 
" He 'll come — oh ! yes — he wants thy blood - 

" I know him — he '11 not wait for night !■ 

In terrors ev'n to agony 

She clings around the wondering Chief; — 
"Alas, poor wilder'd maid ! to me 

"Thau ow'st this raving trance of grief. 
" Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
** Beneath mv shade bu' | eri.h'd "no — 
"My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 
"And n thing lives that enters there! 



" Why were our barks together driven 
" Beuea'h this morning's furious heaven ? 
" Why, when I saw the prize hat chance 

" Had thrown into my desperate arms, — 
" When, casting but a single glance 

" Upon thy pale and pr< strate charms, 
"I vow'd ('hough watching viewless o'er 

"Thy safety thro gh that h' ur's alarms) 
" To meet the' unmanning sight no more — 
" Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow 
" Why weakly, madly met thee now ? — 
"Start not — that noise is but the shock 

" Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd — 
"Dread nothing here — upon this r ck 

'• We stand above the jarring world, 
"Alike beyond its hope — its dread — 
" In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 
"Or, coud ev'n earth and hell unite 
" In league to storm this Sacred Height, 
" Fear nothing thou — myself, to-night, 
'•And each overlooking star that dwells 
" »ar G -d will be thy sentinels ; — 
" And. ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 

" Back to thy sire " 

" To-morrow ! — no - 
The maiden scream'd — " Ihou 'It never see 
'•To-morrow's sun — death, death will be 
" The night-cry through each reeking tower, 
" Unless we tiy, ay. fly this hour ' 
" 'Ihou art be'ray'd — some wretch who knew 
"That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
" Nay, doubt not — by yon stirs, 't is true — 
" Hath sold thee to my 'vengeful sire; 
"This morning, with that smile so dire 
" He wears in joy, he told me all, 
"And s amp'd in triumph through our hall, 
" As though thy heart already beat 
"Its last life-throb benea'b his feet ! 
"Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then 

" Hi? victim was my own lov'd youth ! — 
"F>y — send — let someone watch the glen — 

" By all my hopes of heaven, ? t is tru h :" 

Oh ! colder than the wind that freezes 

Fouu's, that but now in sunshine play'd, 
Is that congealing pang which seizes 

The trussing bosom, when betray'd. 
He felt it — deeply felt — and stood, 
As if the tale bad froz'n his blood, 

So maz'd and motionless was he ; — 
Like one whom suddeu spells enchant, 
Or some mute, marbie habitant 

Of the still Hail.- of Ishmonie ! » 

But soon the painful chill was o'er, 
Aud his great gnu!, herrelf once more, 
Look'd from his fcio» in all the nyl 
Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 
Never, in mon.eut mot i 

Did that high spirit lof ier rise ; — 
While bngh:, serene, de ermmale, 

His looks are lifted to the skies, 
As if thesigtal l.ghtsof Fate 

Were shining iu those awful eyes! 
'T is come — his hour of martyrdom 
In Irurs saaei cau?e is come; 
And, though his life hath passd away 
Like lightning on a s orun day, 
Yet shall his death-hour ieave a track 

. permanent a' d 
To which* the hi 
The st. tiering brave, shall long look back 

With proud regret.— aid by its light 

Watch through the hours i i slavery's night 
For vengeance on the' oppn 



« For an account f 1-! n. tie. the petrified city in i 
Upper Egypt, where it i> s.id there are many s'atuet : 
| or men. w omen, &c. to be seen to this day, see Pcm/'t 
1 View of the Levant. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



29' 



This rock, his monument aloft, 

Shall speak the ta e 10 many an age; 
And hither bards and heroes . ft 

Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 
And bring their warrior .-on-, and tell 
The wondering boys whe e Hafed fell ; 
And swear them on tho-e Id e remains 
Of Iheir lost c .u.. try's ancient fanes, 
IS ever — while brtalh of life shall live 
Wi bin them — uevei to forgive 
The' accursed r ce, whose ruthless chain 
Halh lett on Iran's neck a slain 
Blood, blood aluue can cleanse again ! 

Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow; 
And ne'er did Saint of Issai gaze 

On the red wreath, for martyrs twin'd, 
More proudly lhan the youth surveys 

That pile, which through the gloom behind, 
Half lighted by the altar's fire, 
Glimmers — his destin'd funeral pyre ! 
Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, 

Of every wood of odorous breath, 
There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands, 

Ready to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who swore 
To perish there, when hope was o'er — 
The few, to whom that couch of flame, 
Which rescues them from bonds and shame, 
Is sweet and welcome as the bed 
For their own infant Prophet spread, 
When pitying Heav'n to roses turn'd 
The death-flames that beneath hira burn'd ! > 

With watchfulness the maid attends 
His rapid glance, where'er it bends — 
Why shoot his eyes such awful beams? 
What plans he now ? what thinks or dreams? 
Alas I why stands he musing here, 
When every moment teems with fear? 
" Hafed, my own beloved Lord," 
She kneeling cries — " first, last ador'd 
" If in that soul thou 'st ever felt 

" Half wh;it thy lips impassi in'd swore, 
" He e, on my knees ihat never knelt 

" To any but their God before, 
" I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly — 
'• Now, now — ere yet their blades are nigh. 
"Oh haste — the bark that bore me hither 

" Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea 
''East — west — alas, I care not whither, 

"So thou art safe, and 1 with Ihee ! 
"Go where we will, this hand in thine, 

'• Those eyes before me smiling thus, 
" Through good and ill, through storm and shine, 

" The world 's a world of love for us ! 
"On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, 
" Where 't is no crime to love too well ; — 
" Where thus to worship tenderly 
" An erring child of light like thee 
" Will not be sin— or if it be, 
" Where we may weep our faults away, 
" Together kneeling, night and day, 
" Thou, for my sake, at Alias shi ine, 
" And 1 — at any God's, for thine !" 



t Jesus. 

2 The Ghebejs say that when Abraham, their great 
Prophet, was thrown into the fire by order of Ninirod, 
the fl.me turned instantly inl" "a bed of roses, where 
the chill sweetly reposed."— Taveinrier. 

Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a story 
told in Dion Prussits, Orat. 36, Ihat the love of wis- 
dom and virtue leading him to a solitary life upon a 
mountain, he found it one day all in a r.ame, shining 
with cele-lial fire, out of which he came without any 
harm, and instituted certain sacrifices to God, who, 
he dec'ared, then appeared to him. — v. Patrick on 
" 2. 



Wildly these passionate words she spoke — 

Then hung her head, and wept for shame ; 
Sobbing, as if a heart-siring broke 

With eveiy deep-heavd sob that ome. 
While he, young, warm — oh ! wonder not 

If, for a moment, pride and fame, 

His oath — his cause — that shrine of flame, 
And Iran's self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
O'er hours to come— o'er days and nights, 
Wine'd with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 
Was born to kindle and to share. 
A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 

To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud 

Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
Starting, he brush'd the drop, away, 
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ; — 
Like one who, on the mom of fight, 
Shakes fiorn his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its light. 
Yet, though subdued the' unnerving tV , 
Its warmth, its weakness linger'd sliL 

So touching in each look and tone, 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she prav'd, 

Half thought ihe hero'i sr.ul was grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own, 
And smil'd and bless'd him, while he said — 
" Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
" Where fadeless truth like ours is dear, 
" If there be any lai d of rest 

" For those who love and ne'er forget, 
"Oh ! comfort thee — for safe and blest 

" We '11 meet in that calm region yet !" 

Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart, 
When the rous'd youth impatient flew 
To the tower-wall, where, high in view, 
A ponderous sea-horn 3 hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, Ihat signal knew; 
For 't was the' appointed w .rniig-blast, 
The' alarm, to tell when hope was past, 
And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
Aiid there, upon Ihe mouldering tower, 
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
That dirge-note of the brave and free. 
They came — his Chieftains at the call 
Came slowly round, and with them all — 
Alas, how few ! — the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went gaily prancing to ihe clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun, 
And, as their coursers charg'd the wind. 
And the white ox-tails steam'd behind,'* 
Looking, as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing"d, and every Chief a God ! 
How fall'n, how alter'd now ! how wan 
Each scarr'd and laded visage shone, 



3 " The shell called Siiankos, common to Ind a, Af- 
rica, and the Mediterranean, and still used in iiarr 
parts as a trumpet for blowing alarms or giving sig- 
nals : it sends foith a deep and hollow sound." — Pen' 
nant. 

* " The finest ornament for the horses is nade of 
six large flying tassels of long white hair, laket out of 
the tails of wild oxen, that are to be found in some 
places of the Indies."— Thevtnct. 



298 



LALLA RUOKH. 



As round the burning shrine thev rame; — 
How deadlywas tne glare il cast, 

As mu e 'bey p .us'd belore the rian.e 
To liib their toichcs as they pass'd ! 

T was i,l c nce ;.I1 — the youth haJ plann'd 

The dul es if Ins -o.dicr-band ; 

And each de'eioiio'd brow declares 

Bis faiihful Chieftains weil know theirs. 



But minutes speed— night gems the skies — 

And oh, how so >n. yt L.e-srd eyes, 

That look from beaten, ye may L 

Sights tliat Will turn your slar-'hres cold ! 

Breathless wiih awe impatience, 

The maiden sees the veteran group 

Her litter silen ly prepare, 

And lay it at her rcuiblii g feet ; — 
And now the touth, with gti.tle care, 

Hath pac'J her in me sfielter'u 
An I I'Tcrss d hrr ha> d — that lingering press 

Of hands ih ■! for the last tinie sever j 
Of hear s, whose pulse of haupines-, 

When tha' hold breaks, is dead for eter. 
And tet to her this >ad caress 

G ves h"pe — so fundi] hope can err '. 
'T was joy, she h ughi, j .y"s mute excess — 

Their happy flights dear ha'bn _ 
T was warmth — assurance — tenderness — 

'T was any thing but leaving her. 
" Has'e, haste !" -he cned, •' the clouds grow dark 
" Bui still, ere night, we'll reach the bark; 
" And by to-mormw's dawn — oh. I 

" VV i ih thee upon the >u n-bright deep, 
" Far orT, 1 'll but remember this, 

'• As -ome da k vamsliM dream of sleep; 

"And thou " but ah ! — he answers not — 

G< od He. . "n : — a- d does she go alone ? 
She now has ieach*d that disn 

Where, some hours since, his voice's tone 
Had come lo soothe her tears and ills, 
Sweet as the angel IsrahTs. 1 
When every le-al o;i Lde. 's tree 
Is trembling to hs mn.s r 
Ye' niM — oh. now, he is not nigh. — 

"Hafed! mv H 
" Tby w ill, thy d om this nigh '0 die, 

"Le nie but stay lo die w tfa thee, 
"And I will bless thy loved name, 
'• Till the last life-br'eaih leave 'Ins frame. 
"Oh: let our lips, our cbeeki 
" But near each other » bile they fade ; 
" Let us but niil our par ing brea hs, 
"And 1 can die ten thousand deaths! 

y, one moment stay — 

'• Oh : nay — cue moment Is not much — 
" He vet nay erne — for Aim I prav — 
"Hafed ! dear H.iled : — " all the way 

In w ild lameniirgs tha - would ' 
A heart of st..ne, she shr.ek'd his name 
To the d .rk woods — no Hafed came : — 
No — hapless p ir — you ve look'd your last : — 

Your hearts shou d both have broken ihen: 
The dreim i- i 'er — y ur doom is cast — 

\ on 'il never meet on earth again 1 



Alas, for him. who hears he 

S ill balf-way down the s 
Watching with nx'd and fe 

The gl 
That do* 
Light all he 
Hopeless as they who. far at sea, 

By the cold moon have j - 
The coise of one, lov d te. dcrlv. 

To the bleak fl\>od they leave" beh od ; 



! stands, 



nods, 
ul .ay, 



And on the deck still lingering stay, 
And long lo k I ack, w i h sad delay, 
To wacb the moonlight on ihe wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave, 

Bu' see — he starts — what heard he then? 
That dreadful sl.out '. — across the gleo 
Fr .in :he land-side it comes, and I >ud 

,ih the cb sin ; as if the crowd 
Of tearful hi "gs. tint haunt that dell, 
Its Ghoies and Oives and sha|*s of hell, 
Had all in one dread how I broke out, 
So loud, so terrible that si. 

" They come — the Moslems come !" — he cries, 
Hi- proud soul mounting o his e. ! 
"Now-, Spiri 1 * of the Urate, who roam 
'• Enfranchis'd through tin s'arry _ 
" Rejoice — for souls of "ki. dred fire 
'•Are on the wing to join your ct. 
He said — and. light as bridegrooms bound 

To thei- 
And gain'd the Shr. d round — 

I heir swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, a' that cry accurst, 
H^d from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst. 
And hark ! — agiin — agim it rings; 
Near and u.orenear Us at) 
Peal through the chasm — oh ! ■ ho that then 

With their swords g of flame 

Ihe shame, 

To hear those shouts and yet stani 

He read their thoughts — they were his own — 
- What ! while our arms can wield these blade 
E ilone? 

:r, buried deep, 
"Tbesabr, 

. ugb of all eaitt ' 
" Life, swords, aud vrngeai 
'•We',! caves 

"Live id the a 

"Tel'l ct 

remains 
from life and chains; 



Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
-rung 
Each am ; foe 

Still throu. '-.clow, 



rail. 
No toich the Ghebers need — 
Thet kno» 

-m dwell, 

us a deep ravine, 
n ake m.iders rue 

sgh, 

:rags werepil'd,— 
The gua- i 

The pathways to her m.3u main-shrines. 



s See Koole upon the Story of 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



299 



Here, at this pass, the scanty band 
Of Iran's lasl avengers land; 
Here wait, in silence like the dead, 
Ai d listen for the Moslem's 'read 
So anxi-u lv, Ihc carnon-bird 
Above Mieni flaps his w iug unheard ! 

They ome — that plunge into the water 
Giv<s signal fur the wo k of slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now — if e'er your blades 

Had p inl or pr wess, prove them now — 
Woe to tne tile llial fo eniost wades ! 

I hey come — a falchion greeis each brow, 
And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
Beneath the gory waters sunk. 
Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and numberless; 
1 J-, octree an arm in Mafed's band, 

So fimce their toil, halt) power to stir, 
Hit listless from each crimson hand 

The swoid hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
Never was horde of tyrants mei 
With bloodier welcome — never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
Mo.e terrible libations pour'd ! 

All up the dreary, long ravine, 
By the red, murky glimmer seen 
Of half quench'd brands, that o'er the flood 
Lie scatter'd round and burn in blond, 
Whal ruin glares! what carnage swims! 
Head:-, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, 
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand, 
In that thick pool of slaugh er stand; — 
Wretches who wading, half on fire 

From the loss d brands thai round them fly, 
>T wixt flood and flame in shrieks expire ; — 

And some who, grasp'd by tho^e that die, 
Sink woundless with Ihem, smother'd o'er 
In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 

But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 
Countless as tow'ids some flame at night 
The North's dark insects wing their night, 
And quench or perish in its light, 
To this terrific spo they pour — 
Till, bridg'd with Moslem b'dies o"er, 
It bears aloft 'heir slippery tread, 
And o'er the dying and the dead, 
Tremendous causeway ! on they pass. 
Then, hape-s Ghebers, then, alas. 
What hope was left for you ? for you, 
Whose \et warm pile of sacrifice 
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes;— 
WMiose swords how keen, how fierce they kneu 
And burn with shame to find how few. 

Crush'd down by that vast multitude, 
Some found their graves where first ihey stood; 
While some with hardier struggle died, 
And still fought on by Hafed's side. 
Who, fronting to the foe, trod bick 
Tow'rds the high towers his gory track; 
And, as a lion swep' away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
From the wild covert where he lay,< 

Long battles with the' overwhelming tide, 
So fought he b<ck with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 

But whither now ? their 'rack is lost, 
Their prey escap'd — guide, torches gone — 

By torrent-bed> and labyrinths cr si, 
The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on — 



» " In this thicket upon the banks of the Jordan 
serBral sorts of wild beasts are wont o harbour them- 
selves, whose being washed out of ihe covert by the 
overflowings of Ihe rive . nave occ>sion to (hit allu- 
sion of Jeremiah, he shall come up like a lion from 
tbt swelling of Jordan." — MaundrtlVs Aleppo. 



"Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 

They paining cry, "so far behind; 

•'Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent, 

" To trick Ihe way Ihe Gheber went!" 

Vain wish — confusedly along 

They rush, more desperate as more wrong: 

'1 ill, wildtr'd by Hie far otf' lights, 

Yei glitering up those gloomy heights, 

Their footing, maz'd and lost, they miss, 

And down the darkling precipice 

Aie dash'd into ihe deep abyss; 

Or midway hang, impal'd on rocks, 

A banquet, yet alive, for fii cks 

Of ravening' vultures, — while the dell 

Re-ech es with each horrible yell. 

Those sounds — the last, to vengeance dear, 
That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear, — 
Now reach'd him, as al ft, alone, 
Upon the sleep way breathless thrown, 
He lay Reside his reeking blade, 

Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er, 
lis last blood-offering amply paid, 

And Iran's self could claim no more. 
One only Ihonght, one lingering beam 
Now bioke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness — 'twas she, 
His heart's pure planer, shining yet 
Above Ihe waste of memory, 

When all life's oilier lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 
It seem'd as if each thought lhat stain'd, 

Kach tear that chill'd their loves was past, 
And not one cloud of earth remain'd 

Between him and her radiance cast;— 
As if to charms, before so bright, 

New grace from other worlds was given, 
And his'soul saw her by the light 
Now bieaking o'er itself from heaven ! 



A voice spoke near him — 't was the lone 

Of a lov'd friend, ihe onlv one 

Of all his warriors, left »'i h life 

From lhat shoit night's tremendous strife.— 

«■ And must we then, my chief, die here ? 

"Foes round us, and Ihe Shrine so near!" 

These words hive rous'd Ihe last remains 

Of life w iihin him — " w hat ! not yet 
"Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!" 

The thought could make ev'n Death forget 
His icy bondage — with a bound 
He springs, all bleeding, from Ihe ground, 
And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 
Ev'n feebler, henier ihan his own, 
And up the painful pathway leads, 
Death gaining on each step he treads. 
Speed them, thou God who heard'st their vow! 
'I hey mount — they bleed — oh. save them now . 
The crags are red they 've clarnber'd o'er, 
The rock-weed s dripping with their gore; — 
Thy blade too, Hafed, f.lseat length, 
Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength I 
Has'e, haste — the voices of the Foe 
Come near and nearer from below — 
One effort more — thank Heav'n ! 't is past, 
They 've gain'd the topmost steep at last. 
And now they touch the 'emples walls, 

Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — 
When, lo ! — hii weak, worn comrade falls 

Dead on Ihe threshold of the shrine. 
"Alas, brave soul, too quicklv fled ! 

"And must I leave Ihee withering here, 
" The sport of every ruffian's tread, 

" The mark for every coward's spear? 

"No, by yon altar's sacred beams!" 

He cries, and, with a streng'h that seems 

Not of this world, uplifts the frame 

Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame 



300 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Bears him along; — with death-damp band 

The corpse upon the pyre he lays, 
Then lights the consecrated brand, 

And tires the pile, whose sudden blaze 
Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea. — 
" iNow, freedom's God ! I come to Ihce," 
Xbe youtli excl iins, and with a smile 
01 triumph vaulting on the pile, 
lu that last etlort, ere the hies 
Have barni'd one glorious limb, expires 1 

What shriek was that on Oman's tide ? 

It came from yonder drifting bark, 
That just hath caught upon her side 

The death-light — and again is dart. 
It is the boat — ah, why delay'd ? — 
That beais the wretched Mo-leni maid; 
Coulided to the watchful care 

Of a small veteran baud, with whom 
Their generous Chieftain would not share 

The secret of his final doom, 
But hop'd when Hinda, safe and free, 

Was render'd to her father's eyes, 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 

The ransom of so dear a prize. — 
Unconscious, thus, of Haled'* fate, 
And proud to guard their beauteous freight 
Scarce had they clear'd the surly waves 
That foam arouud those frightful caves, 
Wlieu the cuist war-whoops, known so well, 
Came echoing from the distant dell — 
Sudden each o<r, upheld and still, 

Hung dapping o'er the vessel's side, 
And, diivin<rat the current's will, 

They rock'd -<loiig the whispering tide; 
While every eye, in mute dismay, 

W.is tnw rd thai fatal mountain turn'd, 
Where the dim altar's quivering ray 

At yet all lone and traiujuii burn'd 

Oh ! 1 is not, Hinda, in the power 

Of Fancy's nio-l terrilic touch 
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour — 

Thy silent agony — 'I was such 
As those who leel could paint too well, 
But none e'er felt and li.'d to tell! 
>T was not alone the dreary •*»•* 
Of a lorn spirit, cruh'd by fate, 
When, though no more remains to dread, 

The panic chill "ill not dep >r ; — 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 

Her ghos. still haunts the mouldering heart; 
No — pleasures, hopes, affection* gone, 
The wretch may bear, anj yet live on, 
Like things, within the cold rock found 
Alive, when all 's congeal'd around. 
But there's a blank rep <se in this, 
A calm > agnation, that weie bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrow ing pain, 
Now felt through all thy breast and brain; — 
T!:at spasm of terror, mule, intense, 
That breathless, agonis'd suspense, 
From whose hot throb, whose de.-dly aching, 
The heart hath no relief but breaking! 

Calm is the wave — heav'n's brilliant lighft 

Reflected daice beneath the prow ; — 
Time was when, on such lovely nights, 

She who is there, so desolate now, 
Could sit all cheerlul, though alone. 

And ask no happier joy than seeing 
That star-light o'er the waters thrown — 
No joy bu that, to make her blest. 

And the fresh, buoyant sense of Being, 
Which bounds m youth's >et cireless breast, — 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright, 
How different now ! — but, hark, again 
The yell of havoc rings — brave men! 
In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand 
Oo the bark's edge — in vain each hand 



Half draws the falchion from its sheath ; 

All 's o'er — in rust your blades ni iy lie : — 
He, at whose word they 've scatter'd death, 

Ev'u now, this night, himself must die! 
Well may ye look to you dim lower. 

And ask, and wondering guess what means 
The bal tie-cry at this dead hour — 

Ah ! she could tell you — she, who leans 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ; — 

Too well she knows — her more than life, 
Her soul's first idol and its la-t, 

Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. 

But see— what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal 1 — t is a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence tow'rd tbe Shrine 
All eyes are turn'd — thine, Hinda, Ihine 

Fix their last fading lite beams theie. 
T was but a moment — tierce and high 
The death-pile blaz'd into the sky, 
And far away, o'er rock and rood 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
While Haled, like a vision stood 
Reveal'd before the burning pyre, 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit oi Fire 

Shnn'd in Us own grand element ! 
"'lis he!"— the shuddering maid exclaims,- 

But, while she speaks, lie's seen uo more; 
High burst in air the luneral flames, 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er! 
One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave; 

Then sprung, as il to icach that blaze, 

Where still she hx'd her dying gaze, 
And, gazmg, sunk into the wave,— 

Deep, deep, — v> here never care or pain 

Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 



Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daugh'er! 

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea,) 
No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water, 

More pure in its shell lhau (by Spirit in thee. 

Oh ! £' as the sea-flower close lo thee growing, 
How light was thy heart till Love's » ilcheiy came. 

Like the wind of the south' o'er a summer lute 
blowing, 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame! 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, 
Shall maids and I heir "lovers remember the doom 

Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Mauds, 
With nought but the sea-star^* lo light up her tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 3 
And calls io the paim-groves the young and the old, 

The happiest theie, from iheir pastime returning 
At sunset, will weep when thy sory is told. 

The young village-maid, when with flowers she 
dresses 

Her dark flowing hair for some festival day. 
Will think of thy fa'e till, neglecting her tresses, 

She mournfully turns from "the mirror away. 



i •' This wind (the Samoor) so softens the s'rings of 
lutes, ibat they can never be tuned while it lasts" — 
Stephen's Persia. 

a •' One of the greatest curiosities found in the Per- 
sian Gulf is a fish which the English call Mar-fish. 
It is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling 
the full moon surrounded by rays.''— Mirza Jbu 
Taltb. 

» For a description of the merriment of 'he date- 
time, of their work, their dances, and their re urn 
h me fom ihe palm-groves at ihe end of autunts 
wi b the fruits, see Kcmyjcr, .Imanitat. Exci. 



PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 



301 



Not shall Iran, beloved of her Hero ! forget thee — 

Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, 
Close, close by tl.e side of that Hero she '11 set thee, 

Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. 
Farewell — be it ours to enibelli-h thy pillow 

With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; 
Each fljwer'of the rock >nd each gem of ihe billow 

Shall sweeten thy bid and illumine thy sleep. 
Around thee shall glisten 'he loveliest amber 

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; i 
With many a shell, in whose hollo w-wreath'd cham- 
ber 

We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept 



i Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a 
concretion of the tears of birds. — See Trevoux, 



We 'II dive where the gardens of coral lie dirkling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems a thy head ; 

We 'II seek where Ihe sands of the Caspian 2 ar e 
sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain 

Is lost in the hearts of Ihe fair and the brave, 
They 'II w eep for the Chieftain who died on that 
mountain, 
They 'II weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this 
wave. 



» -'The biy Kieselarke, which is otherwise called 
the Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines as fire." — 
Struy. 



END OF VOL. VI. 



PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 



The station assigned to "The Fudge Family," in 
the following pages, immediately after Lalla Rookh, 
agrees but too closely with the acual order in which 
these two works were originally written and publish- 
ed. The -uccess, far exceeding my hopes and de-erts, 
with which Lalla Rookh was'immediately crowned, 
relieved me at once from the anxious feeling of re- 
sponsibility under which, as my readers have seen, 
that ente prise had been commenced, and which con- 
tinued for some time to haunt me amidst all the 
enchantments of my ask. 1 w a? herefore in the true 
holyday mood, when a dear friend, with »h se u me 
is as-ociated some of the bngh est ai d p!easan'tst 
hours of my past life,s kindly otfered me a seat in his 
carri ge fur a shoit vi it to'Fans. This proposal 1, 
of course, most gl dy accepted ; and. in the autumn 
nf the year 1617, found myself, for the first lime, in 
that gay capital. 

As the restoration of the Bourbon dynas'y was still 
of too recent a date for any amalgamation to have \e' 
taken place between the new and ancient order of 
things, all he most prominent f.aluiesof both regimes 
were just then brought, in their fullest relief, into 
juxtaposition; and, accordingly, the resull was such 
as to suggest to an unconcerned spectator quite as 
abundant matter f >r ridicule as for grave political 
consideration. It would be difficult, indeed, to con- 
vey hi those who had not themselves seen the Paris of 
'hat period, any clear notion of the anomalous aspect 
bo'h social and political, which it then presented". It 
was as if, in the days succeeding the Deluge, a small 
coterie of antediluvians h<d been suddenly evoked 
fiom out of the deep to take Ihe command of a new 
and freshly starting world. 

To me, ihe ahuniant amusement and interest which 
sich a scene could not but afioid was a go d deal 
heigh ened by my having, in my youthful days, been 
made acquainted with some of ihose personages » ho 
were now mist interested in the future succes of Ihe 
Legitimate cause. The Com'e D'Artois, or .Moos.eur. 
1 had met in the year IW>2-3, at Donington Psrk. the 
seat of the Earl of Moira, under whose princely roof 
1 used ofen aid loiig, in these days, to fiid a' most 
hospitable home A" small pirty of distinguished 
French emigrants were already staying on a vis.t in 
the house when Monsieur and (lis .-uite arrived ; a. d 
among those «e e the present King oi France and his 
two br the s. the Due de M-intpeusier, and the Come 
de Beaujolais. 



s Mr. Rogers. 



Some doubt and uneasiness had, I remember, been 
fell by the two latter brotheis, as to the reception 
they were likely to encounter fr m the new guest; 
and as, in those times, a cropped and unpoude ed 
head was regarded generally as a symbol of Jacobin- 
ism, the Comte Beaujolais, who, like many other 
young men, wore his hair in this fashion, thought it, 
on the present occasion, most prudent, in order to 
avoid all risk of ofTence, not only to put powder in 
his hair, bu' also to provide himself with an artificial 
queue. This measure of precaution, however, led to 
asligtt incident afer dinner, which, though not very- 
royal or dignified, was at least cieditable to the social I 
g lod-humour of the future CI arles X. On the de| ar- 
ture of the ladies from the dming-ro m, «e had hard- 
ly seated ou selves in the old fashioned style, round 
the lire, when Monsieur, who lid happened to place 
himself next to Beaujolais. caught a glimpse of the 
ascri ioi.s tail,— which, having been rather carelessly 
put on, hail a good deal straggled out of its place. 
With a sort of soeani of jocular pleasure, as if de- 
lighed at the discovery, Mon-ieur seized the stray 
appendage, and, bringing it round into full view. In 
the great amusement nf the whole company, popped 
it into pom grinning Beaujolais' mouth. 

On one of the evenings of this short visi' of M n- 
sieur, I iemen.ber Curran arriving u exi ectedly, On 
his way to London ; and, having come too late for 
dinner," he j iied our par'y in ihe evening. As Ihe 
foreign portion of the company was then qui'e new to 
him, I »as able to be usetul, by infoiming him of Ihe 
names, rank, and other particulars of the partv he 
found assembled, from Monsieur himself down to ihe 
old Due de Lorge and the Baron de R lie. When I 
bad gone through the u hole li-t, '-Ah. poor fellows ! ( 
he exclaimed, with a m<xti re of fun and pithos in I 
his look, truly Irish, '• Pour fellows, oU dismounted j 
cavalry!'' 

On the last evening of Monsieui's stay, I waa made 
to sing for him, among other songs, "Fare" ell, 
Bess.y !'' rne of my ealiest atlemp's at musical com- 
position. As soon as I had finished, he paid me ihe 
compliment of reading aloud the words as writ en 
under the music; and most roy<l have did he make, 
as to this day I rem ember, of whatever little sense or 
me're they could boast. 

Among my eailier poe'ic writings, more than one 
grateful memorial may Le found of the happy days I 
passed in this hospi'able mansion,'' — 



i See ante, p. 112. 



26 



302 



PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 



Of all my » 
On DoniugU 

But neither veise nor prose could do any jus'ice to Ihe 
sor of impre sion I s ill retain of hose hug-vanished 
days. Ihe lib ary at Doningon was 1 extensive and 
valuable; and through the privilege kindly granted to 
me of retiring thither foi study, even w hen 'he family 
were absent, I frequently parsed whole weeks alone 
in that fine library, indulging in all the fi st airy 
castlc-bu.ldmg of authorship. The various projects, 
indeed, of future works that used then to pass in fruit- 
less succession through my mind, can be compared 
only to the waves as described by the poet, — 



With that library is also connee'ed another of my 
earlier poems, — (he verse> addres-ed to the Duke of 
Monlpensier on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide 
Forbes ; * for it was there that this truly noble lady, 
then in the first dawn of her beauty, used to sit for 
that picture ; while, in another part of the library, 
the Uuke of Orleans,— engaged gener lly at that time 
with a volume of Clrendon, — wan by' such studies 
unconsciously preparing himself for 'tie high and 
arduous des my, which not only the Good Genius of 
France, but his own sagacious aud intrepid spirit, had 
marked out for him. 

I need hardly say bow totally different were all the 
circumstances 'under which Monsieur himself and 
some of his follower* were again seen by me in the 
year 1&17 ; — the same acors, i deed, but with an 
entirely new change nf scenery and de. 
Among the vanity of aspects pr sented by lli.s 

change, ihe liJicul us certainly predominated ; nor 
couhl a sa'inst who, like Plulocietes, was smit'eu 
with a fancy for shooting at geese.3 isk »ny better 
supply of such game than ihe high places, in France, 
at that period, both lay and ecclesiastical. 
As I was not versed, however, tufficien ly in French 
politics to vent. re to meddle with, them, even in 
sport, I found a more ready conductor of laughter — 
for which I was then much in ihe mood — in those 
groups of ridiculous English who were at rhat time 
swarming in all direc ions throughout Paris, and of 
all whose various forms of c ckneyism and nonsense 
I endeavoured, in ihe personages ol the Fudge Family, 
to collect the Concentrated e-se' ce, Ihe result, as 
usual, fell very far short of what I had myself pre- 
conceived and intended. But, making is pi ea ranee 
at such a crisis, the w> rk brought wih it that be-.! 
seasoning of all such jtux-d'e^prit, the apropoi of 
the moment ; and. accordingly, in the race of succes- 
sive editions. La 11a K««kh was, for some time, kept 
pace with by Mis- Biddv Fudge. 

The series' of trifles c ntained in th s volume, enti- 
tled "Rhymes on the Had,'' were Wi it ten partly as 
their title implies, and partly at a sub-equeut pe 10J 
from memorandums made on the spot. 'Ibis will 
account for so n any of those pieces being little better. 
I feir, than -'prise fringed with rhyme." Ihe jour- 
ney to a part of which those Rhymes owed their 
existence was commenced in company with Lord 
John Russell in the autumn of the yea ISIS. Attera 
week or two passed at P.iris, to enable L >rd John In 
refer to Barilh.n's Letters f'ra new edition .f his Life 
of Lord Russell then preparing, we se' out together 
for the Simplnn. At Milan, the agretaLic • 
the late Lord KJnnaitd detailed us far I 
and then my c -mpanion look the r u'e ' 
while I proceeded on a visit to Lord Byron. at \ei ice. 

l In employing Ihe past tense here, 1 do the present 
lord injustice, w hose filial wish I know it is to keep 
all at Donington exactly as bis noble father left it. 

a See ante, p. S6. 

3 " Pinnigero, nnn armigero in corpore tela exer- 
ceantur :'" — the words put by Accius in the mouth of 
Philoctetes. 



| It was during Ihe journey thus briefly described, I 
addressed the well-known Remonstrance to mv ruble 
friend,* which has of be been frequently coupled 
wih mv prophetic versescn the Duke of Wellington, 1 
from the prescient spirit with which i' so confidently 
looked forward to all that Lord John has since become 
iu he eyes of the world. 

Of my visit to Lord Byron, — an event, to me so 
memorable, — I have aiready detailed all the most 
interesting particulars in my published Life of ihe 
poet ; and shall here only cite, from that work, oue 
passage, as having some reference to a picture men- 
tioned in the following pages. "As we were cou- 

| versing after dinner about ihe various collec ions of 

! paintings I had -een tha: morning, on my saving that. 

! fearful as I was of ever praising any picture, lest I 

I should draw on myself the connoisseur^ sneer, for my 
pains, I would yet to him. ven'ure to own that 1 h-d 

seen a picture at Milan, which 'The Hagar:'S 

he exclaimed, eage ly interrupting me; and it was, jrj 
fact, that ver> picture I was about to mention o him 
as having awakened in me. by the truth of its expres- 

I sion, more real emotion th.n any I bad yet seenamong 
the chtji-d'iEuvrt • f Venice " 

\ In the society I chiefly lived with, while at Rome, 

j I cor sideied myself singularly fortunate ; Ih ugh but 
a blind Worshipper of those powers of Art of which 
my companions were all h gt. -priests. Caoova him- 

I self Chantrey, Lawrence, Jackson, Turner, Eastlakc, 
— such we e ihe men of w hoe presence and guidance 

j I enjoyed the advantage in visiting all that unrivalled 
R me can boast of beTu iful and grand. That 1 de- 
rived from this course rf imitation any thing more 
than a very humbling consciousness of my 
ranee and wan of ta-te, in nutters of art, 1 will" not 
be so di-hoiiest as to pietend. But. to Ihe stranger iu 
Rome e»eiy s ep forms an epoch ; and. in a 
all its countless appeals in memory <nd in 
Ihe agreeable au-pices u.iier which 1 firs visited all 
nol but render every im- 
pression 1 received more vivid anJ permanent I bus, 
with my rec> Ilection of the Sepulchre •{ St. 1 e'er, 
and its ever burning lasnfia, for which splendid spot 
Canova was then meditating a sa ue," there is always 
connected in my mind Ihe exclamation which 1 heard 
breik from Ch'mtrey afte gazing, i 
m silence, upon that gloii us s.e.— •• What a place 

; to w ork foi 1" 

In ■ ue of the poems contaned in this volumes allu- 

' sion is made >o an evening no' eas. 

-Chantrey and myself were taken t'y Canova o the 
Borghese Pa ace.' f r the pqrpo e • I show i. g us. by 

' the light of a taper — his favourite m de of eih bi - 
ing ha: wr rk — his beautiful st.tue i>( the 

! Borghe-e, called the Venere Vh ci rice. In C 

out son e grace or effect that pecu- 

1 liarly s'ruck htm, 
va's hand ; and to Ihr* eircums ance the f ilo« ing pas- 
sage of the poem referred to was meant to allude : — 

When he. thv r*er in art and time. 

- o'er the marble with delight: 9 
And, wtnle bin line'iine hand would stead 

O'er every grace ihe taper's ray«. 
Gave Ihre. wuh ■ I the gee'rous leml 

BnrB I feel. 

Thai best of Ume — a rival's praise. 

One of the days that still linger most plev. 
mv memory, and which, I 
nor Mr. La's I. \k it of our 



« See pott . p. 056. 

» See ante, p. I o 1 . 

6 Abraham dismi-sing Higar by Guercino. 

" A statue. I believe, of Pius VI. 

« See pott, p. 353. 

9 A slight alteraion here h>s rendered these r 
more true It the ac'ual fact than they we:e in 
original : 



PREFACE TO THc SEVENTH VOLUME. 



303 



visit together io the Pala'ine Mount, when, as we 
sauntered about that picturesque spot, enjoying the 
varied views of Rome which it comm nds. hey made 
me, for the n st ime. acqua ned withGuidr's spirited 
Ode on the Arc >di ins, in which there is poetry enough 
to make amends for all the nonsense of his rhyming 
biethren. Truly and grandly does he exclaim, — 



Eil i 

With Canova, while silting to Jacksr>n for a por- 
trait ordered b\ Chantrey, I bad more than once some 
interesting conversa ion, — or rather, livened while 
he spoke,— respec ing the polifical sate of Europe a' 
tha period, ..nd >hose " bncconi," as he styled them, 
the sovereigns of the Holy Ailia ce ; and, before 1 left 
Rome, he kii dly presented to me a set of engravings 
from some of his finest statues, t gethcr with a copy 
of the beautifully printed collection of Poems, wh ch 
a Roman poet named Missirini had written in praise 
of his different "Marmi.'' 

When L<>rd John Ru-se'l and myself parted, at 
Mian, i» was agreed between us, 1 ha t after a short 
visit to Rome, and (if practicable within the allowed 
time) to Naples, I «a^ io rejoin him al Genoa, a- d 
from thence accompany him io England. But the 
early period for which Parliament was summoned, 
that year, owing io the violent proceedings at Man- 
chester, rendered it necessan for Lord John io hasten 
his return to England. I was, therefore, most fortu- 
nate, under s- ch circumstances, in being permitted bv 
my friends Chantrey and Jackson to join in their 
journey homeward; through which lucky arrange- 
ment, the same precious privilege I had enjoyed, at 
Rome, of hearing the opinions of such practised 
judges, on all the great works of .rt I saw in iheir 
c mpany, was afterwards continued to me through the 
various collections we visited together, at Florence, 
Bologna, Modena, Parma, Milan, and Turin. 

To some of those pictures and statues that most 
took my fancy, during m> tour, allusions will be found 
in a few of the poems contained in this volume. Bui 
the great pleasure I derived from these and muiv 
oilier such works arose fir m re from the poetical 
na'ure of their subjects than from any judgment I had 
learned to form of their real merit :s works of art, — 
a line of lore in which, notwithstanding my course of 
schooling, I remained, I fear, unenlightened to the 
last. For all that was los' upon me, however, in the 
halls of Art, I was more than consoled in the cheap 
picture-gdlery of Na'ure; and a glorious sunset 1 
witnessed in ascending the Simplon is still remem- 
bered by me with a depth and freshness of feeling 
which no work of art I saw in the galleries of Iialy 
has left behind. 

I have now a few words to devo'e to a somewhat 
kindred subjec with which a pern or two contained 
in the follow ing pages are closely connected.* In my 
Preface to the First Volume of this collection. I briefly 
noticed the raste for Private Theatrical Performances 
which prevailed during the latter half of the la>t cen- 
tury among the higher ranks in Ireland. This taste 
continued for nearly twenty years to survive the epoch 
of the Union, and in the performances of the Private 
Thealre of Kilkenny gave fonh its last, as well as, 
perhaps, brightest flashes The life and s ul of this 
institution was our manager, the late Mr. Richard 
Power, a gentleman who c uld boast a la'ger circle 
of attached friends, and through a life more free from 
shadow or alloy, than am individual it has ever been 
my lot to know. No livelier proof, indeed, conld be 
required of Ihe sort of feeling en'ertained towards him 
than was once shown in the reception given to the 
two following homely lines which occurred in a Pro- 
logue I wpolj to bespoken bv Mr. Corry in the cha- 
racter of Vapid. 



These few simple words 1 wrote with the assured 
conviction thai they would produce moie effect from 
ihe hmnefelt truism they contained than could be 
effeded by Ihe most laboured burst of eloqne ce ; and 
the result was just what 1 had anticipated, for Ihe 
ho se rung, for a considerable time, with the heartiest 
plaudits. 

The chief comic, or ralher farcical, force of the 
company lay in my friend Mr. Corry, and " longo 
intervallo," myself; and hough, as usu I, with low 
c medians, we were much looked down upon by the 
lofty lords of the buskin, many was the sly joke we 
used io indulge together, al the expense of our heroic 
bieihren. Some waggish crilic, indeed, is said to 
have declared tha; of all the personages of our theatre 
he most admired the prompter, — '-because he was 
least seen and best heard." Bui this joke was, of 
course, a mere good-humoured rlaider. There were 
two, at least, of our dramatic crps, Sir Wrixon 
Becherand Mr. Rolhe, whose powers, as tragic aciors, 
few amateurs have ever equalled ; aid Mr. Corry — 
peih ps alone of all our company — would have been 
sure of winning laurels on the public s age. 

As to my own share in these lepresenlalions, the 
following lisl of niy mosl successful characters will 
show how remote from the line of the Heroic was the 
small orbit through which I ranged ; my chief parts 
having been Sam, in •• Raising" the Wind,' - Robin 
R ugh.'iead, Mungo, Sadi, in the "Mountaineers," 
Spado, and Peeping Tom. In the part of Spado there 
occur several allusions to that gay rogue's shortness of 
staiure which never failed to be welcomed by my 
audirors with laugh er and cheers; and the words 
" Even Sanguino allows I an. a clever little fellow" 
w s always a signal for this sort of friendly explosion. 
One of the -ones, indeed, written by O'Keefe for the 
character of Spado so much abounds with point* thus 
personally applicable, lhat many supposed, with no 
great compliment either Io my poetry or my modesly, 
iha: the song hid been written, expressly for Ihe occa- 
sion, by myself. The following is the verse to which 
I ailude, and for Ihe poetry of which 1 was thus made 
responsible : — 

"Though born to be little's my fate, 

Yel so was the great Alexander; 
And, when i walk under agate, 

I've no need Io stoop like a gander. 
I'm BO lanky, long hodily-doddy. 

Whose paier-kite sails iu the sky; 
Though wanting two feet, in ray body, 

In sou], I am thirty feet high." 

Some further account of the Kilkenny Theatre, as 
well as of the history of Private Theatricals in gen- 
eial, will be found in an aricle I wrote on Ihe sub- 
ject for the Edinburgh Review, vol. xlvi. No. 92, p. 



See pages 354. 355. 



LALLA ROOKH. 

(CONTINUED.) 



The singular placidity wirh which Fadladeen had 
lisened. during the lalttr pari of Ibis obnoxious stoiy, 
surprised ihe Princess and Feramorz exceedingly; 
ar d even inclined towards him ihe heaitsof these un- 
suspicious young persons, who little knew the source 
of a complacency so marvellous. The truth wa-, he 
had been organizing, for -he last few da\s, a mist 
notable plan of persecution against the poet, in con- 
sequence of some passages that hid fallen from him 
on the second evening of recital. — which appeared to 



'■» See page 354. 



304 



LALLA ROOKH 



this worthy Chamberlain lo contain language and 
piinciples.'fur which r.o hing -hon of ihe summa-y 
criticism of the Chabuk ■ would be advisable. It was : 
his in emion, therefore, immediately on their arrival 
j at Cashmere, to give information to ihe King of 
Buchar'u of the very duigerous sentiments of his 
minstrel ; ai:d if, ui.f riuna ely. Ilia rnon rch did not 
ac wiih suitable vigour on the occasion, (that is, if he 
did not give the Chabuk t» Feramorz, and a place to 
Fadladeen,) there would be an ei d he feared, of all 
legit n.iate government in Buchaiia. He co.dd not 
hep, however, auguring beter both for himself and 
'he cause of p ten ates in general; and il was the 
pleas'i e arising fr m these mingled ;iu'icipations that 
d.ti'used such unusual satisfaction ih ough his features, 
and male his eves thine out. like poppies of the 
desert, over the w.de and lileless wilderness of that 
cou tei a ce. 

Hiving decided upon the Poet's chastisement in 
this m n ncr. lie thought it bu' humani y lo auare him 
the minor tor u'es of criticism. Accordingly, when 
they as-emblcd the following evening in thepawlion, 
and Lalh Kookh was expecting to see all the beauties 
of her bard ineit away, one by one, ill the acidity of 
criticism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian 
'queen. — he .rgreeaWy disappointed her, by "merely 
saying, with ao ironical smile, that be merits of such 
a pi-em deserved lo be trhd at a much higher iri- 
buml ; and then suddenly | as-ed iff i..to a panegyric 
upon all Mussulman sovereigns, more particularity his 
augus 1 and Imperial ma ter, Aurunszebe,— the » isesl 
and best of the descendant of Timor,— who, among 
oher sreat ihings he h-d done for mankind, had 
given lo him, FadUdecn, the \ ery profitable pos s of 
i Betel-carrier, and Tasier of Sherbets to the Emperor. 
Chief Holder of ihe Girdle of Beaut.fJ Furnish 
i and Grand Nazir, or Chamberlain of ihe Hiram. 
They were now not far from that Foi bidden Kiver,3 
beynd which no pure Hind o can pa?s; and iiere 
reposing for a time in the rich valley of Husun 
Abdaul, which had always been a favourite resting- 
place of the F.inp.ro s ui'lheir annual migrations >o 
Cashmere. Here rrften had the Light of the Faith, 
Jehaugnire, been known to wander «iih hi- beloved 
and beautiful Nourmahal ; and here would LaUa 
Rookh hue been happy lo remain for ever, giving 
up Ihe throne of Buclnrra and the w rid, for Fe a- 
morz and love in this swie', land) valley. But the 
time was now fast approaching when she must see 
him no longer,— or, what wa- si 1 worse, behold him 
wiih eves whose every look belonged to another, 
and there was a melancholy ureciooaiiesa in these last 
momenta, which made her heart cling to Ihem as it 
would to life. During the I itter pari of the journey 
indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness, from which 
nothing but the presence of the young minstrel c -uld 
awake her. Like those lamps in ton.bs, which only 
light up when Ihe a.r is a limited, it was only at his 
appioach thai he eye* became smiling and animated. 
But here, in 111 is dear valley, every m merit appeared 
an >ge of plea-ure, she saw him all day. and was. 
therefore, all dav happy, — resembling, she often 
thought, that people of Zii ge,« who attribute the 



unfading cheerfulness they e'.joy to one genial stat 
that rises nightly over their heads s 

The whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest 
mood during tiie lew days they passed in this dehght- j 
fu! solitude. The young attendants of the Princess, I 
who were here allowed a much freer range than they < 
could safely be indulged with in a less sequestered I 
place, ran wild among the ga dens and bounded \ 
through the meadows lightly as young roes over the [ 
aromatic plains of Tibet. W hile Fadladeen, in ad- | 
dition to 'he spiri'ual comfor derived by him from a ' 
pilgrimage to ihe tomb nf the Saint from whom the ! 
valley is n rued, had also ippor unities of indulging, 1 
in a small way. his taste fir \ictims, by putting Ic ', 
death some hundreds of 'ho-e unfortunate little j 
lizards, 6 which all pious Mussulmans make it a p int ! 
to kill ; — t-king for granted, that the manner in 
which the creaiute hmzs its head is meant as a I 
mimicry nf the at i ude in which the Faithful say, 



Royal Gardens," wh.ch had grown beautiful underihe 
care if so many lovely eye-, and were beautiful still, 
Ih'.ugh those eyes c uld see hem no longer. This 
place, with its flowers and its holysi ence. internjpled 
only by the dipping of the wings '( birds in ils marble 
basins'hlled with the pure wa'er of th' se bills, was to 
Lalla Kookh all th t her heart could fmcy of fra- 
grance, coolness, and almost heavenly tranquillity. 
As tbeProphe' said of Damascus, --it'was too deli- 
cious ;'*«— and here, in listening to the s"ee - voice 
of Feramorz, or readins in hi- eyes what yet he never 
dared io tell her, the most exquisi e mi ments rf her 
wh tie life were ; assed. tine evening, when they had 
been talking of the Sultana Nooimahal, Ihe Light of 
the Hiram, 9 who had so of en wandered among these 
flowers and fed with her o\» n ha: d-, in th se marble 
ba-in-, the small shining fishes of wh.ch she was so 
fond,»° — the youth, m oider to delay the moment of 



i '• The application of whips or rods.'" — Dubois. 

i Kempfer mentions such an officer among the 
attendants of he King of Persia, and calls h.m 
"forma? corporis estimator." His bush ess was. at 
stated pern ds, to measure the ladies of ihe Ha am by 
a son of regulation-girdle, whose limits it was not 
thought graceful o exceed. If any of them outgrew 
th s standard of shape, ihey were' reduced by absti- 
nence I ill tley came within'proper bounds. 

s The Alt ck. 

" Akbir on his way ordered a fort to be built upon 
the Ni'ab, which he 'died A'tock. which meaus in 
the Indian language Forbidden ; for, by 'he super- 
stition of the Hind i>s, it was held unlawful lo cioss 
that river." — Colo's Hiudostan. 

♦ "The inhabitants of this country (Z.nge) are 



never affliced with sad res- or nelancholy; on this 
sr.bject the Sheikh Abu-alKheir-jiztiari lias the fol- 
low ing dis'ich : — 

•" Who is the nan without care or sorrow, (tell) 
tha' I may rub my h nd to him? 

"•(Behold) the Zingiana, wilhoul care or sorrow, 
frolicksome with tipsuic-s a d m rth.' 

"Ihe philo-ophcrs have discovered thai the cause 
of this cheerfulness pr ceeds from 'he influence of 
the star Soheil or Canopus. which ri-es over them 
every night." — Extract from a Geogrofkical Per- 
sian Manuscript .t Seven 
Climates, Iramlatic' by W. Qussfey, Esq. 

5 Tlie star Soheil, or Cancpus. 

6 '• The lizard Stellio. The Arabs call i' Hardun. 
The Turks k 11 i', for they imagine that by declining 
the head it mimics them w hen they say their pray- 
ers." — Hasselquist. 

i For these particulars respecting Hussun Abdaul I 
am indebted to 'he very i luction of 

Mr. Elphiustone's work upon ■ 

8 " As you enter a' that Bazar, w i'hout (be gales of 
Damascus", you see the G'een Mosque, sn called be- 
c>use it ha h a -teeple faced « ith gl 

which render it very rcsp:. ► J at lop 

» ilh a pawlioo of ihe sanie sud". I 
mosque was made in lhal Vihon.et 

beins come so far, would not en er tire town, s.ying il 

not. I his rem. 
the follow ins pretty passage in Isaac Walton: — 
" When I sat "las' on tin- primrose 
down these meadows, I th.-unht of them as Ch<rles 
Ihe Emperor did of the ci'v of Florence. ' thai Ihey 
I leasaut to be lo. ked in, but ouly on holy 
days.' " 

9 Nourmahal signifies Light of Ihe Hiram. She 
was afterwards called Nou jehan, or the Light of Ihe 
World. 

io see note, ante, p. 292. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 



305 



separation, proposed to recite a short story, or rather 
rhapsdy of which this adored Juliana was the hero- 
ine. It ielaed, he laid, lo the recoi cilement of a sort 
of lovers' qua re I "Inch took place between her and 
the Lmper r d ring a Fi asl of Roses at Castnnere; 
and would remind he Princess of that difference be- 
tween Haioun-al-Ka chid and his fair mistress Mari- 
da.i which was ;o happily made up by the soft strains 
of the musician, Moussali. j\s tie scry was chiefly 
to be told in snug, and Feramorz had unluckily for- 
gotten his own lute in ihe vallev, he borrowed the 
viiia of Lai la Roukh's little Persian slave, and thus 
begin : — 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 

Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, 

W ilh its roses ihe brigh'est that earth ever gave,' 

Its temples and grottoes, and fountains as c!eir 
As the love-lighted eyes (hat hangover their wave? 

Oh ! to see it at sunset,— when warm o'er the Lake 

Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws 
Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to take 

A last look of her mirror ai night e<e she goes ! — 
When ihe shrines through the foliage are gleaming 

half shown, 
And each hallows the hour by some rites of his own. 
Here the music ot pray'r from a minaret shells, 

Here the Magian his urn, full of perfume is swing- 
ing, 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 

Round ihe waist of some fair Indian dancer is ring- 
ing.* 
Or lo see it by moonligh',— when mellowly shines 
The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; 
When the waer-falla gleam, like a quick fall of stars, 
And the nightingale's hvmn from the Isleof Chenars 
Is broken l»y laugh- and light echoes of feet 
From ihe cool, shining walks where the young people 

Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes 
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breiks, 
Hilis, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun. 
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up wi'h he da)', 
From Ins Haram of nigh -flow er> stealing away ; 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover 
The young aspen-trees * till they tremble all over. 
When ihe East is as warm as the light of first h«pes, 

And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd, 
Shines in through the maun anions portal s ihat opes, 

Sublime, from Ihat Valley of bliss to the world ! 



1 "HarounAI Raschid,cinquicme Khilifedes Alias 
sides, sVtant un jour b ouille avec une de ses wai- 
tresses nomniee Maridah, qu'il aimoil cependant 
iusqu'a I'exces, et cetie me-iiitel igeuce ayant deja 
duree quelque teins comnienca a sennuyer. Giafar 
Rarmafci, son favnri, qui sen appercut. commanda a 
Abbas ben Ahnaf. excelleni poete de ce lems la, de 
composer quelqnes veis sur le >ujet de celie brouille- 
rie Ce poete executa loidie de Gi ifar, qui fit chan er 
ces vers p>r M ussili en presence du Khiljfe. et ce 
prince fut tellement louche de la lendresse des vers 
du poete et de la douceur de la voix du musicien qu'il 
al a aus-i-iottrouver Maridah, et fit sa paixavecelle." 
— D'Herbelot. 

2 ''The rose of Kashmire for its brilliancy and 
delicacy i f odour has long been proverbial in the 
East." — Forster. 

3 "Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that 
sounded with ravishing melody."— Song of Jayadeva. 

* "The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are 
set with arbours and .arge-leaved aspen-trees, slender 
and tall." — Btrnier. 

* " The Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed by the 

26* 



But never yet, by night or cay, 
In dew of "sp ing or summer's ray, 
Did the s«eet \alley shine so gay 
As now it shines — all love and light, 
Visions by day and leasts by night! 
A happier smile illumes each brow, 

With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 
And all is ecsla y — for now . 

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses ; 6 
The joyous lime, when pleasures pour 
Profusely round ani, ill Ihc-ir shower, 
Hearts ripen, like ihe Season's Rose, — 

The Flow're'of a hundred leaves, 1 ! 
Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 

And every leaf its balm receives. 

T was when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool, 
When Day had hid h s sultry flame 

Behind the palms of Baramoule,8 
When maids bezan to lift their heads, 
Refresh'd from their embroider'd beds, 
Where they had slept the sun away, 
And wak'd to moonlight and to play. 
AH were abroad — the busiest hive 
On Beta's" hills is less alive, 
When saffron-beds are full in flower, 
Than lookd the Valley in that hour. 
A thouand restless torches play'd 
Through every grove and island shade ; 
A thousand sp'arkln g lamps were set 
On every dome and minaret; 
And fields and pathways, far and near, 
Were ligh ed by a blaze so clear, 
That you could see, in wandering round. 
The smallest rose-leaf en Ihe ground. 
Yet did the maids and matrons leave 
Their veils at home that brilliant eve ; 
And there w ere glancing eyes about, 
And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 
In open day, but thought they might 
Look lovely then, because 't was night. 
And all "ere free, and «andering, 

And all exclaim'd to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Roses ye: ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So clear as that which ble-s'd them there; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 

And what a wilderness of flowers ! 
It seem'd as though from all the bowers 
And fairesi fields of all the ye.r. 
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 

Wi h the rich buds that o'er it lie, — 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 

Had fall'n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy,— Ihe beat 
Of tabors and of dancing teet ; — 
The minaret-crier's chaunt of glee 
Sung frok j'is lighted gal lerv,so 



Mahommetans on this hill, forms one side of a grand 
portal to the Lake." — Forstcr. 

6 "The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of 
their remaining in bloom." — See Pietro dr. la ValU. 

t "Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I 
believe a particular species. — Ouseley. 

8 Bernier. 

9 A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeerv, or 
Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of 
the beds of saffron-flowers about Cashmere. 

io " It is the custom among the women to employ 
the Maazeen to chaunt from the gallery >{ the nearest 
minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and 
the women assembled at the house to re pond at in- 
tervals with a 2iraleet or joyous chorus." — Ruisett. 



30G 



LALLA ROOKH. 



And answer'd by a ziraleet 
From neighbouring H .ram, wild and sweet; — 
The merry laugh'er, echoing 
From gardens, where the silken swing i 
Wafts some delighied girl above 
Th5 <f[> 'eaves of the orange-grove ; 
Or, (rum those infant groups at play 
Among the teuls * that line the way, 
Fiingmg, unaw'd by slave or mother, 
Handtuis of roses at eaeb other. — 
Then, tne sounds from the Lake,— the low whisper- 
ing in boas, 
As they shoot tiirough the moonlight ;— the dipping 
of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that everywhere floats, 
Through the groves, round the islands, as if all the 
shores. 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
An answer in song lo the kiss of each wave.3 
But the gen lest of all are ihose sounds, full of feeliDg, 
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,— 
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
Oh ! best of deligh's as it everywhere 13 
To be near the lov'd One,— what a rapture is bis 
Who iu moonlight and mu-ic thus swee ly may glide 
O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that One by his 

side I 
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, 
Think, think what a Heav'u she must make of Cash- 
So fell the magnificent Son of Acbar,« 
When from power and pomp and the trophies of war 
He tiew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of he Harani, his young Nourmahal. 
When free and uncrowu'd as the Conqueror rov'd 
By the banks of that Lake, with his only belov'd, 
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match, 
And pieferrd in his heart the leas ringlet that curl d 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world. 

There 's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, 
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day's light, 
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, 
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. 
This was not the beauty — oh, nothing like this, 
That to young Nourniahal gave such magic of bliss ! 
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
From the lip lo the cheek, from the check to the eyes ; 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'u in his 
dreams. 



1 "The swing is a favourite pastime in the East 
as promoting a circulation of air, extremely refresh 
ing in those sultry climates." — Jiichardson. 

" The swings are adorned with festoons. This pas- 
time is accompanied wi.h music of voices and o! 
instruments, hired by the masters of the swings." 
Theoenot. 

a " At Ihe beeping of the Feast of R^ses we bene 
an infinite number if tents pitched, wih such a crowd 
of men, women, boys, and girls, with music, dances," 
&c. &c — Herbert. 

3 « An old comment <tor of the Chou-King says, Ihe 
ancien's having remarked that a current of water 
made some of the stones near its banks send foith a 
sound, they detached some of them, and being charm- 
ed with the delightful sound Ihey einrted, constructed 
Kins or musical instruments of them." — Grosier. 
1 This miraculous quality has been a'lribu'ed al-o tc 
the s'oore of At'iea. "Hujos iittns. ait Capella. con 
centum musicuin illi'is teriae u:ic!:s leddere, quod 
propter taut.un eiuuitioms vim pulo die urn." — 
I Ludov. J'ifM "* Aususlin de Ciuiiat. £ki, lib. 
xwii. c. 8. 
, • « Jehanguire was Ihe son of the Great Acbar. 



When pensive, it seem'd as if thai very grace, 
That charm of all others, was born with her face! 
And when angry,— for ev'n in the Iranquillest climes 
Light breezes will ruflie the blossoms sometimes — 
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
New beauty, like flowers that alt sweetest when 

shaken. 

If tenderness touch 'd her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings 
From innermost shr,nes,c*nie Ihe light of her feelings 
Then her mirth — oh !'l was sportive as ever look wing 
From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in 

spring ; 
Illum'd by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
Yet plavful as Feris just loosd from their cages.* 
While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her 

soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, lor she brighten'd all over, — 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in Ihe sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments, lhal gave 
Nourmahal the proi.d Lord of Ihe Last for her slave: 
And though bright was his Harani.— a living partene 
Of the flow 'r, b ut this planet — though treasuics were 

there, 
For which Soliman's self might have giv'n all Ibe 

store 
That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd lo his shore, 
Vet dun before her were the smiles of them all, 
And the Light of his Harani was young N01 



But where is she now, this night of joy, 

When blis> is every heart's employ ? — 

Wheu all around ber is so bright, 

So like the visions of a trance, 

That one might think, who came by chance 

Into the vale this happy night, 

He saw that City of Delight 1 

In Faity laid, whose stieets and lowers 

Aie made of gems and light and flowers! 

Where is the lov'd Sulana ? where, 

When minh brings out the young and fair, 

Does she, the faires', hide her brow, 

In melancholy stillness now ? 

Alas '. — how light a cau<e may move 

Dissension between heaits tttat love! 

Heats thai the world in vain had tried, 

Ads rrow but more closely tied ; 

That stood the storm, when waves were rongb, 

Vet in a sunny hour fall off. 

Like ships that have gone down a' sea, 

When heaven was all tranquillity ! 

A something, light as air — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken — 
Oh! love, Ibat tempests never sho>k, 

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread he breach that words begin; 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
Bess round all they said ; 
Till fast declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love' are gone. 
And hearts, so lately mingle 
Like broken clouds',— or hke the stream. 



8 In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever 
the former took the latter prisoners, " they shut them 
up in iron cnges, and hun; 'hem on the highest trees. 
Here they were visited by their conn anions, who 
bi ought them ihe choicest odouts.'' — Jiichanlson. 

u In the Malay language the same word signifies 
women and flowers. 

1 The capital of Shadukiam. See note, anlt, p. 280. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HA.RAM. 



3(K 



That smiling left the mountain's brow 
As though i's waters ne'er could sever, 

Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 
Breaks into floods, that part for ever. 

Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, 

Keep hun ill ro-y bondige bound, 
A- in ihe Fields ot Bliss above 

He sils, with rlow'-ets letler'd round;' — 
Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor e\ er lei him u-e his w iugs ; 
For ev'n an hour, a minute's night 
Will n.b ihe plumes of half 'heir light. 
Like thai celestial bird, — whose nest 

Is found beneath tar Eastern skies, — 
Whose winss, though radiant when at rest, 

1-ose all their glory when he flies! a 

Some difference, of this dangerous kind, — 

By which, though light, the links that bind 

'I he fondest hearts may soon be riven ; 

Some shadow in Love's summer heaven, 

Which, though a fleecy speck a' first, 

May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 

Such cloud it i-, that now hangs over 

The heart of Ihe Imperial Lover, 

And far ha'h binish'd from his sight 

His Nourmahal. his Harani's Light! 

Hence is it, on this happy night, 

When Pleasure through he fields and grovel 

Has let loose all her world of loves, 

And every heart has found its own, 

He wanders, j'iy less and alone, 

And weary as that bird of Thrace, 

Whose pinion knows no resting-place.* 

In vain the loveliest cheeks and eye» 
This Eden of ihe Earth supplies 

Come ciowding round — the cheeks are pale, 
The eyes are dim : — th/>u;h rich the spot 
With eve y flow'r this earth has got, 

What is it 10 the nightingale, 
If there his dailing rose is not ?« 
In vaiu Ihe Valley's smi ing throng 
Worship him, as he moves along; 
He heeds Ibein not — one smile of her* 
Is worth a world of worshippers. 
Thev but the Star's adorers are, 
She is the Heav'n that lights the Star 1 

Hence is it, loo, that Nourmahal, 

Amid Ihe luxuries of this hour, 
Far from ihe joyous fefivai. 

Sils in her own sequester'd bower, 
With no one near, to soothe or aid. 
But that inspir'd and wond'rous maid, 
Nanuuna, the Enchamre-s ; — one, 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has run, 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 't is now. 
Nay, rather.— as the west wind's sigh 
Freshens the flower it passes by, — 



Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, 
And when, as ofl, she spoke or sung 
Of other worlds, here came a liglr 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
That all believ'd nor man nor earth 
Were conscious of Namounas birlh ! 
All spells and talismans she knew, 

Fr.in the great Mantra. 5 which around 
The Air's sublimer Spirits drew, 

To the gold gems 6 of Afric, bound 
Upon the wandering Arab's arm, 
To keep him from the Siltim's" harm. 
And she had pledg'd her powerful an, — 
Pledg'd il with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though hish her sphere, 
What 'I was to lose a love so dear, — 
To find s me spell that should recall 
Her Selim's * smile to Nourmahal ! 

Twas midnight— through the lattice, wreath'd 
With woodliue, many a perfume breath'd 
From plants that wake when olhers sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odour to themselves all day, 
But, when ihe sun-light dies awa'y, 
Let the delicious secret out 
To every breeze that roams about ; — 
When thus Namouna : — "T is the hour 
"That scitteis spells on herb and flower, 
''And garlands might be galhei'd now, 
"Tha r , iwin'd around Ihe sleeper's brow, 
" Would make him dream of such delights, 
"Such miracles and dazzling sights, 
"As Genii of Ihe Sun behold, 
" At evening, from their tents of gold 
"Upon Ihe' horizon — where they play 
" Till tw ilighl comes, and, ray by ray, 
"Their sunny mansions melt away. 
" Now , tio, a'chaplet might be wre ith'd 
"Of buds o'er which the moon has breath'd, 
" Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd, 

" Might biing -onie Peri fiom the skies, 
" Some sprite, w h"°« very soul is made 

"Of flow 'rets' bieaths and lovers' sighs, 

"And who might tell " 

u For me, for me," 
Cried Nourmahal impatiently,— 
'Oh! twine that wreath for 'me lo-night." 
Then, rapidly, with foot as light 
As the young musk-roe's, out she flew, 
To cull each shining leaf thai grew 
Beneath Ihe moonlight's hallow ing beams, 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
Anemones aud Seas of Gold s 

And new-blown lilies of the river, 
And those sweet flow 'rets that unfold 

Their buds on Camadeva's quiver; • •>_. 
The tube-rose, wi:h her silvery light, 

That in Ihe Gardens of Malay 



i See the represen'ation of the Eastern Cupid 
pinioned closely round with wrealhs of flowers, in 
Picart's Ceremonies Religieuses. 

^ " Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of 
goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called 
the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, 
appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it 
flies they lose all their splendour " — Grosier. 

* " As these birds on the Bosphorus are never 
known to rest, they are called by the French Mes 
ames damnees.' " — .Dalloway. 

* "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant 
herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes 
not, io his constant heart, for more than the sweet 
breath of his beloved rose," — Jami. 



* " He is said lo have found the great Mantra, 
spell or talisman, through which he ruled over he 
elements and spirits of all denominations."— (Vilford. 

6 '-The eold jewels of Jinnie, which are called by 
the Arabs El Heirez, from the supposed charm they 
contain." — Jackscn. 

i «* A demon, supposed to haunt woods, &c. in a 
human shape." — Richardson. 

8 The name of Jehanguire before his accession to 
the throne. 

9 '• Hemasagara. or the Sea of Gold, with flowers 
of the brightest gold colour." — Sir W. Jones. 

to "This tree ('he Naeacesara) is one of the most 
delightful on earlh, and the delicious odour of i's 
| blossoms justly gives them a place in the quiver of 
I Camadeva, or Ihe God of Love.''— Hid. 



308 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Is catl'd the Mistress or the Night,! 
Su like a b ide, scented and bright, 

She c mes out when Hie sun s a way ; — 
Amaranth-, such -is crown the maids 
That wander through Zainara's shades ;3_ 
And the white moon-flower, as it shows, 
Oi Serendib's high crags, to those 
Wh" near the Me at evening ^ail, 
Scenting her clove-tre=s in the gale ; 
In short, all flow'rels a;.d all pi nts, 

Kroiu the divine Amrita tree,3 
That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 
Down to the b.sil tuft,« that »aves 
Its fragrant blossom over graves, 

And to the humble rosemary, 
Whose swee's so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the de-ert 3 and the dead: — 
All in thai iraiden bloom, and all 
Are gat herd by you.ig NourniahaL 
Who heaps her baskets with the fl wers 

And leaves, till they can hold no more; 
Then t>> Namouna flies, and showers 

Upon her lap the shining store. 
With wha< delight he' Enclnn'ress views 
So many bud-, bath'd with the dews 
And beams of that bless'd hour ! — her glance 

Spoke something, past all mortal pleasuies, 
As, in a kind of holy trance, 

She hung above those fagrant treasures, 
Be. ding to drink their balmy airs, 
As if she ni'X'd her soul with theirs. 
And 't was, indeed, the perfume shed 
From tlnw'fs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life — f T none h .d e*er 
Beheld her lase of mortal fare, 
>'<>r ever in ;.ught earthly dip, 
But the morn's "dew, her rusea'e lip. 
FilPd with ihecool, inspiring smell, 
The' Enchantress now begins her -pell, 
Thus singing as she winds and weives 
In mystic form the glittering leaves: — 



I know where the winged visions dwell 

That around the night-bed play; 
I know each herb and flow'ret's bell, 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 



i "The Malayans style the tube-rose (Polianthes 
tuberosa) Sandal Malarn, or the Mistress of the 
Night. r — Pennant. 

- The pe< pie of the Batta country iu Sumatra (of 
which Zimaia is one of the ancient names) " when 
noi engaged in war, lead an idle, inactive life, passing 
the day ill playing on a kind of nute, crowned with 
garlands of flowers, among which the globe-amaran- 
thus, a native of the country, mostly prevails." — 
Marsden. 

3 " The largest and richest sort (of the Jarnbu or 
rose apple) is "called Amrita, or immortal, and the 
mythoiogists of Tibet apply the same word to a 
celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit." — Sir W. 
Joints. 

* Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and gen- 
erally found in churchyards. 

" The women in Egypt e.o, at least two days in the 
week, to pray and weep at the sepu chres of the 
dead; and the custom then is to thruw upon the 
tombs a sort of herb, which the Arabs call rihan, 
and which is our sweet basil. — Maillet, Lett. 10. 

» "In the Great Desert are found many stalks of 
lavender and rosemary " —Jsiat. lies. 



The image of love, that niehtly flies 

To visit the ba-hful maid, 
Steals from tie j smme lio»er, that sight 

Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The dream i f a future, happier hour, 

That alights on misery's brow, 
Springs out of the silverv almond-flower, 

That blooms on a leafless b, ugh.* 
Then hasten « e, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fa 

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 

The glitter of mines unfold, 
Inhabit the mountain-herb, i that dyes 

The tooth of the lawn like gold. 
The phantom shapes — oh, touch not them- 

That appal the murderer's sight, 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, 

That shrieks, w'hen pluck'd at night! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To t» ine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fa 

The dream of the injur'd, patient mind, 

That smiles at he wrongs ol men, 
Is found iu the bruis'd and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest tben. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twiue our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fa 



No sooner was the flowery crown 

Placed on her head, ihau sleep came down, 

Gently as nights of summer fall, 

L'pou the lids of Nourmalal ; — 

And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 

As lull of small, rich harmonies 

As ever wind, that <.'er il e 

Of Azab s blew, -..as full of scents, 

Steals on herea'. ^ el's, 

Like the hr.-t an of m tning cieeping 
lot" those wieathy, Red-Sea shells 

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping; 
And now a Spirit furm'd, '; would seem, 

Of music and of light,— so fair, 
So brilliantly his fea ures beam, 

And such a sound is in ihe air 
Of a»eelne-s "hen he waves his wings,— 
Hovers around her, and thus sings : 



s '• The almond-tree, with white flowers, blossoms 
on the bare brandies." — HatttLjiiitt. 

1 An herb on Mount Libai us, which is said to com- 
municate a yellrrf gulden hue to the teeth of the 
go< s and other animals that g:a/e uion il. 

XitLvhr thinks this maybe the beib which the 
Eastern alchymists look to as a mens of n.aknij 
gold. " Mn-f of those alchy lineal enthusiasts think 
hemselves sure of success, if they coi.ld but find out 
the herb, which gilds ihe teeth and gives a yellow 
coh-ur t" the flesh of the sheep that eat it. Even the 
oil of this plant must be of a golden colour. It is 
called Haschischal ed dot." 

Father Jerom Dandr i, however, asserts thai the 
teeth of the goa's at Mount I.ibanus arc of a silver 
colour; and adds, '"this cnnli ms me ihit which I 
observed in Candia: to wit. that the animals that live 
On Mouut Ida eat a certain heib. which re. dtrs their 
teeth of a golden colour ; which, accord og to my 
judgment, cannot otherwise | roceed than frosn the 
mines w Inch are under ground." — Danditn, Voyage 
to Mount Libauus. 

8 The myrrh country. 

9 " This idea (of deities Kving in shells) was Dot 
unknown to Ihe Greek . who repre-ent the young 
Nentrs, one of the Cupids, as living in shells on the 
shores of the Red Sea." — H'il/nd. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 



309 



From Chindara'st warbling fount I come, 

Call'd by thit moonlight garland's spell ; 
From Chindara's fount, my f iiry home, 

Wheie in music, morn and night, 1 dwell. 
Where lutes in the air are heard about, 

And voices are singing ihe whole day long, 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 
is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song! 
Hither 1 come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there "'s a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet agaifi. 

For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
And mine aie the murmuring dyiug uotes, 
Thai fall a< s 'ft as snow on the sea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly : — 
And the passionate sir .in :hat, deeply going. 

Refines the boson it trembles through. 
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing 

Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. 

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
The Spi< its of past Delight obey ; — 
Let but the tuneful talisman sound, 
And they conn-, like Genii, hovering round. 
And mine is Ihe gentle song that be. is 

From soul to soul, the wishes of love, 
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 

The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove.* 

'T is I that mingle in one sweel measure 

The past, Ihe present, and future of pleasure; 3 

When Memory links Ihe tone that is gone 

With he blissful lone that 's s'ill iu the ear ; 
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 

To a uote more heavenly still that is near. 

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 

Can as dowm Soft and as yielding be 

As his own white plume, that high amid death 

Through the field has shone— yei moves withabreath 

And, oh, how Ihe eyes of Beauty glisten, 

When Music has reach'd her inward soul 
Like the silent s ars, tha' wink and listen 

While He. ven's eternal melodies roll. 
So, hither I come 
From my fairy home, 



And if there's a magic in Music 
I swear by the breith 
Of that moonlight wreath, 

Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet 



'T is dawn — at least that earlier dawn, 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,* 
As if Ihe mini had wak'd, and then 
Shut close her lids of light again. 
And Nourmahal is up, and trying 

The wondeis of her lute, whose strings — 
Oh, bliss ! — now murmur like the sighing 

From that ambrosial Spiiifs wiugs. 
And then her voice — 't is more lhan human- 

Never, till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter noes so fie-h from heaven; 
Sweet as the bieath of angel sighs, 

When angel sighs a:e most divine. — 
"Oh ! let it last Fill night," shecr.es, 

" Aud he is more lhan ever mine." 

And hourly she renews the lay, 

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away, — 

For things so heavenh have such fleeluess! 
But, far from fading, i! but grows 
Richer, diviner a- it fl »ws ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string, 

And p urs again each sound along, 
Like ech .. lost and languishing, 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening, (trusting that his soul 
Might be from haunting love releas'd 

By mirth, by music, and the bowl,) 
The' Imperial Selim held a least 

In his magnificent Shalimar: s — 

Iu whose Saloons, when the firs! star 



• " A fabulous fountain, where ins'ruments are said 
to be constantly playing." — Richardson. 

* "The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, 
by carrying the fruit of" Ihe cinnamon lo different 
places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tiee." 
— See Breton's lllustr. Tab. 19. 

3 " Whenever our pleasure aiises from a succe-sion 
of sounds, it is a perception of a complicated na'ure, 
made up of a stiisalion of ihe present so nd or no'e, 
and an idea or remembrance of Ihe foregoing, while 
their mixture and concurrence produce such a myste- 
rious delight, as neither could have produced alone. 
And it is nfleu heightened by an anticipation of the 
succeeding notes. Thus Sense Memory, and Imagi- 
nation, are conjunctively employed. '— Gtrrard on 
Taste. 

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Pleasure, as 
explained by Cicero : — •' Quocirca corpus gaudere 
tamdiu.duni prcesentem senire' voluplatem : animuni 
et przsenteni pen ipere pariter cum corpore et pro- 
spicere venienlem, nee piatteritam praelerfluere si- 
ne re." 

Madame de S'ael accounts upon the same principle 
for the gratification we derive from rhyme: — " Elle 
est Pimage de Temperance et du souvenir. Un son 
nous fait desirer celui qui doit lui repondre. et quand 
le second retentit il ious rappelle celui qui vient de 
nous e;happer.'> 



* "The Persians have two mornings, the Soobhi 
Kazim and the Soobhi Sadig, the fal-e and the real 
day-break. They accoi.nt for this phenomenon in a 
most whimsical mam er. They say that as the sun 
rises from behind the Kohi Qaf (.Mount Caucasus), it 
passes a hole perforated through that mountain, and 
that daring its ravs through it, it is the cause of the 
Soobhi Kazim, or" this temporary appearance of day- 
break. As it ascends, ihe earth is again veiled in 
darkness, until the sun rises above the'mountain. and 
brings with it the Soobhi Sadig. or real morning. 9 — 
Scott Waring. He thinks Milton may allude to this, 
when he sa\s,— 

" Ere the blabbing Eastern scout. 
The nice morn on ihe Indian steep 
From her cabin'd loop-hole peop." 

5 " In the centre of the plain, as it approaches the 
Lake, one of Ihe Delhi Emperors, I believe Sh ih Je- 
han, constiucted a spacious garden clled the Shali- 
mar. which is abundantly stored with frui'-lrees and 
flowering shrubs Some uf the rivulets which inter- 
sect Ihe plain are led into a canal at the back of the 
gaiden, and flowing through its centre, or incisional!)' 
thrown in'o a variety of water-works, compose the 
chief beauty of Ihe Shalimar. To decorate this sp.,t 
the Mogul Princes of India have displayed an equal 
magn ficence and laste; especially Jehan Cheer, who, 
wih Ihe enchanting Noor Mahl, made Kashmire his 
usui! residence during :fie summer months. On 
arches thrown over the canal are erectrd, at equal 

I distances, four or five su tes of apartmen's, e ch con- 
sisting of a saloon, with four rooms at the angles, 

! where the followers of the court attend, and the ser- 
van s prepare slerbe's, coffee, ai d the h' okah. The 
frame of Ihe doors of the principal sa'oon is composed 

j of pieces of a stone of a black colour, streaked witr 

1 yellow lines, and of a closer grain and higher poliu 



310 



LALLA R OOKH. 



Of evening o'er the watcs'trembled, 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled ; 
All the bright crea ures that, like dreams, 
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams ; i 
And all til ise wandering minstrel-maids, 
Who leave— how can they leaver — the shade* 
Of that dear Valley, and ..re found 

Singing in gardens of the S'U h * 
Those songs, hat ne'er so sweetly soo* 

As fioiu a young Cashmeriau's mout'a. 

There, too, the Haram's inmates smile; — 

Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair, 
And troin the Gaiden of the Nile, 

Delicate as the r'ses ihe-e . 3 — 
Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks, 
With Paphian Diamonds in their locks;* — 
Light Peri forms, such as there are 
On the gold meads of Candahar ; 5 
And they, before whose sleepy eyes, 

In iheirown bright Kathaiau bcwers, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies. 

Thai they might fancy the rich flowers, 
That round them in the sun lay sighing 
Had been by magic all set flying.' 

Every thing young, every thing fair 
From East and West is blushing there, 
Except — except — oh, Nourmahal ! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
The one, whose smile shone out alone, 
Amid-t a world the only one ; 
Whose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star en starry nights, 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark for ever by ! 
Thou wert uot there — so Selim thought, 

And every thing seem'd drear without thee; 
But, ah ! thou wert, thou «ert,— and brought 

Thy charm of tang all fresh about thee. 
Mingling unnoiic'd with a band 
Of luianiss from many a laud, 
And veil'd by such a mask as shades 
The features of young Aiab maids, i — 



than porphyry. They were taken, it is said, from a 
Hindoo temple, by one of the Mogul princes, and are 
esteemed of great value." — Forstcr. 

i " The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned 
from its being supposed that ihe Cicheminans are in- 
debted for their beauty to them." — Hi i'tzdi. 

» "From him I received the following little Gaz- 
zel, or Love Song, the no'es of which he committed o 
paper from the voice "f one of those singing girl> of 
Cashmere, who wander from thai deligh'ful valley 
over Ihe various parts of India." — Persian Miscella- 
nies. 

3 "The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the 
Nile (attached lo Ihe Emperor of Marocco'- palace), 
areunequalled. and matrasses are made of their leaves 
for the men of rank to recline upon.'' — Jackson. 

* " On Ihe side of a mountain near Paphos there is 
a cavern which produces ihe mos' beautiful rock-c ys- 
lal. On account of its b> iliiaucy it has been called ihe 
Paphian diamond." — Alartti. 

* " There is a part of Candahar, called Peria, or 
Fairy Land." — Thevenot. In some of those coun- 
tries lo the north of India vegetable gold is supposed 
to be produced. 

s " These are the butterflies which are called in the 
Chinese language Flying Leaves. Some of them have 
such shining clours", and are so variega'ed, that they 
may be called flying flowers; and indeed they are 
always produced in the finest flower-gaidens." — 
Dunn. 

i "The Arabian women wear black masks with 
little clasps prelily Jrd e red. " — Carreri. Niebuhr 
mentions their showing but one eye in conversation. 



A mask that leaves but one eye free, 

To do its best in wi chery.— 

She rov'd. wilb beating heart, around, 

And waited, trembling, fur the minute, 
When she might try if still the sound 

Of her lov'd lute had magic in it 

The board was spread with fruits and wine ; 
Wilh grapes of gold, like those thai shine 
On Ca=bin's hills; *— pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears, 
And sunniest apples 9 lhat Cai.bul 

In all its tbou-and gat dens i° bears; — 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectar"d mangusteen ; u 
Primes of Bofeara, and swee nuts 

From ihe lar gr ves of Samarcand, 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 

Seed of the Sun, 12 from Iran's land ; — 
With rich conserve of Visna cherries,i3 
Of orange flower., and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac's rock\ dells." 
All these in richest vases smile, 

In baskets of pure sanal-wood, 
And urns of jorcelain fcom that islei* 

Sunk undernea h the Indian flood, 
Whence oft 'he lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines, too, of eieiy clime and" hue, 
Around their liquid lus're thtew ; 
Anibei Ros Hi. is — it.e bt ighl dew 
From vineyards of the Green->ea gushing; • * 
And Shir.z wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, latge aud rare, 
The ruby for which Kui lai-Khan 
Otfer'd a cil.v's wealth >« was blushing 

Melted within the goblets there ! 

And amply Selim quaffs of each, 

And seems resolv'd the flood shall reach 

His inward hear', — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as the) tun, 
That so"n shall leave no sno undrown'd, 

For Love to rest his wings upon. 



» "The golde i grapes of Casbin.'— Description of 
Persia. 

9 'The fruits exported from Caubul are apples, 
pears, pomegranates," &c. — Elphintttme. 

10 •• We sat down under a ree, Is'entd to Ihe 
birds, and talked »i h 'tie son of our Mehmauudar 
about our eutta ') a' d C-ut ul, of which he ga»e an 
enchanting account : that city aud its 100.000 gardens,"' 
&c. — Id. 

ii •' The mangus'een, the most delicate fruit in the 
world ; Ihe pride of Ihe Malay islands." — Marsdcn. 

11 "A delicious kind of apricot, called by ihe Per- 
sians tokmek-sheiiis, signifying suns seed." — De- 
scription of Ptrsia. 

13 "Sweetmeats, in a crystal cup, consisting of rose- 
leaves in onset ve, with" lemon of Visna cherry, 
orange flowers." Axe. — Kics -til. 

i« '■ Antelopes cropping II c fresh bcrres of Erac" 
—The Moallakat. P. em of Tarafa. 

is •' Mauri-ga->ima. >■ i-land near Forrno-a. sup- 
posed to have been -unk in Ihe sea fi r be crimes of 
its inhabitants. The ve-sels which the ristermeu 
and divers b ing up from it are s"ld at an imuicuse 
price in China and Japan. See Kcmiftr. 

is Persian Tales. 

ii The white wine of Kishma. 

18 •• The King of Zeilan is said to have the very 
finest ruby that was ever seen. Kubiai-Khan sent 
and otlered the value of a ci'v for i', but I 
answered he would not give it for the treasure of the 
world." — Marco Polo. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 



311 



He little knew how well the boy 

Can r.oat upon a goblet's streams, 
Lighting theui with his smile of joy ; — 

As b.<rds have seen him in iheir dreams, 
Doivn the blue Gauges laughing glide 

Upon a rosy loius wrea li, 1 
Ca 'cbiug new lustre from the lide 

That with his image shone beneath. 

Rut what are cups, without 11m aid 

Of sung tc speed them as they flow? 
And see — a lovely Georgian maid. 

Wi h a.l the bloom, je fresheir'd glow 
Of her oi»n couutry maidens" loots, 
When warm they rise from Teflis" brooks ; » 
And wi h aii eye, whose restless ray, 

Full, floating dark — oh, he, who knowt 
Hi heart is weak, of Heav'u should pray 

To guard him fr m such eyes as those*! — 
With a voluptuous wilduess lungs 
Her sucwy land acre ss the strings 
Of a syriiida,3 and thus sings : — 



That all stood bush'd and wondering, 

And turn'd and look'd into the air, 
As if thev thought to see the wing 

Of Israel « the Angel, there ; — 
So powerfully on every soul 
That new, enchanted lue sure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
Of the charnrd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whether 
The voice i«r lute was most divine, 

So wondrously they went together: — 



Come hither, come hither — by night and by da*, 

We linger in pleasures that never are gone; 
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, 
Another as sweet and as shining o mes on. 
j And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth 
I To a new one as warm, as uuequ.ill*d in bliss; 
' And, oh! if there be .n Elysium on eaith, 
It is this, it is this.* 

Here maidens are sighing, and flagrant their sigh 
As the flow er of the Antra just op'd by a bee ; s 
j And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,6 
Which turns into [.earls as it falls in the sea. 
Oh! think what the ki.-s and the smile must be worth 
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss, 
And own if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow'd by love, 
Could draw down those angels of old from their 
sphere, 
Who for wine of this earth * left the fountains above, 
And forgnt heaven's s:ars for the eyes we have here. 
Aud, ble-s d with the odour our gnblet gives forth, 

Whit Spirit the sweets of his EJen would miss? 
For, oh ! if there be an Elvsium on ejrth. 
It is tins, it is this. 



There's a bliss beyond al! that the minstrel has told, 
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly lie. 

With heart never changing, at.d brow never cold. 
Line on through all ills, and love on till they diet 

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss 

And, oh! if there It an Elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this. 



The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 
When the same measw e, sound* for sound, 

Was ought up by another lute, 
And so dniuely breathed around, 



t The Indians feign that Cupid was first seen float- 
ing down the Ganges on the Nymphaea JXelumbo. 

See Pennant. 

» Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm baths. — 
See Etni Haukal. 

3 "The Indian Syrinda, or guitar." — Symez. 
* "Around the exterior of the Dewan Khafs (a 
building of Shah Allum's) in the cornice are the fol- ' 
lowing lines in letters of gold up->n a ground of whi e ! 
j m .rble — « // there be a paradise upon earth, it it ! 
i this, it is this ' " — Franklin. 

| * " Deligh'ful are the flowers of the Amra trees on 
j the moumain-tops, while the murmuring bees pursue 

their volup uous t oil.*— Song of Jayadcva. 
I « "The Nisan or drops of spring rain, which they! 
believe to p.oduoe pearls if tbey fall into shells." — ; 
I Richardson. 

! * For an account of the share which wine had in ' 
| the fall of the angels, see MaritL 



T was no: the air, 't was not the words, 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such power 
As Musk: knew not till that hour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
'* It is the ma-k d Arabian maid !" 
While Selim, who had felt the stiain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance, 

After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
Too inly touch'd fir utterance, 

Now'motiou'd with his hand for more: 



Fly to the desert, fly with me. 
Our Arab teuts are rude for thee ; 
But, oh ! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
The" acacia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor'lov'd the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gaily springs 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The lov'd ai.d lone acacia-tree, 
The aneloi e. whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that oar 
An instant sunshine through the heart,— 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

As if (he very lips and eyes, 
Predestin'd to have all our sighs, 
And never be forget again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 

So came thy every glance and tone, 
When fiist on nie they breath'd aid snone; 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 
Tet welcome as if luv'd for years. 



e The At: gel of Mu?ic. See ncte. ante, p. 



1312 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Then fly with me, — if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, thai thou hadsi sworn 
Should tier in thy heart be worn. 

Come, if the love thou h'St for me 
Is pure and fre>h as mine for Ihee, — 
I'resh as the fountain under ground, 
When tirst 't is t>) the lapwing found.* 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some oilier maid, and rudely break 
Her woishipp'd linage from its base, 
To give to me the ruui'd place ; — 

Then, fare thee well — I 'd rather make 
My boner upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Thau trust to love so false as thine! 



There was a pathos in Ihis by, 

That, ev'n without enchantment's art, 
Would instant y have found its way 

Deep into Sclim s burning heart ; 
But, breaihiug, as ii J,d, a lone 
'I'o earthly lu es and lips unknown ; 
With eve y chord lie-h from the touch 
Of Music's' Spirit,— 'i was too much ! 
Starling, he dash d away the cup,— 

Which, all he time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, unlisted, up, 

As if 'I were ti* d by magic there,— 
And naming her, so long uunamM, 
So long unseen, wild I) c.\i 
"Oh, Noimnabal! oh, Nourniahal! 

" Hadst ihou but -ung this wi ching strain, 
" I could forgel — forgive thee all, 

' And never leave those eyes again.'' 

The mask is off — the charm is wrought — 
And Selim U) his hear lias c .Uidit, 
In blu-hes, more thin ever bright, 
His Nourmahal, his li run's Light! 
And well do v in-h'd frowns enhance 
The charm .1 ever) bnghtcn'd gl.i.ce; 
And dearer seems each dawning mile 
For hav it M.ile: 

And. happier doh 

As on bis arm her bead repose-, 
She whispers him, w ith laughii g eves, 

"Keiiiember, love, Ihe Fe ist of liases !» 



Fadladeen, al the conclusion of this light rhapsody, 
took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young 
Cashinerian's poetry,— of which he trusted, 'bey had 
that evening heard Ihe last. Ilavii g rtcapitiil ted 
the epithets "frivol u-"—' inharmonious" — "non- 
sensical," he proceeded to say tl.at. viewing it in the 
most favourable light, i! teseiiibled cue of tho-e Mai- 
divian boats to which he Princes had aliudid in Ihe 
relation of her dream,- — a s ight gilded thing, set 
adritt «i hout ru ; .» i I) nothing but 

vapid sweets a'd faded flower* on board. 1 he pro- 
fusi n, indeed, nf dower- and I inis, which 'his p>>et 
bad read) nu all occasions. — not to mention Jews, 
gems, &c.— was a moat opp cs-ne kind of opulence 
to his hearers j and had ihe unlucky effect of giving 
to his style all the slitter of the tinner-garden « ith- 
oct its method ai.d all Ihe flu'ter of the avar,- with- 
out its song. In addition to this, he eh sr his subjec's 
tadly, and was always met inspired by the worv 
jiarts of them. I he Charm- nf pag iiiism, 'he merits 
of reb-Uion, — these were the themes honoured with 



his particular enthusiasm ; and, in Ihe poem jost re- 
cited, one of hi- most palatable passages was in praise 
ot ihal beverage of Ihe "Unfaithful, wine; — "being, 
perhaps,'' said he, relaxing into a smile, as conscious 
of his own chaiacter in ihe Haiam on this point, 
'■ one of those baids, whose fancy owes all its illumi- 
nation to ihe grape, like that painted |iorcelain, 3 so 
curious and so rare, whose images are only visible 
when liquor is poured into it." Upon the whole, it 
w .8 liis opinion, trom the specimens which they bad 
heaid, and wh ch, he begged to s.y, were the most 
tiresome part of the join ney. thai — w ha'eser oiber 
merits this well-dres-ed young gentleman might |«s- 
sess — poetry was by no n e til hi- proper an cation: 
"and indeed,' concluded the criic, •from his f nd- 
ness Bar Bowers and for b rds, 1 would ventue to sug- 
gest that a fiori-t or a bird-catcher is a much more 
sui able calling for him than a poet."' 

They had now be;un to a-cend those barren moun- 
tains, which separate Ca-bme e from the rest of 
India ; and, as ttie heats were int lerabte, and the 
time of tin ir encampments limited to the few hours 1 
necessary for refreshment and repose, thfre was an 
end to a I 'heir delightful evenings, and Lalla Ro kh 
saw no irn re of Keramorz. Mie now ich that her 
short dream of ha; pine- was o\er. and that she had 
nothing but the recollection of its few blissful hours, 
like tne One dr.uiht of sweet water thai series the 
camel acr ss the wilderness, In be her heart's refre-h- 
ment du'ing the d eary wa-'eof hie that was Lef. re 
her. 1 be Blight that had fallen upon her spiii's s«on 
lound its way to he: cbeek and her I .dies saw with 
regret — though : suspicion of the 

at ttie beau'V or their mis'res-, of which 
they weie almost is proud as of Ibcir own, was tot 
vanishing aw ij at the very mi mem of all w heu she 
bad most need of it. What must tiie King of 
Buclwia feel, when, instead oflbelivel) ai 
ful La.la K okii. wfa m be poets nf Delhi had de- 
scribed as more perfect than the divines! images in 
the house of Az r.-» he should leceive a pale and 
inanimate victim, upon whose check neither health 
nor pleasure bloomed, and from \> hose eyes Love had 
riVd. — to hide h.ui-eif in tier bean ? 

lid have charmed away the melan- 
ch ly of her .piri - liesh airs 

and enchanting scenery ot thai Valley, wbn.li 'he 
Fenians so justly called be Unequalled.* hut nei- 
ther hr i sphere, so luiuri u- alter 
, l> se bare and burning mouuiaiu . — nei her 
a i sl.one 
out I on, Ihe depth of its wools, uor Ihe 
hermi ages, .nd miraculous fouu ains.6 which make 



t The Hudhud. or Lapwing, is supposed to have 
!be power of discovering water under ground. 
»Seeont«, p. 291. 



s •■ I te Chine-e h d formerly the art of painting 
on the -id.s of p ircelain vessel'-, fish and 
mi:-, which were Onlj |erce;'ible when the \es-el 
was full of some liquor. They ell tl - 
Kiv-tSIll ! >.c uc' of 

the in nner in w Inch he Izme is laid • u " — ■• I hey 
are every 
this tragical painting, but ( - Duiuu 

« An eminent I in he Koran to 

be f<lher to Abraham. '• I l.aie such a 1 icly idol 
as i- Dot to be met with in the i. 
Hajlz. 

4 Kachmire be Nazeer. — Fcratrr. 

B«Thepa>don f the sequeste ed 

inhabit n's h s multiplied 'he j la - 
Mihideo. of Beschan, and of Brama All I 

- 
-•an. 

Jehauguire meirion? "a fountain in Cashmere 
called limagh, which siii.ities a siake; 

en seen 
. I went 
t uce to till- fountain, which is aloii' ho 
from the city of t. 
of worst: | 
b. r m.oi _ . which are inter* 



LALLA ROOKH. 



313 



every spot of that region holy ground, — neither the 
countless waterfalls, that rush into the Valley from 
all those high and romantic mountains that encircle 
it, nor the fair city on the Lake, whose houses, roofed 
wilh flowers,' appeared at a distance like one vast 
and variegated par erre ; — not all the-e wondeis and 
glories of the most lovely country under the sun could 
steal her hear for a minute from those sad (hough's, 
which but darkened, and grew hi ierer every step she 
advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her upon 
her entrance into He Valley, and ihe magnificence 
with which the roads all along were decora'ed. did 
honour to the taste and gallantry of ihe young King. 
It was night when they approached ihe cry, and, for 
the last two miles, they had passed under arches, 
thrown from hedge 10 hedge, festooned with only 
those rarest roses from which Hie Ailar Gul, more 
precious thin gold, is distilled, and illuminated in rich 
and fanciful forms with lan'erns of the triple-coloured 
torioise-shell nf Pe.'U.S Sometimes, from a dirk 
wood by the side of the road, a display of fi e-w rk» 
would break out, so sudden and so brilliant, that a 
Brahmin might fancy he beheld that gr ve, in whose 
purple shale Ihe God of BatHes was horn, bursting 
into a dame al Hie moment of his bin h ; — while, at 
other times, a quick and playful irradiation continued 
to brigh en all the fields and gardens by which they 
passed, forming a line of dancing lights along Ihe 
hoiiz n ; like the meteors of the north as they are seen 
by ihose hunters,3 who pursue the while and blue 
f 'Xes on the confines of the Icy Sei. 

These arches and fire-works delighted the Ladies of 
the Princess exceedingly ; and, with their usual good 
logic, they deduced from Lis taste for illuminations, 
that Ihe Kmg of Bucharia would make the nr st 
exemplary husband imaginable. Nor, indeed, could 
Lalla Rookh herself help feeling the kindness and 
splendour wi h which the young bridegroom wel- 
comed her;— but she :«lso felt how painful is the 
gratitude, which kindness from those we cannot love 
excites; anil that Heir best blandishments come over 
the heart with all that chilling and deadly sweetness, 
which we can fancy in Ihe cold, odonle'rous wind* 
that is to blow over this earth in Ihe last days. 

The marriage was fixed for Ihe morning after her 
arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be pre- 
sented to Ihe monarch in that Imperial Palace beyond 
the lake, called Ihe Shalimar. Though never before 

spersed in its neighbourhood." — Toozek Jthangtery. 
—v. Jisiat. .Misc. vol. ii. 

There is another account of Cashmere by Abul- 
Fa/il, the au'hor of the Ayin-Acbaree. "who, says 
Majur Rennel, "appears lo have caught some of Ihe 
enthusiasm nf Hie valley, by bis description of the 
holy places in it." 

' " On a standing roof of wood is laid a covering 
of fine earth, which shelters the building from the 
great quantity of snow tbat falls in the winter season. 
This fence communicates an equal warmth in winter, 
as a refreshing coolness in the summer season, when 
the tops of the houses which are planted with a 
var'e y of flowers, exhibit at a distance the spacious 
view of a beautifully checquered parterre "—Forster. 

3 " Two hundred slaves there are, who have no 
other office than to hunt the woods and marshes fir 
triple-coloured tortoises for the Kings Vivary. Of 
the shells of these also lanterns are made."— Vincent 
U Blanch Travels. 

3 For a description of the Aurora Bnrealis as it 
appears lo these hunters, v. Encyclopedia. 

* Thi- wind, which is to blow from Syria Damas- 
cena, is. according to the Mahometans, one of the 
signs of the I.ast Day's approach. 

Another of ihe signs is, -Great distress in Ihe world, 
so that a man when he passes by another's grave shall 
say. Would to God I Were in his place !" — Sa/e's 
Preliminary Discourse. 



27 



had a night of more wakeful and anxious thought 
been passed in the Happy Valley, yet, when she rose 
in the morning, and her Ladies came around her, lo 
a^sist in Ihe adjustment of ihe bridal ornaments, they 
thought they had never seen her look half so beauti- 
ful What she had Inst of the bloom and radiancy 
nf her charms was moie than made up by that intel- 
lectual expression, that soul beaming for h from the 
eyes, which is worth all the real of loveliness. When 
they h d tinged her lingers with the Henna leaf, and 
placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, of 
Ihe shape worn by Hie ancient Queens of Buchana, 
they flung over her head Ihe rose-coloured bridal veil, 
and she proceeded to the barge Ih-n was to convey her 
across Ihe lake; — first kissh g, wilh a mournful look, 
the little amulet of cornelian, which her father at 
parting had hung about her neck. 

Ihe morning was as fresh and fair as the maid on 
whose nup'ials it rose, and the shining lake, all 
covered with boats, Ihe minstrels playing upon the 
sir res nf the islands, ai d the crowded suiiiiiier-hou?es 
on the green hills around, with shawls aid banners 
waving from their roofs, presented such a picture of 
animated rejoicing, as only she, who was ihe object 
of it all, did not fed with 'transport. To Lalla Knokh 
alone it was a melancholy pageant; nor could she 
have even borne lo lot k upon Ihe scene, were it not 
for a hope that, among the crowds around, she might 
once more perhaps caich a glimpse of Feramorr. So 
much was her imagination haunted by this thought, 
that there was scarcely an islet or boat she passed on 
Hie way, al which her heart did not flutter with the 
moiiieu ary fancy that he was there. Happv, in her 
eyes, the humblest slave upon whom the light of his 
denr looks fell ! — In the b.irge immediaely after the 
Princess sat Fadladeen, will his silken curtains 
thrown widely apart, that :.ll might have the benefit 
of his august presence, and wilh his head full of Ihe 
speech he was lo deliver lo the Kmg, "concerning 
Feramorz, and li.erature, and the Chabuk, as con- 
nected therewith." 

They now had entered Ihe canal which leads from 
the Lake lo the splendid domes at d saloons of 'he 
Shalimar, and went dining on through the girdens 
that ascended from each bank, full ol flowei ing slin bs 
that made the air all perfume ; while from the mid- 
dle of Ihe canal ro»e je's of water, smooth and un- 
broken, to such a dazzling height, that they stood like 
tall pillars of diamond in Ihe sunshine. Af er sailing 
under the arches of various saloons, they at length 
arrived at the last and most magnificent, where Hie 
monarch awaited Ihe Coming ot his bride; and such 
was the agitation of her heart and frame, tha it was 
with difhuliy she could walk up ihe marble sleps, 
which were covered wi h cloth of gold for her ascen: 
from the barge. Al the end of the hall stood two 
thrones, as precious as the Cerulean Throne of Cool- 
burga,' on one of which sat Alii is. the youthful King 
of Buchaii and on 'he other wa«, in a few minutes, 
to be placed Ihe most beautiful Princess in the world. 



s "On Mabommed Shaw's return lo Koolhurga (Ihe 
capital of Dekkan), he made a great festival, and 
mounted this ihione wilh much pomp and magnifi- 
cence, calling il Firozeh or Cerulean. I have heard 
some old persons, who saw the throne Firozeh in the 
reign of Sultan Ma moid Bhamenee, describe il. 
They s.iy that il was in leDgth nine feet, and three in 
breadth ; made of ebony, covered with plates of pure 
gold, and set wilh precious stones of immense value. 
Every prince of the house of Bhamenee, who pos- 
sessed this throne, made a point of adding to it some 
rich stones; so that when in the reign of Sultan 
Mamood it wa< taken to pieces, to remove some of Ihe 
jewels to be set in vases and cups the jewellers vHued 
it at one corore of onus (nearly four millions sterling). ' 
I learned also that it was c<lled Firozeh from being- r 
partly enamelled of a sky-blue colour, which was in I 
time totally concealed by the number of jewels."— . 
fkrishta. 



314 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 






Immediately upon the entrance of Lalla Rookh into | 
the saloon, the monarch descended from bis throne to ; 
meet her; but scarcely had he lime to lake her band 
in his, when she screamed with surprise, and fainted 
at his feet. It was Feramorz himself that stood be- 
fore her '.— Feramorz was, himself, the Sovereign of 
Bueh.ria, who in this disguise hud accompanied his 
young bride from Delhi, and, having won her I've as 
an humble minstrel, now amply deserved to eujoy it 
as a King. 

The consternation of Fadladeen at this discovery 
«as. for the moment, almost pitiable. But change o'l 
opinion is a resource too convenient in courts fir this 
experienced courtier not to have learned to avail him- 
self of it. His criticisms were ail, of course, recanted 



instantly; he was seized with an admiration of the 
King's verses, as unbounded as, he begged him to 
believe, it was disintere 5 ted; and the following week 
saw him in possession of an additional place, swear- 
ing by all the Saints of Islam that never had there 
existed so great a poet as the Monarch Aliris, and, 
moreover, ready to prescribe his favourite regimen of ' 
the Chabuk for every man, woman, and child that 
dared to think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and Queen of Bucha- 
ria, after such a beginning, there can Le but lit* le j 
doubt ; and, among the lesser symptoms, it is recorded 
of Lalla Kookh, that, to the day of her death, in me- 
mory of their delightful journey, she never called the 
King by any other name than Feramorz. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS, 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. P-RC-V-L. 

In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard, 
Uiieinbilter'd and "free did the tear-drop descend ; 

We forgot, in that hour, how the s'atesman had err'd, 
And wept for the husband, the father, and friend. 

Oli. proud was the meed his integrity woo, 

And eeu'rous indeed were the tears that we shed, | 

When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had done. 
And, though wrong'd by him, living, bewail 'd him, 
when dead. 

Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude, 
Tis to wi>h he had choseii some lowlier state, 

Had known what he wis — and, content to be good. 
Had ne'er, for our ruin, aspir'd to be great. 

So, left through their own little orbit to move. 

Mis years might have roll'd inoffensive away ; 
His children might still have been bless'd with his 



So congenial their tastes, that, when Fum first did 

light on 
The floor of that grand China-warehouse at Brighton, 
The lanterns, and dragons, and things round the 

dome 
Were so like what he left, "Gad," says Fum, "I'm 

at home." — 
And when, turning, he saw Bishop 



Zooks, 
a Bonze, by 



I England would ne'er hav 
his sway. 



been curs'd with 



To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. 

Sir,— In order to explain the following Fragment, 
it is necessary to refer your readers to a late liorid 
description of the Pavilion at Brighton, in the apart- 
ments of which, we are told. •• Fum. The Chinese 
Bird of Royalty, 7 ' is a principal ornament. 
I am, Sir, yours, ic. 

MUM. 

FUM AND HUM, THE TWO BIRDS OF 
ROYALTY. 

One dav the Chinese Bird of Royalty. Fum, 
Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty. Hum, 
In that Palace or China-shop (Brighton, which is it?) 
Where Fum bad just come to pay Hum a short 

visit.— 
Near akin are these Birds, though they differ in 

natin 
(The breed of the Hums is as old as creation) ; 
Both full-craw'd Legitimates — both, birds of prey, 
Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half wav 
'Twixt the goose and the vulture, like Lord'C— s- 

tl gh. 

While Fum deals in Mandarins, Bonzes, B-hei, 
Petri, Bishops, anJ Punch, Hum, are sacred to thee! 



Quoth the Bird, " Yes— I know him 

bis phyz — 
"And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low 
'• Can be none tut our round-about godhead, fat Fo!" 
It chanced at this moment, ih' Episcopal Prig 

Was imploring the P e to dispense with his wig.i 

Which the Bird, overhearing, flen high o'er his head, 
| And some Tobit-like marks of his patronage shed. 
Which so dimm'd the poor Dandv's idclatr 
That, while Fum cried "Oh Fo f" all the c urt' cried 

" Oh fie 1" 

But, a truce to digression ; — these Birds of a feather 
Thus talk'd, t'other night, on Sta'e matters I 

(The P e just in bed, or about to depart for t. 

His legs full of gout, and his arms full of H— rtf— d.) 
'■I sav, Hum," says Fum — Fum, of course, spoke 

'Chine*, 
But, bless you, tha< *s nothing — at Brighton one sees 
Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease — 
'• I say. Hum, how fare* it with R ya rj 
" Is it up ? is it prime ? is it spooney — or how I" 7 
(The Bird had just taken a fiash-n.aiVs degree) 

Uiider B— rr— m— re, Y th, and yuuug Master 

L e) 

" As for us in Pekin" here, a dev'l of a din 

From the bed-chamber came, where that long Man- 
darin, 

C — stl eh (whom Fum calls the Confuhus at 

Prose), 
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose 
To the deep, double bass of the fat Id 

(Xota bene — his Lordship and L— v— rp— 1 come, 
In collateial lines, from 'he old Mo her Hum, 
C— stl gh a Hum-bug — L—v—rp — I a Horn- 
drum.) 
The Speech being finish'd, out rush'd C — stl — gh, 
Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, ■ • 
Through the regions of air. like a Snip on his h >bby. 
Ne'er paused, till he light* 



In consequence of an old promise, that he should 
be allowed to wear his own hair, n henever be might 
be elevated to a Bishopric by his R 1 H ss. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



315 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF SH-R-D-N. 
Prindpibusque placuiBse viriB! — Bora:. 

Yes, grief will have way — but (he fast falling tear 
Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those, 

Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career, 
And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its close : — 

Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed 
By the odour his lame in its summer-time gave; — 

Whose vanity now, ui'.h quick scent for the dead, 
Like the (jhole of the East, comes to feed at his 
grave. 

Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, 
And spirits so mean in the giea' and high-born; 
To Hunk what a long line of titles may follow 
! The relics of him who died — friendless and lorn ! 

How proud they can press to the fun'ral array 
Of one, whom they shunn'd iu his sickness and sor- 
row : — 

How bailiffs miy seize his last blanket, to-day, 

Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow ! 

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epicure's dream, 
incoherent and gross, even grosser had pass'd, 

Were it not for that cordiil and soul-giving beam, 
Which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness 
cast : — 

No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies thee 
Willi millions to heap upon Foppery's shrine; — 

No, not for the riches of all who despise thee, 

Tho' this would make Europe's whole opulence 
mine; — 

Would I sufl'er what— ev'n in the heart that thou 
hast — 
All mean as it is — must have consciously burn'd, 
When the pittance, which shame had wrung from 
thee at last, 
And which found all his wants at an end, was 
return'd ! i 

" Was this then the fate," — future ages will say, 
When some names shall live but iuhis'ory*> curse; 

When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of a day 
Be forgotten as fools, or remember'd as worse ; — 

" Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man, 
"The pride of the palace, the bower and the hall, 

" The orator, — dramatist, — minstrel, — who ran 
•' Through each mode of the lyre, and was master 
of all;— 

" Whose mind was an essence, compounded with art 
" From the finest and best of all other men's 
powers ; — 
" Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart, 
" And could call up its sunshine, or bring down its 
showers ;— 

" Whose humour, as gay as the fire-fly's light, 

"Pla\'d round every subject, and shone as it 
play'd ;— 

" Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, 
" Ne'er carried a heart-stain an ay on its blade ;— 

" Whose eloquence — bright'ning whatever it tried, 
" Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave, — 

"Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, 
"As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave !" 

Yes — such was the man, and so wretched his fate;— 
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve, 

Who wa-te their morn's dew in the hean.s of the Great 
And expect 't will return lo refresh Ihem at eve. 



i The sum was two hundred pounds — offtred 
when Sh— r— d— n could no longer take any suste- 
nance, and declined, for him, by his friends. 



In the woods of the North there are insects that prey 
On the biain of the elk till his very last sigh ; a 

Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they, 
First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to die ! 



EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIB TO BIG BEN 3 

CONCERNING SOME FOUL PLAY IN A LATE 

TRANSACTION. 4 

" Ahi, mio Ben !" — Metastasio.S 

What! Ben, my old hero, is this your renown ? 

Is this the new go ?— kick a man when he 's down ! 

When the foe has knock'd under, to tread ou him 

then — 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben ! 
'* Foul ! foul !" all the lads of ihe fancy exclaim — 
Charley Shock is electrified — Belcher spits flame — 
And Molyneux — ay, eveu Blacky 6 cries "shame;" 

Time was, when John Bull little difference spied 
'Twixt the foe at his feet, and Ihe fiiend at his side: 
When he found (such his humour in fighting and 

eating) 
His foe, like his b>>f-steak, the sweeter for beating. 
But this comes, Master Ben, of your curst foreign 

notions, 
Your trinkets, wig-, thingumbobs, gold lace and lo- 
tions ; 
Your Noyaus, Curacoas, and the Devil knows what — 
(One swiu of Blue Ruin i is worth the whole lot ! 
Your great and small crosses— (my eyes, what a brood ! 
A crow-bu'lock from me would do some of them 

good !) 
Which have spoilt you, till hardly a drop, my old 

porpoise, 
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus ; 
And (as Jim says) the only one trick, good or bad, 
Of the Fancy you 're up to, \s filling, my lad. 
Hence it comes,— Boxiana, disgrace to Illy page! — 
Having floor'd, by good luck, the tir-t swell ni ihe jge, 
Having conquer'd the prime one, that niill'd us all 

round, 
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on Ihe ground ! 
Ay — just at the time to show spunk, if you 'd got 

any — 
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and Zag-'d s him to Botany ! 
Oh, shade of t tie Cheesemonger! 9 you, who, alas, 
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in brass, 
On that great day of milling, when blood lay in lakes 
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe ihe s'akes, 
Look down upon Ben — see him, dunghill all o'er, 
Insult the fall'nfoe, that can harm him no more! 
Out, cowardly spouney ! — again and again. 
By the fist of my father, 1 blush for thee, Ben. 
To ihow the white feather is many men's doom, 
But, what of one feather?— Ben shows a whole 

Plume. 



1 Naturalists have observed that, up.-n dissecting 
an elk, there was fouid in its head some large flies, 
with its brain almost eaten away by Ibem. — History 
of Poland. 

3 A nickname given, at (his time, to the Pr— ce 
R-g-t. 

* Written soon after Bonaparte's Iransportion to St. 
Helena. 

5 Tom, I suppose, was " assis'ed" to this Motto by 
Mr. Jackson, who, it is well known, keeps the most 
learned company going. 

s Names and nicknames of celebrated pugilis's at 
thai time. 



8 Transported. 

9 A Life Guardsman, one of the Fancy, who distin- 
guished himself, and was killed in the memorable 
set-to at VVatei loo. 



316 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS 



PREFACE. 

In what manner the following Epistles came into 
my hands, it i- n i neresarv for the public to know. 
It will he seen by >.!r. Fudge's Second Letter, that he 
is one of hose gentlemen whose Stent Strvices in 

Ireland, under the mild ministry of ni) Lord C eh, 

have been so amply aud g .ittfully remunerated. Like 
Ins triend and associa e, Thomas Revnolds, Esq.. he 
had retired upon the reward of Lis honest industry; 
but has la'elj been induced to appear again iu active 
life, and superintend the mining of itia Bdaiorian 
Cuhoit, winch Lord S— dm — th, in his wisdom and 
benevolence, ha- 1 rganized. 

U helher Mr. Fudge, himself, has yet made any 
discovenes does not ap.ea Irom the following page-. 
But much may be exi ec ed from a person of his zeal 
i y, and. indeed, to Aim, Lord S— dm — In, 
ar d the Green laud bound ship*, the e>es of all lovers 
of dixcoceria are now tnosl a..xi usly directed. 

1 rr£ et much thai I lave been obliged lo omit Mr. 
B b Fudge's I hud Letter, couclu ting the adventures 
of Ins l)'V with the l)iu er. Opera, ic ,<cc. ; — bur, 
in consequence of some remarks up in Manuet.e's thin 
drapery, which, it »a- thought, might give olieuce lo 
Certain wi :i . the manuscript was.-eul 

back to P..ris for lus revision, and had nut returned 
when the la-l sheet was pu' 

Ii "ill not, I hope, be I bought presumptuous, if 1 
j take this opportunity of© mpUiniog of a very serious 
i. ju-1ice 1 have suffered from the public. Dr. King 
■realise io prove that Beatley "was not the 
author oi his own loik," and a -imilar absurdi'y has 
b.en assered of inc. in aim' st all the best-informed 
literary circles. Wi h ihe uame of ihe real author 
staring them in 'he f ice, they have ye' persisted in 
attributing my works tn other pt»| le ; and the fame 
of the Tw pen y F s'-B i — such as it is — having 
hovered doublfully over various persons, ha- at last 
settled upon tie bead r f a ccriain lit le teutlemau, 
who wears it, I under-iand, as complacent! v a- if it 
actually belonged to him; «i Lout even the bone-ly 
of avowing, with his own favi-unle author, (he will 
excuse the pun) 

Eyui <*' *0 MQPOS apac 
E6no~au,i)i> utTmnui. 

I can only add, that if any lady or gen'leman, curi- 
ous in such mat ers, will take he trouble of calling 
at my lodgings, 245. Piccadilly. I shall liaie 
nour of u-uring them, iti yroyria ytrsona, that 1 am 
— his, or iier. 

Very obedient 

And very bumble Servant, 
THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 
April 17, 1818. 



LETTER I. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FtDOE TO MISS DORO- 
THY , OF CLONK1LTY, IN IRELAND. 

Amiens. 

Dear Doll, while the tails of our horses are plaiting, 
The tnii k- lying '*n, and P*|ia, at the door, 

Int' very bad French i-. as usual, translating 
His English resolve not to give a smt m re. 



I sit down to write you a line — only think !— 

A letter from France, with French pens and French 

How delightful ! though, would you believe it, my 

dear? 
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here; 
No adven'ure, no sentiment, far as we've come, 
But the c.>rn-helds and trees qui'e as dull as at home; 
And ItU for the post-boy. bis boots and his queue, 
I might jVil as well be at Ctonfcil y w I'h you I 
In vain, at Uessem's, did I take from my trunk 
That divine fellow, Sterne, and fall reading "The 

Monk ;" 
In vain did 1 think of his charming Dead Ass, 
And remember the crust and the wallet — alas! 
No monks can be had now for love or for money, 
(All owing. Pa savs, lo lhat infidel I 
And, though oni . im in our drive 

Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive '. 

Bv the by, though, at Calais. Papa had a touch 
Of romance on the pier, which aflccted me much. 
At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dixhuit 
Set the first of his own dear legilimatr 
(M -deli'd out so exactly, and — G d bless the mark ! 
' I is a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a Moiiaryut,) 
He exclaim'u, "Oh, moti Roi '." and, with tear-tirop- 

piug eye, 
Stood to gaze on the spo' — while some Jacobin, nieh, 
Mu ter'd out wi h a shrug (w hat an insole' ' 
" Ma for, he be r.gbt — I is de Englishmai. • 
And dat grof yitd de cuchon — bexar. me \ 
Dat de foot look mo h belter, if turnM ' der way."' 
There S the pillar. la — L rd ! 1 had nea 1 
What a charming idea !— lais'd cl • 
The mode being I .rd, I supios*.) 

To build tombs over legs.s ani raise pi lars to toes. 



This is all that ^8 occurtM >e: 

xce|>», indeed, some 1 - '\'e"\e met, 

k'ho distuib one'- romance >' i • 

'.-» in vour pa b. and theu— ba» line for 



Excei 
Flinging 11 



And some picturesque begga-s, whose multitudes 

To recall Ihe good Jays of lb) 

All as ragged and brisk, you "II be ha| ; 

And as ibin as tbey were in the time of dear Ea — 

Our partv consists (in a real Calais job) 
Of Papa and my-elf. Mr. Connor and H b. 
V.m rrnc - k'd at Kilracdy, 

But, Lord : he 's qui e al ei\i — rbev 've made him a 

Dandy ; 
A thing >■ u know, wbisker'd. great-coated, arv* 

laced, 
Like an h u.r-glas*. exceedingly small in (be waist : 
Quite a new tort of creatures, unknown yet to 

schola.s. 
With beads, so immovably stuck in shirt-c 
That seals, like our music-stools, soon must be found 

them. 
To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look round 

tbem. 



I To comniemora-e the landing of l.ouis le Desire 
from Ei .- - marked 

out on th< ..- with an inscrip- 

tion raised opposite to ihe - 

* Ci-gi' la jamte de. &c. Jcc 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



317 



In shrt. dear, "a Dandy" de-cribes what I mean, 
And Bob's far the best of the genus I 've seen : 
An improving young man, fond of learning, ambiti- 
ous, 
And goes now to Paris to study French dishes, 
Whose names— think, how qu.ck 1 he already knows 

pal, 
A la braise, petits pates, and — what d 'ye call that 
They inflict on potatoes? — oh ! maitre d' hotel — 
I assure y u. dear Dolly, he knows them as well 
As if nothing eUe all his life he had eat, 
Though a bii of I hem Bobby has never touch'd yet ; 
But jus! knows ihe names of French dishes and cooks, 
As dear Fa knows the titles of authors and books. 

As to Pa, what d 'ye think ?— mind, it's all entrenous, 
I! I you know, love, I never keep secrets from you — 
Why, he s writing a book — what ! a tale ? a romance ? 
No, ye Gods, would it were! — but his Travels in 

France; 
At the special desire (he let out t'other day) 
Of his great Iriend and patron, my Lord C-sll-r-gh, 
Who said, " My dear Fudge" 1 foiget th' exact 

word*, 
And, it 's strange, no one ever remembers my Lord's ; 
But 't was something to say that, as all must allow 
A good orthodox work is much wanting ju-t now, 
To expound to the world the new — thingumn.ie — 

science, 
Found out by the — what 's-its-name — Holy Alliance, 
And prove to mankind that their rights are bul folly, 
Their freedom a joke (which it is, you know, Dolly), 
"There's mine," said his Lordship, "if / may be 

j"dge, 
Half so fit for this great undertaking as Fudge !" 

The mailer's soon settled — Pa flies to the Row 
(The first stage your tourists now usually go), 
Settles all for his quarto — advertisements, praises — 
Starts post from the door, with hh tablets — French 

phrases — 
" Scott's Visit," of course— in short, ev'ry thing fie has 
An author can want, except words and ideas: — 
And, lo I the first thing, in Ihe spi ing of the year, 
Is Phil. Fudge at the front of a Quarto, my dear! 

But, bless me, my paper's near out, so I 'd better 
Draw fast to a cl"se : — this exceeding long letter 
You owe to a dejeuner a la fourchette, 
Which Bobby would have, and is hard at it yet. — 
I Wha' s ::ex" ? oh, 'he tutor, the last of the party, 
I r<nwe loom r : — they say he 's so like Bonaparte, 
j His ui-ve M«d his chin— which Papa rather dreads, 
As me l>«ur'uons,you know, are suppressing ail heads 
That resemble old Nap's, and who knows but their 

honours 
May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor Con 

nor's? 
Au restc (as we say), the young lad 's well enough, 
Only ta'ks much o'f Athens, Rome, virlue, and stuff; 
A t lii r d cousin of ours, by the way — poor as Job 

(Though of roy .1 descent by the side of Mamma), 
And for charity made private tutor to Bob ;— 
Entre nous', too, a Papist— how lib'ral of Pa! 



This is all, dear,— forgive me for breaking i 
But Bob's dejeunerh done, and Papa's in a f 



B. F. 



P. S. 
How provoking of Pa! he will not let me stop 
Just to run in and rumni'ge some milliner's shop ; 
And my debut in Paris. I blush to think on it, 
Must now, Doll, be made in a hideous low bonnet. 
But Paris, dear Paris! — oh, there will be joy, 
And romance, and high bounels, and Madame Le 
Roi ! i 



A celebrated mantua-maker in Paris. 



LETTER II. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD 
VISCOUNT C — ST — R — GH. 

Paris. 
At length, my Lord, I have the bliss 
To dale to \ou a line from this 
" Demoializ'd" metropolis; 
Where, by plibeians low and scurvy 
The throne was turn'd quiie topsy turvy, 
And Kingship, tumbled from it- seat, 
"Stnod prostrate" at Ihe people's feet; 
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes) 
The level of obedie'nee slopes 
Upward and downward, as the stream 
Of hydra faction kicks the beam !1 
Where the poor Palace changes masters 

Quicker than a snake iis skin. 
And Louis is roll'd out on castors, 

While Boney 's borne on shoulders in : — 
But where, in every change, trn doubt, 

One special good your Lordship traces, — 
That 't is the Kings alone turn out, 

The Ministers still keep their places. 

How oft, dear Viscount C gh, 

I 've thought of thee upon the way, 
As iii my job (what place could be 
More apt lo wake a thought of thee?)- 
Or, oftener far, when giavely sitting 
Upon my dicky, (as is titling 
For him who '» riies a Tour, that he 
May more of men and manners see,) 
I 've thought of thee and of ihy glories, 
Thou guesl of Kings, and King of Tories! 
Reflecting how thy fame has grown 

And spread, beyond man's usual share, 
Al home, abroad,' till thou arl known, 

Like M ijor Istrnple. everywhere ! 
And marv'lling with what pnw'rs of breath 
Your Lord-hip, having speech'd to death 
Some hundreds of your fellow-men, 
Next speech'd to Sovereigns' oars,— and when 
All Sovereigns else were doz"d, al last 
Speech'd down the Sovereigns of Belfast. 
Oh ! mid 'he praises and the trophies 
Thou gain'si from Morosophs and Sophis; 
Mid all Ihe tributes to Ihy fame, 

There 's one thou should's be chiefly pleas'd at — 
That Ireland give- her snuff ihy name, 

And C gh 's the thing now sneez'd at! 

But hold, my pen ! — a truce to praising — 

Though ev'n your Lordship will allow 
The theme's temptations are amazing ; 

But time and ink run short, and now, 
(As thou wouldst say, my guide and teacher 

In these g<y melaphoric fringes, 
I must embark into the feature 

On which this letter chiefly hinges ; 4 — 



2 This excellent imitation of ihe noble Lord's style 
shows how deeply Mr. Fudge must have studied his 
great original. Irish oratory, indeed, abounds with 
such s'anling peculiarities. Thus the eloquent Coun- 
sellor B , in describing some hvpneri ical pre- 
tender to chanty, said, "He put his hands in his 
breeches-pockel. like a ciocodile, and,"&c. &c. 

s The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before 
whom his Lordship (with the "studium immaue lo- 
que ;di" attributed by Ovid to that chattering and ra- 
pacious class of birds, the pies) delivered sundry long 
and self-gratulatory orations, on his return from the 
Continen*. It was at one of these Irish dinners that 
Ins gillant brother. Lord S ., proposed the health of 
" The best cavalry officer in Europe — Ihe Regent !" 

* Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's 
Speeches — "And now, Sir, I must embark into the 
feature on which this question chiefly hinges." 



27* 



318 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



My Book, the Book that is to prove — 
And will, iso help ye Sprees above, 
That si t on clouds, as grave as judges, 
Wa chiug the labours of the Fudges !J 
IVM prove tiiat .11 the world, at "present, 
Is in a state extremely pleasant; 
That Europe — thanks' to royal swords 

Ai.d bay'nets, and the Duke commanding 
Enjoys a peace « hich, like the Lord's, 

Fasseh all human understanding : 
That France prefers her go-cart King 

To such a coward scamp as Boney ; 
Though round, with each a le ding-string, 

There s andeth many a R .yal crony, 
For fear the chubby, to'leri. g thing 

Should fall, if left there loiiey-poney ; — 
That England, too, the more her debts, 
The more she spends, the richer gets ; 
And that the Irish, grateful nation ! 

Remember when by thee reign'd over, 
And ble ? s >hee tor their fUzellation, 

As Hel isa did her lover ! i — 
That Poland, left lor Russia's lunch 

Upon the sde-board, sou? reposes: 
Wh le Saxony 's as pleased as Punch, 

And Norway "on a bed of roses!'- 
That, a- for onie few million souls, 

Translerr'd by contract, blevs the clods! 
If ha f were strangled — Sp.niarJs Poles, 

And Frenchmen — 't wouldn't make much odds, 
So Europe's goodly Royal ones 
Sit easy on their sacred thrones; 
So Ferdinand embroiders gaily,* 
And Louis ea's his salmi.z daiiy } 
So time is left to Emperor Sandy 
To be half Caesar and half Dandy ; 

And G ge the R— g— t i who'd forget 

That doughtiest chieftain of the set?) 
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new, 

For dragon-, after Chinese models, 
And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo 

Might come and nine times knock their noddles !- 
All this my Quarto 'II prove — much more 
Than Quarto ever proved before : — 
In reas'ning with the Pott I 'II vie, 
My facts 'he Courier shall supply, 
My j kes V— ns— I, P— le my sense, 
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence t 

My Journal, penn'd by fits and -tar's, 

On Biddy's back or Bobby's shoulder, 
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts, 

Who longs to be a small place-holder,) 
Is— though /say 'I, that sh' uldn't say — 
Extremely good ; and, by the way, 
One extract from it — only oue — 
To show its spirit, and I've d-ne. 
"Jul. thirty-first. — Went, after snack, 

'■ To the ta'hedral of St. Denny ; 
"Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back, 

•• An I — nave the old Concierge a penny. 
" Mem. — Mu-t see Rheims, much fam'd, 'tis (aid, 
"For making Kintrs and g'n gei bread.) 
" Was shown the tomb »he>e lay, so stately, 
" A litle Bourbon, huiied lately, 
" Thrice high and pui-sant, we we-e Md, 
"Though only twenty-four hours old ! * 



» See h r Let'ers. 

2 It would be an edifying thing to write a his'ory 
of the private amusements of s .vereigns, tiacing them 
down from the I y-sickiag of D n.itiaii, the mole- 
catching of Ar;abauu-. the hog mimicking of Parmeni- 
des, the horse cierving of Arrtas, to the petticoat- 
embroidering of Ferdinand, and ihe patience-playing 
of the P e R 1 ! 

» Oxf/a re, olu itfovci [5iorpi$«c /3a;i.\j?EC. 

Homtr, Odyit. 3. 

* So described on the coffin: "ires haute et puis- 
aante Prince se agee d'un jour." 



■' Hear this, thought I, ye Jacobins : 

" Ve Burdetts, 'remble in your skins! 

" If Royalty, but aged a day, 

" Can boast such high and puissant sway, 

" What impious band its pow'r would fix, 

" Full rJedg'd aud v. igg'd * at fifty-six !'» 

The argument's quite new, you see, 
And proves exactly Q. E. D. 
So now, with duty 'to the R— g— t, 
I am, de*r Lord, 

Tour most obedient, 



Hotel Breteuil, Rue Rivoli. 
Neat lodgings — rather dear for me; 
But Biddy said she thought 'I would look 
Genteeler thus to date my Book ; 
And Biddy's right — besides, it curries 
Some favour wi'b our friends at Murray's, 
Who scorn what any man can sav, 
That dates from Rue St. H nore !'s 



LETTER III. 
FROM MR. BOB Fl'DGE TO RICHARD 



Oh Dick ! you may talk of your wri'ing and reading, 
Your Logic and Greek, but there s nothing like 

feeding ; 
And this is the place for it, Dicky, you dog, 
Of all places on earth — the head quarters of Prog! 
Talk of England — her famed Magna Charta, I 

swear, is 
A humbuz. a flam, to the Carte ' at old Yery's ; 
And as for your Juries — who would not set o'er 'em 
A Juiy of las'ers.s with woodcock- before "em? 
Give Cart wright his Parliament, fresh every year; 
But those friends of short Commo)U would never do 

here ; 
And, let Romilly speak as he will on the question, 
No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion ! 

By the by, Dick, / fatten — but nimportt for that, 
'T is ihe'niHie — vour legitimates always get fat. 
There's the R— g— t, there's Louis — and Boney 

tried too, 
But, tho' somewhat imperial in pauncb, 1 wouldn't 

do: — 
He improv'd, indeed, much in this point, when be 

But ne'er grew right royally fat in the head. 

Dick, Dick, what a place is this Paris ! — but slay — 
As my raptures may b-'re you, I 'll just ske'eh a Day, 
As we pass it, myself and some comrades 1 've g^t,' 
All thorough-bred Gnostics, who know what is what 

After dreaming some hours of the laid of Cocaigne,* 
That EKsium of all that is/riandarW uice, 

W here for' hail they have bon-bons, and claret for rain, 
And Ihe skaters in winter show off on cream-ice ; 



* There is a fulness and breadth in 'his portrait of 
Royalty, which reminds us of what Pliny says, in 
speaking of Trajan's great qualities : — L noDne longe 
lateque Priiicipem ostentant !■ 

s See the Quarterly Review for May. 1S16, where 
Mr. H--bhou>e is accused r( having written his book 
•■ in a back street of the French capital." 

l The Bill of Fare. —Very, » well-known Restau- 
rateur. 

8 Mr. Bob alludes particularly, I presume, to the 
famous Jun Decu-tateur, which used to assemble at 
Ihe Hotel of M. Grimod de la Reyniere, and of wtick 
this modern ArchesTatus ha- eiven an accunt in hie 
Alnianach des Gourmands ciuquieme annee, p. 78. 

9 The fairy-laud of cooke-y and 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



319 



Where so ready all nature its cookery yields, 
Macaroni au parmesan grows id the helds; 
Little biids rl) about with the true pheasant taint, 
And ttie geese are all born with a liver complaint !* 
1 rise — put on neck-cloth — si it}', tight, a* can be — 
tor i lad who goes into the world, Dick, like me, 
Should have his neck tied up, you kuow — there's no 

doubt of it — 
Almost as tighi a> some lads who go out of it. 
VViih whiskers well oil'd.and with boots i hat "hold up 
"The niirroi to nature" — so bright you could sup 
Oft' the leaiher like china ; with coat, too, that draws 
On the tailor, who sutlers, a martyr's applause ! — 
With head bridled up, like a tour-in-hand leader, 
And slays — devil 's iu them — too tight for a feeder, 
I strut to the old Cafe Hardy, which yet 
Beats the field at a dejeuner a la j'ourchette. 
There, Dick, what a breakfast ! — oh, uot like your 

ghost 
Of a breakfast in England, your curst tea and toast ; 2 
But a side-board, you dog, where one's eye roves 

about, 
Like a Tuik's in the Haram, and thence singles out 
One's pale of larks, just to tune up the throat, 
One's small limbs of chickens, done en papillote, 
One's erudite cutlets, drest all ways but plain, 
Or one's kidneys — imagine, Dick — done witb cham- 
pagne ! 
Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dilute — or, mayhap, 
Cliamhtrlin^ which you know 's the pet tipple of 
Nap, 



"Pais, ou le ciel orfie les viandes loutes cuites, et ou, 
comme on parle, les aloueties tombent toutes roties. 
Du Latin, coquere." — Duchat. 

i The process by which the liver of the unfortunate 
goose is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of 
all dainties, he foil gras, of which such renowned 
pates are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus 
desciibed in the Court Gastronomiqut : — "On de- 
plume I'esiomac des oies ; on atiache ensuite ces ani- 
maux aux chenets dune cheminee, et on les nourrit 
devaut le feu. La cap'.ivite et la chaleur donneut a 
ces volatile*, une maladie hepaiique, qui fait gonfler 
leur foie," &c. p. 206. 

a Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea 
renders him liable to a charge of atheism ? Such, at 
least, is the opinion cited in Christian. Falster. 
jimsenitat. Philolog. — " Atbeum interpretabatur 
homineiii ad herba The avetsum." He would not, I 
think, have been so irreveient to this beverage of 
scholars, if he had read Peter Petit's Poem in praise 
of Tea, addiessed to the learned Huet — or the Epi- 
graphe which Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant 
to dedicate to this herb — or the Anacreontics of 
Peter Prancius, in which he calls Tea 

Bsav, ^trjv, S-taivav. 

The following passage from one of these Ana- 
creontics will, 1 have no doubt, be gratifying to all 
true Theists. 

Gtoic, Sttav Tt narpi, 

Ev X'pwsoic o-KvQoio-i 

A«5oi to vtKTap 'HSij. 

T.t flOi dlUKOVOlVTO 
X.KV<f>OlS £V HVpptVOMTl, 

T<fj KaAAti 7rp£7roti(roi 
KoXatS xepso-o-t Kovpat. 

Which may be thus translated : — 

Yes, let Hebe, ever young, 

High in heav'n her nectar hold, 
And to Jove's immortal throng 

Pour the tide in cups o/ gold — 
/Ml not envy heaven's Princes, 

While, with snowy hands, for me, 
Knle the china tea-cup rinses, 

And pours out her best Buhea ! 
» The favourite wine of Napoleon. 



And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, 
Much scruples to taste, but I'm not so parlic'lar. — 
Your ci -flee comes next, by prescription : and then, 

Dick, 's 
The coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix, 
(If books Imd but such, my old Grecian, depend on't, 
I'd swallow ev'n W— tk— ns', for sake of the end 

on't,) 
A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips 
Just as if bottled velvet * tipped over one's lips. 
This repast being ended, and paid for — {how odd! 
Till a man 's us'd to paying, there 's something so 

queer in'l!)— 
The sun now well out, and the girls all abroal, 
And the woild enough air'd for us, Nobs, to appear 

in't, 
We lounge up Ihe Boulevards, where — oh, Dick, the 

phyzzes, 
The turn-i uts, we meet — what a nation of quizzes! 
Here toddles along some old figure of fun, 
With a ci at you might dale Anno Domini 1. ; 
A lae'd hat, worsted" siockings, and — noble old soul ! 
A fine ribbon and cross in his best buitou-hole ; 
Just such as our Pr ce, who nor reason nor fun 

dreads, 
Inflicts, without ev'n a court-martial, on hundreds.* 
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye, 
(Rather eatable things these griicttes by the b)) ; 
And there an old demoiselle, almost as fond, 
In a silk that has stood since the time of the Fronde. 
There goes a French Dandy— ah, Dick! unlike some 

We've seen about While's — the Mounseers are but 

rum ones ; 
Such hats ! — fit for monkeys — I 'd back Mrs. Draper 
To cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper: 
And coats — how I wish, if it wouldn't distress 'em, 
They 'd club for old Br— mm— 1, from Calais, to 

dress 'em ! 
The collar s'icks out from the neck such a space, 
That you 'd swear 't was the plan of this head- 
lopping nation. 
To leave ihere behind them a snug little place 

For the head to drop into, on decapitation. 
In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and friseurs, 
Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs — 
What with captains in new jockey-boots and silk 
breeches, 
Old dustmen with swinging great opera hats, 
And shoeblacks reclining by statues in niches, 
There never was seen such a race of Jack Sprats ! 

From the Boulevards— but hearken !— yes— as I 'ni a 

sinner, 
The clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner: 
So no more at present — short time for adorning — 
My Day must be linish'd some other fine morning. 
Now, hey for old Beauvilliers' 6 larder, my boy ! 
And, once there, if the Goddess of Beauty and Joy 
Were to wriie " Come and kiss me, deaf Bob 1" I 'd 

not budge — 
Not a step, Dick, as sure as my name is 

R. FUDGE. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

"Return!" — no, never, while Ihe withering hand 
Of bigot power is on that hapless land ; 
While, for the faith my fathers held to God, 
Ev'n in the fields where free those fathers trod, 



* Velourt en bouteille. 

8 It was said by Wicquefort, more than a hundred 
years ago. " Le Roi d'Angleterre fait seul plus de 
chevaliers que tous les auires Rnis de la Chretieute 
ensemble." — What would he say now ? 

6 A celebraed restaurateur. 



320 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



I am proscrib'd, and — like the spot left bare 
In Israel's lull-, lo tell the proud and fair 
Amidst their mirth, that Slavery had been there — 1 
On all 1 love, home, parents, fri'ends, I trace 
The mournful in rk of bondage a;.d disgrace ! 
No ! — let them stay, who in :he;r country's pangs 
See noijscM but food lor factions and harangues; 
Who yearly kneel bef re their masters' doors, 
And hawk theii wrongs, as begeais do Ibeir sores : 
ss.ill let your * * " # * « 

Still hope and suffer, all who can ! — but I, 
Who durst not h pe, and cannot bear, must fly. 

But whither? — everywhere the <courge pursues — 
Turn where he will, 'the wretched wanderer views, 
In the bright, broken hopes <>f all his r ce, 
Countless rejections of th' Oppressor's face. 
Everywhere gallant hearts, and spin's true, 
Are swv'd up victims o the vile and few; 
While E— el— d, everywhere — the ge .eral foe 
Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe'er they glow — 
Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the blow. 

Oh, K— gl— d ! could such poor revenge atone 

For wrongs, tha' well might claim the deadliest one; 

Were it a venge nice, s»eet en 'Ugh to sate 

The wretch who flies from thy intolerant ha'e, 

To hear his curses on sncli bai barms sway 

Bch ed. where'ei he bends his cheerless way; — 

Could this content him, every lip he mee s 

Teems foi his vengeance with si-ch poisonous sweets ; 

Weie t/lis Ins luxury, never is thy name 

l J r>'iiounc'd, but he dnth banquet on thy shame ; 

Hens maledictioul ring Irom every side 

Upon that graining power, that selfish pride, 

Which vaun s its o.vn and scorns all rights beside ; 

That low and desperate envy, which to blast 

A neighbours bless. ngs, risk's the few thou hast j — 

That monster, Self, too gioss to be cnceil'd. 

Winch ever lurks behind thv pr tiVr'd shield ; — 

That fai.hless cralt. which, in thy hour of need, 

Can court the slave, can s*»ear he shall be freed, 

Vet basely spurns him, when thy p int is gaiu'd, 

Rack to his masters ready gaeg'd and chaiu'd ! 

Worthy a-socia'e of that band of Kings. 

That royal, lav'ning flock, whose vampire wings 

O'er sleeping Europe treacherously brood 

And fau her into dieains of promis'd g'sod, 

(It h pe, of freedom — but to drain her blood! 

If thus to hear thee branded be a bliss 

That Vengeance love«, theie's yet more sweet than 

Ibis, 
That 'I was an Irish he d, an Irish heart, 
Male thee the fall'n and tarnish'd thing thou art; 
That, is the centaur* ;'ut th' infected vest 
In w hich he died, to rack his conqueror's bicst, 

We sent thee C gh : — a* heaps of dead 

Have slain their slayers by the pest they s|-reid, 
So hath rnir land breath'd out, thy fame in dun. 
Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, soul and limb, 
Her worst infections all condens'd in him ! 

****** 
When will the world shake off such yokes? oh, when 
Will thai redeeming day shine out on men, 


l •' They used to leave a yard squae of the wall of 
the house unpl is'ered, on which they wri'e, in large 
letters, either the tore-meal inned verse of the Psalmist 

(' If I forget thee. Jerusalem,' ic.) "r the word 

' The memory of the desolation.'" — Leo of Modena. 

I have though- it prudent to omit some parts of, 
Mr. Fhelim Connor's letter He is evidently an in- 1 
temperate yovine man, and has associated with bis 
cousins, the Fudge-, lo very little purpose. 

3 Membra et Herculeos toros 

Urit lues Nessea 

llle, ille victor viacitur. 

Sentc Hernd. (Et. 



That shall behold them rise, e-ect and free 
As Heav'n and Nature nieant mankind should be ! 
When R-ras n shall no li nser blindly bow 
To the vile pigod thines, that o'er her brow, 
Like him of Jaeberuaut, drive trampling now ; 
Nor Conquest daie to desolate Gi d's earth ; 
Nor drunken Victory, with a Nero's mirth, 
Strike her lewd harp amidst a people's groans; — 
But. built on love, the world's exalted thrones 
Shall lo the virtuous and 'he wi'e be given — 
Those bright, those sole Legitimates of Heaven! 

When will this be? — or, oh! is it, in truth, 

But one of those sweet, d.v-break dreams of youth, 

In which the Snul. as r un'd her m< mine rpung , 

'Twix' seep and wakine, sees such dazzling things ! 

And must tie hope, as vain as it is bright 

Be all resigned ? — and are they only right. 

Who siy 'his world of thinking souls was made 

To be by Kings partiti n'd, truck a, ai.d weigh'd 

In scales II at, ever since the world beeun. 

Have counted millions but as dust lo one ? 

Are they the only wise, who laced lo scorn 

The rights, the tieedom to w hich man wis born ? 

Who ***** 



Who. proud ti kiss each separate rod of power, 
Bless, while he leigns, the minion nf the hour; 
Worship each would-be God, tint o'er them moves, 
And lake the thundering "f his bra-s for J ve>s! 
Il this be wisdom, then farewell, my bo ks, 
Farewell, ye shrines i fold, ye classic brook*. 
Which fed" my soul with cmren's. pure and fair, 
Of living Truth, that now must stagnate there! — 
Ins'ead of themes that t uch the lyre with light, 
Ins'ead of Greece, and her ininmrtal fight 
For Liberty, which once aw ak'd my s-rings, 
Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings, 
The Hieh Legitimates, 'he Holv Band, 
Who, bolder ev'n than He of Sparta's land, 
Aeaii si whole millions, panting to be f.ee. 
Would guard the pass of righ-line ivranny. 
Instead of him, lh' Athenian bird, whose blade 
Had stood the onset which his pen pourlray'd, 
Welcome ***** 



And, Vead of Aristides — woe the day 

Such names should mingle ! — welcome C gh ! 

Here break we off. at this unhallow'd name.* 
Like prics's of old, when words ill-omen'd came 
My next shall lell thee, bitterly shall tell, 
Thoughts that * * * * 



Thoughts that — could patience hold — 1 were wiser 

fir 
To leave still hid and burning where they are. 



* The lale Lord C. of Ireland had a curious thenr 
about names;— he held lhat every mau with thrt 
nmirs w as a jacobin. Hi* instances in Ireland »n 

— viz A'chibald Hamilton Rowan, The* 
bald Wolfe Tone, Jai 
|>ot 1'unan. &c. kc. ai d. in England. I 

■ - 
ridan, John H cue la ke, Fu cii Bui 

The Romans called a thief ' homo trium literarum ' 

Tun' trium lil.rnr.im homo 
Me vilupriaa I Far.* 

Plauiut. AuluUr. Act ii. Scent 4. 

* Dissaldeut supposes this « 
— that is, he thinks " Fur" has made his c 
the margin into the text. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



321 



LETTER V. 

FROM MISS BIDDY Fl T DGE TO MISS DORO- 
THY . 

What a time since I wrote! — I'm a sad, naughty 

girl — 

For, though, like a tee-tolum, I'm all in a twirl; — 
Yet ev'u (as you wittily say) a tee-totum 
Between all its twirls gives a Utier to note 'em. 
But, Lord, such a place ! and then, Dolly, my dresses, 
My gowns, so divine :— there 's no language expresses, 
Except just the two words "super lie," "maguifique," 
The trimmings of that which 1 liad home last week ! 
It is call "d — I forget— a la— s mething which sounded 
Like alicampane — but, in truth. I 'ni confounded 
And bother'd, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome hoy's 
(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame le Roi's: 
What with fillets of roses ami Blleta of veal. 
Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel, 
One's hair and one's cutlets both en papillote, 
And a thousand more things I shall ne'er have by rote, 
1 can scarce tell the diff'rence, a least as to phrase, 
Between beef a la Psyche and curls a la braise.— 
But, in short, dear, 1 'in trick'dout qu.teala F ancaise, 
Wilh my bonnet— so beautiful ! — high up and poking, 
Like things that are put to keep chimneys from 

smoking. 

Where shall I begin with the endless delights 
Of this Eden of milliners, m nkeys. and sights — 
This dear busy place, where there's no thing trans- 

ac.ing 
But dre-sing and dinnering, dancing and acting? 
Imprimis, Hie Opera — mercy, my ears! 

Brother Bobby's remark, t'other night, was a true 
one; — 
"This must be the music," said he, "of the spears, 

"For I'm curst if each note of it doesn't run 
through one !" 
Pa says (and you know, lnve, his Book 's to make out 
T was the Jacobins brought every mischief ab iut) 
Thit this pasion for roaring has come in of late, 
Since the rabble all tried for a uoice in the S ate. — 
What a frightful idea, one's mind to o'erwhelm ! 

What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be let loose 
of it, 
If, when of age, every man in the realm 

Had a voice like oid Lais,i and chose to make use 
of it! 
No — never was known in this riotous sphere 
Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear. 
So bad loo, you 'd swear that the God of both arts, 

Of Music and Physic, had taken a frolic 
For ^e'ting a loud fi' of asthma in parts, 

And composing a fine rumbling base to a cholic ! 

But, the dancing — ah parUz-moi, Dolly, de ca — 
The'e, indeed, is a trial that charms all but Papa. 
Such beauty— such grace— oh ye sylphs of romance! 

Fly fly to Tilania, and ask 'her if she has 
One light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance 

Li|;e divine B gottim and sweet Fanny Bias ! 
Fanny Bias in Flora— dear creature !— you M swear, 

When her deica'e feel in the dance twinkle round, 
Tha' her ste|is a>e of light, thai her home is the air, 

And she only par complaisance touches the giounJ. 
And when Bigoftini in Psyche dishevels 

Her black (lowing hair, and by daemons is driven, 
Oh ! » ho does not envy those rude little devils, 

That hold her and hug her, and keep her from 
heaven ? 
Then, the music— so softly its cadences die, 
So divinely — oh, Dolly! between you and I, 
It's as we'd for my peace that ihere's nobody nigh 
Tt? make love to me then — you've a soul, and can 

judge 
What a crisis 't would be for your friend Biddy Fudge ! 



The next place (which Bobby has near lost his 
hear; in) 
They call it the Play house— I think— of St. Martin ;* 
Quite charming — and very religious — what folly 
To say that the French are not pious, dear Dolly, 
When here one' beholds, so correctly and rightly, 
The Testament turn'd into melo-drames nightly ; 3 
And, doubtless, so fond they 're of scriptural facts, 
They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts. 
Here Daniel, in pantomime,* bids bold defiance 
To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stuff 'd lions, 
While pretty young Israelites dance round the Prophet, 
In very thin clothing, and tut little of it ; — 
Here Begraud,-"' who shines in this scriptural path, 

As the lovely Susanna, without ev'n a relic 
Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath 

In a manner that. Bob s.ys, is quite Evi-angelic ! 
Bui in short, dear, 'I would take me a month to recite 
All the exquisite places we 're a', day and night ; 
And, besides, ere I finish, 1 think you '11 be glad 
Just to hear one delightful adventure I've had. 

Last nigh', at the Beaujon,6 a place where — I doubt 
If ils charms I can paint — there are cars, that set out 
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air, 
And rattle you down, Doll— you hardly know where. 
These vehicles, mind me, in which you go through 
This delightfully dangerous journey, hold two. 
Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether 
You'll venture down with him — you smile — 'tis 

a match ; 
In an instant you 're seated, and down boih together 

Go thund'ring, as if you went post to old scratch ! i 
Well, ii was but last mghl, as 1 stood and remaik'd 
On the looks and odd ways of the girls who era- 

bark'd, 
The impatience of some for the perilous flight, 
The forc'd giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and 

fright, — 
That there came up — imagine, dear Doll, if you 

can — 
A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-fac'd man, 
With mustachios that gave (what we read of so ofl) 
The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft, 



» The oldest, most celebrated, and most noisy of the 
singers at the French Opera. 



2 The Theatre de la Porte St. Martin, which was 
built when the Opera House in the Palais Royal was 
burned down, in 1781.— A few days after this dreadful 
fire, which lasted more 'hsn a week, nid in which 
several persons perished, the Parisian elegantes dis- 
played flame-coli ured dresses, "couleur de feu d'Ope- 
ra '" — Dulaure, Curiosites de Paris. 

3 "The Old Testament,' says "ie theatrical Critic 
in the Gizette de France, '• is s mine of gold for the 
managers of our small play-houses. A multitude 
crowd round the Theatre de la Oaiete every evening 
to see the Passage of the Red Sea.'' 

In the play-bill of one of these sacred melo-drames 
at Vienna, we find " The Vo ee of G— d, by M. 
Sch"artz." 

4 A piece very popular last year, called " Daniel, 
ou La Fosse aux Lions." The' following scene will 
give an idea of the daring sublimity of hese >c iptural 
pan'omimes. " .Sce»ic 20. — La fiurnaise devient un 
berceau de nuages azures, au fond duquel est un 
grouppe de nuages plus lumineux, et au milieu 'Jeho- 
vah' au centre d'un cercle de rayons brillans, qui an- 
nonce la presence de l'Etemel." 

' Madame Begrand, a finely formed woman, who 
acts in "Susanna and the Elders," — •' L'Amour et la 
Folie," &c. &c. 

6 The Promenades JEriennes, or French Moun- 
tains — See a descrip'ion of this singular and fantaslic 
place of atliBsemenl in a pamphlet, truly »onhy of it, 
by '• F. F. Cotterel, Medecin, D cteur'de la Faculte 
de Paris," &c. &c. 

i According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at the rate 
of forty-eight miles an hour. 



322 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



As Hyaenas in love may be fancied to look, or 
A something between Abelard and old Blucher! 
Up he came, Doll, to me, and. uncovering his head, 
(Rather baid, but so warlike !) in bad English said, 
"Ah! my dear — if Ma'mselle vil be so very good — 
Just for von littel course" — though I scarce under- 
stood 
What he wish'd me to do, I said, thank bim, I would. 
Off we set — and, though faith, dear, I hardly knew 
whether 

My head or my heels were the uppermost then, 
For 't was like heav'n and earth, Dolly, coming toge- 
ther,— 

Yet, spite of the danger, we dar'd it again. 
And oh ! as I gaz'd on"the features and air 

Of the man, who for me all Ihis peril defied, 
1 could fancy almost he and I were a pair 

Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side, 
Were taking, instead of n>pe. pistol, or dagger, a 
Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara ! 



This achiev'd, through the gardens' we saunter'd 
about, 
Saw the fire-works, exclaim'd " magnifique" at each 
cracker, 
And, when 'i was all o'er, the dear man saw as out 
With ibe air, I will say, of a Prince, to oar fiacre. 

Now, hear me — this Stranger — it may be mere 

folly — 
But who do you think we all think it is, Dolly ? 
Why, bless you, no less than the great King of 

Prussia, 
Who's here now incog.3 — he, who made such a 

fuss, you 
Remember, in London, wilh Blucher and Plaloff, 
When Sal was near kissing old Blucher's cravat off! 
Pa says he 's come here to look after his money, 
(Not taking things now as he us'd under Boney), 
Which suits with our friend, for Bob saw him, he 

swore, 
Looking sharp to the silver receiv'd at the door. 
Besides, loo, they say that his grief for his Queen 
(Which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to be 

seen) 
Requires such a stimulant dose as this car is, 
L's'd three times a day wilh young ladies in Paris. 
Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that such grief 
Should — unless 't would to utter despairing its folly 

push — 
Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief 
By rattling, as Bob says, " like shot through a holly- 
bush." 



I musl now bid adien ,— only think, Dolly, think 
If this should be the King — 1 have scarce slept a 

w ink 
With imagining how :t will sound in the papers, 

And how all the Miss'-s my eood luck will grudge, 
When they read 'hat Count Ruppin, to drive away 
vapours. 
Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss Biddy Fudge. 

Nota Bent. — Papa 's almost certain 't is he — 
For he knows Ihe Legitimate cut, and could see, 
In Ihe way he went p ising and manag'd lo lower 
So erect in Ihe car, the true Balance of Power. 



i In the Cafe attached lo these eardens there are to 
be (as Doctor Corerel informs us) "douze negres, 
tres-alertes, qui contrasteront par lv*>enede leur peau 
avec le teint de lis et de roses de nos belles. Les 
glaces et les sorhets, servis par ipne main bien noire, 
fera davantage ressortir Falbatre Jes bras arrondis de 
cetles-ci." — P. 21. 

2 His Majesty, who wa« at Taris under the travel- 
ling name of Count Ruppin, is known to have gone 
down Ihe Beaujon very frequently. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM PHIL. FODGE, ESQ. TO HIS BROTHER 

TIM FUDGE, ESQ. BARRISTER AT LAW. 

Yours of the 12th receiv'd just now — 
Thanks for the hint, my trusty brother ! 

'T is truly pleasing to see how 

We, Fudges, stand by one another. 

But never fear — 1 know my chap, 

And he knows me too — verburn sap. 

My Lord and ( are kindred spirits, 

Like in our ways as two young ferrets; 

Both fashion'd, as that supple race is, 

To twist into all sorts of places ; — 

Creatures lengthy, lean, and hungering, 

Fond of blood and irurroto-mongering. 

As to my Book in 91. 

Call'd " Down with Kings, or, Who'd have thourht 
it ?» 
Bless you, the Book 's long dead and gone, — 

Not ev'n th' Attorney-General bought it. 
And, though some few seditious tricks 
I play'd in 95 and 6, 
As you remind me in your letter, 
His Lordship likes me all the better; — 
We proselytes, that come with news full, 
Are, as he says, so vastly useful ! 

Reynolds and I — (you know Tom Reynolds — 

Drinks his claret, keeps his chaise — 
Lucky Ihe dog that first unkennels 

Traitors and Luddites now-a-days; 
Or who can help to bag a few, 

When S— d th wants a death or two ;) 

Reynolds and I, and some few more, 

All men, like ns, of information^ 
Friends, whom his Lordship keeps in store, 

As t/nder-saviours of the nation — 3 
Have form'd a Club ihis season, where 
His Lordship sometimes fakes the chair, 
And gives us many a bright oration 
In praise of our sublime vocation ; 
Tracing it up lo great King Midas, 
Who, though in fable typified as 
A royal Ass, by grace divine 
And right of ears, most asinine, 
Was yet no more, in fact historical, 

Than an exceeding well-bred tyrant; 
And these, his ears, but allegoricil, 

Meaning Informers, kept at high rent * — 
Gem'men, who louchM the Treasury glisteners, 
Like us, for being trusty listeners ; 
And pickine up each tale and fragment, 
For royal Midas'* Green Bag meant. 
" And wherefore." said (his best of Peers, 
" Should not the R — g — t too have ears,* 



3 Lord C.'s tribute to the character of his friend, 
Mr. Reynolds, will long be remembered with equal 
credit to both. 

« This interpretation of the fab!e of Midas's ears 
seems the most probable of any, and is thus stated in 
Hoffmann :—" Hac allegoria significatum, MiJam, 
utpote tyrannum, subauscultatores dimitiere soli. urn, 
per quos, quaecunque per oinnem reeionero vel 
fierent, vel dicerentur, cognosceret, niruirum il lis 
u'ens aurium vice." 

' Brossette, in a note on this line of Boileau, 
"Midas, le Rni Midas, a des ortilles d'\nr," 

tells us, that ■ M. Perrault le Medecin voulut faire a 
:'ir un crime d'etat de ce ve-s. comme -Tune 
nialifne allusion au Rot." I trust, however, 
one » ill suspect the line in the text of any such in- 
decorous allusion. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



333 



"To reach as far, as Ion; and wide as 
"Those of his model, good King Midas?" 
Tiis speech was thought extremely good, 
And (rare lor him) was undersiood — 
liibtant we drank "The R— g — t's Ears," 
With three times three illustrious cheers, 

Which made the room resound like thunder - 
" The K — g — l'a Ears, and may he ne'er 
" from foolish shame, like Midas, wear 

'• Uld paltry wigs to keep them under! 3 * 
This luuch at oui old friends, the Whigs, 
Made us as merry all as grigs. 
in snort (1 '<1 thank you not to mention 

These things again), we get on gaily ; 
And, thanks to pension and Suspension, 

Uur li.tle Club increases daily. 
Castles, and Uliver, and such, 
Who don't as yet full salary touch, 
Nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy 
Houses and lands, like Tom and I, 
Of course don't rank with us, salvators,* 
But merely serve the Club as waiters. 
Like Knights, too, we've our collar days, 
(For US, 1 own, an awkward phrase.) 
When, in our new costume adorn'd, — 
The R— g— t's burl'-and-blue coats turn'd 
We have the honour to give dinners 

To the chief Rats in upper stations ; 3 
Your W ys, V ns, — hall-fledg'd sinners, 

Who shame us by their imitations ; 
W ho turn, 'I is true — but what of that ? 
Give me the useful peaching Rat ; 
A'ot Ihings as mute as Punch, when bought, 
Whose wooden htads are all they 've brought; 
Who, false enough to shirk their friends, 

But ioo faint-hearted to betray, 
Are, after all (heir twisls and bends, 

But souls in Limbo, damn'd half way. 
No, no, we nobler vermin are 
A gtuus useful as we 're rare; 
'Midst ail the things miraculous 

Of which your natural histories brag, 
The rarest must be Rats Ike us, 

Who let the cat out of the bag. 
Vet still these Tyros in the cause 
Desei ve, I ow n, no small applause ; 
And they 're by us receiv'd and treated 
Willi all due honours — only sealed 
In lh' inverse scile of their reward, 
The merely promis'd next my Lord ; 
Small pensions then, and so on. down, 

Rat after rat, they graduate 
Throusch job, red ribbon, and silk gown, 

To Chanc'llorship and Marquisale. 
Thi- serves to nurse the raiting spirit ; 
The less the bribe the more the merit. 

Our music's good, you may be sure ; 
My Lord, you know, 's an amateur 4 — 



i It was not under wigs, but tiaras, that King Midas 
endeavoured to conceal these appendages: 



The Noble Giver of the toas', however, hsd evident 
]v, with his usual clearness, confounded Kin: Midas, 
Mr. Liston, and the P e R— g— t together: 

3 Mr. Fudge and his friends ought to go by this 
name — as the man who, some years since, saved Ihe 
late Right Hon. George Rose from drowning, was 
ever after called Salvator Rosa. 

3 This intimacy between the Rats and Informers is 
just as It should be — " vere dulce sodalitium." 

* His Lordship, during one of the busiest periods 
of his Ministerial career, took lessons Ihree times a 
week from a celebrated music-master, in glee-sing- 
ing. 



Takes every part with perfect ease, 

Though to the Base by nature suited ; 
And, form'd for all, as best may please, 
For whips and bolts, or chords and keys, 
Turns from his victims to his glees, 

And lias them both well executed-* 
H 1 d, who, tho' no Rat himself, 

Delights in all such liberal arts, 
Drinks largely to the House of Guelph, 

And superintends the Corni parts. 
While C— nn— g,s who'd be fmt by choice, 
Consents (o take an under voice ; 
And Gr — v— s, - " who well that signal knows, 
Watches the Volli Subitcx.a 

In short, as I 've already hinted, 

We take, of lale, prodigiously; 
But as our Club is somewhat slinted 

For Gentlemen, like Tom and me, 
We'll take il kind if you'll provide 
A few Squireens s from 'tother side; — 
Some of those loyal, cunning elves 

(We often tell the tale with laughter), 
Who us'd to hide the pikes themselves, 

Then hang the fools who found them after. 
I doubt not you could find us, loo, 
Some Orange Parsons that might do; 
Among the rest, we 've heard of one, 
The Reverend — something — Hamilton, 
Who sluft d a figure of himself 

(Delicious thought !) and had it shot at, 
To bring some Papists to the shelf, 

That couldn't otherwise be got at — 
If he '11 but join Ihe Association, 
We 'II vote him in by acclamation. 



And now, my brother guide, and friend, 
This somewhat tedious scrawl must end. 
! 've gone into this long detail, 

Because I saw your nerves were shaken 
With anxious fears lest I slmnlJ fail 

In this new, loyal, course I 've taken. 
But, bless your heart ! you need not doubt — 
We, Fudges, know what we 're about. 
Look round, and say if you can see 
A much more thriving family. 
There 's Jack, the Doctor — nighl and day 

Hundreds of patients so besiege him, 
You 'd swear that all Ihe rich and gay 

Fell sick on purpose to oblige him. 
And while they think, the precious ninnies, 

He's countiug o'er their pulse so sleady, 
The rogue but counts how many guineas 

He's fobb'd, for that day's work, already. 
I'll ne'er forget the old maid's alaim, 

When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he 
Said, as he dropp'd her shrivel I'd arm, 

" Damn'd bad this morning — only thirty !» 



5 How amply these two propensities of the Noble 
Lord would have been gratified among that ancient 
people of Etruria, who, as Aristotle tells us, used to 
whip their slaves once a year to the sound of flutes! 

6 This Right Hon. Gentleman ought to give up his 
present alliance with Loid C, if upon no other prin- 
ciple than that »hich is inculcated in the following 
arrangement between two Ladies of Fashion: — 

Says Clarinda, "though tears it may cost. 
It is time we should part, my dear Sue; 
For yvur character 's to ally lost, 
And / have not sufficient for two!" 
1 The rapidity of this Noble Lord's transformation, 
at the same instant, into a Lord of the Bed-chamber 
and an opponent of the Catholic Claims, was truly 
miraculous. 

8 Turn instantly — a frequent direction in music- 
hooks. 

9 The Irish diminutive of Squire. 



324 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Your dowagers, too, every one, 

So gen'roi.s are, when they call him in, 
Thai he mi^ht now retire upon 

The rheumatisms of three old women. 
Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are, 

He c ii so learnedly exp ain ye 'em — 
Tour cold, of couise, is a catarrh, 

Your headach is a hemi-crauium : — 
His -kill, loo, '.a young ladies' lungs, 

The grace wi'h which, most mild of men, 
He begs them to put out their tongues, 

Then bids them — put them in a*ain : 
In short, there 's nothing now like Jack 1 — 

'lake all your doctors great and small, 
Of p esmt times and ages back, 

Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all. 

So much for physic — 'hen, in law too. 

Counsellor 1 im, to thee we bow ; 
Not one of us gives more eclat to 

Th' immortal name at Fudge than thou. 
Not to expa'iaie on the art 
With which you play'd the patriots part, 
Till somelhing good and snug should otter; — 

Like one, who, by the way he acts 
IV enlighVuing part of candle-snuffer, 

The manager's keen eye aMracts, 
And is promoted thence by him 
To sirut in robes, like thee, my Tim ! — 
H'lio shall describe thy pow'rs of face, 
Thy wellfee'd zeal inevery case, 
Or wrong or right — but ten times warmer 
(As suit- thy calling) in ihe former — 
Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 
In puzzling all that's clear and right, 
Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 

Improves so with a wig and band on, 
That all thy pride's to waylay 1 ruth, 

And leave her u»t a leg to stand on. 



hy cases, ted from the Bible — 
Thy candour, when it fal.s to ihee 



Thy patent, prime, morality, — 

II 

ly i 

To help in tro'.ncing fir a libel ; — 
"God knows, I. from "my soul, pr.fess 

"To hate all bigots and benighten! 
" God knows, 1 love, to ev'n excess, 
"The sicred Freedom of the 1 ress, 

' My only aim s to — crush the writers." 
These'are Ihe virtues, Tim. ihat draw 

The hi iefs into thy bag so fast ; 
And these, oh Tim — if law be Law — 

Will raise thee to the Bench at last. 

I blush to see this letter's length — 

Hut 'i was my wish to prove to thee 
H>w full of hope, and wealih, and strength, 

Are all our ureehMi 
And, should aff.irs go on as pleasant 
As, thank the Fates, they do at present — 
Sh 'uld we bu' still enjoy the sway 

Of S— Jni— h and of C gh, 

I hope, ere long, to see the day 

When England's wisest statesmen, judges, 

Law yers, peers, will all be — Fudges ! 

Good-bye — my paper 's out so nearly, 

I 've only room for Yours sincerely. 



LETTER VII. 
FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

Before we sketch the Present —let us cast 
A few, short, rapid glances to the Past. 

When he, who had defied all Europe's strength, 

Beneath his own weik raslress sunk at length; — 

When, loos'd, as if by magic, from a chain, 

That seem'd like Fate's, the weld was free again, 

And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight. 

The c. use of Kings, far once, the ciu-e of Right;- 



Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to those 
Who sigh'd for justice — liberty — repose, 
And hop'd the fall of one great vulture's nest 
Wuuld ring i's wa uing round, and scare the rest. 
All then was bright with promise; — Kings began 
To own a sympathy with surlerir.g Man, 
And Man was grateful ; Patriots of the South 
Caught wisdom from a Cossack Emiieror's month, 
And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air, 
Unwonted words of freedom burst forth there ! 

Who did not hope, in thai triumphant time. 
When monaichs, after years of spoil and crime, 
Met round the shrine of Peace, and Heav'n iook'd 

Who did not h"pe the lust of spoil was gone ; 

That tha' rapacii us -pint, which had p.ay'd 

The game of Pilnitz o'er so ofl, was laid ; 

And Europe's Rulers, conscious of the past, 

Would blush, and deviate into right at list? 

But no — ihe bearls lhat uurs'd a hope so fair, 

H*d yet lo learu what men on thrones can dare; 

Had yet to know, of all earth's ravening things, 

The only quite unlameable are Kings ! 

Scaice had they met w hen. to iis nature true, 

'I be instinct of their race broke out anew ; 

Promises, trestles, charters, all were vain. 

And 'Rapine', rapine'.'' was the cry again. 

How qu ck they carv'd their victims, and how well, 

Let Saxony, let injur'd Genoa tell ; — 

Le all the' human stock that, day by day, 

Was. a' tha: Royal slave-mart, truck'd away,- 

1 he million souls that, in the lace of heaven, 

Were split lo fractions,' barterM, sold, or given 

To swell some despot Power, too huge before, 

And weigh down Europe with one >Ummoth mote. 

How safe the fai h of Kings let France decide ;— 

Her charter broken, ere its ink had dried ;— 

Her Press eu'brall'd — ber Reason mock'd again 

With all the monkery it had s| uru'd in vain ; 

Her crown disgrae'd by one, who dar'd to own 

He lhank'd noi France but England for his throne ; 

Her triumphs cast into the shade by those, 

Who had grown old among her bit'et 

And now return'd, beneath her conquerors' shields, 

Unblushing slaves I lo claim her he-oes fields; 

To tread i)n«n ever] trophy of her fame, 

And curse that glory which" to them was shame 1 — 

Let these — let all Ihe damning deeds, lhat then 

Were dar'd through 1 I hi men, 

Wjih voice like 'hat of crashing ice that rings 

Round Alpine h .ts. ihe pei 

And tell Ihe world, when lawks shall harmless bear 

The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare 

The helpless victim for whose bio d they lusted, 

Then, and then only, monarchs may be trusted. 

It could not last — these horrors could not last — 

France would herself have ris'n. in migh'. 'o cast 

Th' insul'ers off— ai d oh : that then, as now, 

Chain'd to Mine distant islet's rocky b ow, 

Naiinleou ne'er h j blight 

Ere half matur'd, a cau e so proudh b<ight; — 

To palsy pa'riot arts wilh doubt and 

Aid w i ;— 

To rush into the lists, unask d alone. 

And make the stake of all ihe game of one ! 

Then wou'd the v. it power 

A people can put forth in F 



i "Whilst the Congress was re-constructing Eu- 
rope — not accor: -.1 affiances. Un- 
gmge, hal 

diviiied at d subdivided I 
drmi- souls and ci 
of the direct dutir- 
the acquiring sti'f 
Political : 
col are anu< 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



325 



Then would the fire of Frauce once more have 

blaz'd ;— 
For every s ugle sword, reluctant rais'd 
In the Male cause of an oppressive throne, 
Millions would tlieu have leap'd (orlh in her own j 
And never, never had lh' unholy slain 
Of Bourbon feet disgrac'd her shores again. 

But fate decreed not so — th' Imperial Bird, 
Thai, in his neighbouring cage, unfear'd, unstirr'd, 
Had scem'd lo sleep with head beneath his wing, 
Yet watch'd Hie niomenl for a daimg spring; — 
Well might he watch, when deeds were done, thai 

made 
His own transgressions whiten in their shade ; 
Well might he hope a world, ihus trampled o'er 
By clumsy tyrants, would be his once more : — 
Forth from his cage the eagle burst lo light, 
From steeple on to steeple' wing'd his flight, 
With calm and easy giandeur, to that throne 
From which a Royal craven just had flown ; 
And resting Ihere, as in his aerie, fuil'd 
Those wings, whose very rusiling shook the world ! 

What was your fury then, ye crown'd array, 
Whose feast of spoil, whose p.uudeiing holiday 
Was thus broke up, in all is greedy mirth, 
By one bold chieftain's stamp on Gallic earth I 
Fierce was Ihe cry, and fulminant I lie ban, — 
'•Assassinate, who will — eiiclnin, who can, 
"The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low-born man !" 
" Faithless 1" — and this from you — fiom you, for- 
sooth, 
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of truth, 
Whose honesty all knew, for all had tried; 
Whose true Swiss zeal had serv'd on every side ; 
Whose fame for breaking faiih so long was kuown, 
Well might ye cam ihe craft as all your own, 
And lash your lordly tails, and fume to see 
Such low-born apes of Koyal pertidy ! 
Yes — jes— lo you alone did it belong 
To sin for ever, and yet ne'er do wrong.— 
The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate 
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state j 
But let some upstart dire to soar so high 
In Kingly craft, and "outlaw" is the cry ! 
What, though long years of mutual treachery 
Had peopled lull your diplomatic shelves 
With ghosts of treaties, inurder'd 'mong yourselves ; 
Though each bv turns was knave and dupe— what 

the..? 
A Holy League would set all straight again ; 
Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two 
In some bless'd fountain made as good as new ! * 
Most faithful Russia — faiihlul to whoe'er 
Could plunder best, and give him amplest share; 
Who, ev'n when vanquish'd, sure to gain his ends, 
For want of/ots to rob, made free with jritnch,3 
And, deepeniug still by amiable gradations, 
When toes were stript of aii, then tteec'd relations! « 
Most mild and saintly Prussia — steep'd to th' ears 
In persecuted Poland's blo..d and tears, 
And now, with all her harpy w'ngs outspread 
(Jer sever'd Saxony's devoted head! 
Puie Austria too— whose hist'ry nought repeats 
But broken leagues and subsuiiz d defeats ; 
Whose faith, as Prince, extinguish 'd Venice shows, 
Whose faiih, as man, a widow'd daughter knows! 



And thou, oh England — who, though once as shy 
As cloister'd maids, of shame or pertidy, 

now broke in, and, thanks to C gh, 

In all that 's worst and falsest lead'st the way I 

Such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits 
Th' escape trom Elba frighten'd into fits;— 
Such were the saints, who doom'd Napoleon's life, 
In virtuous frenzy, to lh' assassin's knife. 
Disgusting crew ! — who would not gladly fly 

ipen, downright, bold-fac'd tyranny, 
To honest gui.t, hat dares do all bat lie, 
From the talse, juggling craft of men like these, 
Their canting crimes and varnish d villanies; — 
These Holy Leagueis, who then loudest boast 
Of faiih and honour, when they 've stairi'd them most 
From whose affection men should shrink as loath 
As from tl.eir hate, for they 'II be fleec'd by both ; 
Who, ev'n while filund'ring, forge Religion's name 
To frank their spoil, and, without fear or shame, 
Call down the Holy Trinity s to bless , 
Partition leagurs, and deeds of devilislmess ! 
But hold — enough — soon would this swell of rage 
O'erflow the boundaries of my scanty page ; — 
So, here I pause — farewell — another day, 
Return we to Ihose Lords of pray'r and prey, 
Whose loa hsome caut, whose frauds by right divine 
Deserve a lash — oh! weightier far than mine ! 



LETTER VIII. 

FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD 
, ESQ. 

Dear Dick, while old Donaldson's 6 mending my 

stays, — 
Which I knew would go smash with me one of these 

days. 
And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the throttle, 
We lads had begun our desserls with a bottle 
Of neat old Cousiantia, on my leaning back 
Just to order another, by Jove I uenl crack! — 
Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical phrase, 
"D— n my eyes Bob, in doubling the Cape you've 

mhs'd stays "t 
So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out without 

them. 
They're row at the Schneider's 8 — and, while he's 

about them, 
Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck and crop. 
Let us see — in my last 1 was — where did I stop ? 
Oh, 1 knot* — at Ihe Boulevaids, as motley a road as 

Man ever would wish a day's lounging upon ; 
With its cafes and gardens, hotels and pagodas, 

Its founls, and old Counts sipping beer in he sun : 
With its houes of all architectures you phase, 
From Ihe Grecian and Gothic, Dick, down by degrees 
To Ihe pu e Hottentot, or the Brighton Chinese ; 
Where in 'emples antique you may breakfast or din 

ner it, 
Lunch at a mcque, and see Punch from a minaret. 



1 " L'aigle volera de clocher en clocher, jusqu'aux 
tours de Notre-Dame." — Napoleon's Proclamation 
on landing from Elba. 

3 Singulis annis in quodam Alticae fonte lola virgi- 
nitatem recuperasse fingilur. 

3 At Ihe Peace of Tilsit, where he abandoned his 
ally, Prussia, to France, and received a portion of her 
territory. 

* The seizure of Finland from his relative of 



28 



5 The usual preamble of the«e flagitious compacts. 
In the same spirit, Catherine, after the dreadful mas- 
sacre of Warsaw, ordered a solemn " thanksgiving to 
God in all the churches, for the hles-ings conferred 
upon the Poles;" and commanded that each of them 
should "swear filelily and lovalty lo her, a<d to shed 
in her defence the last drop of their blood, as they 
should answer for it 'o G >d, and his terrible judg- 
ment, kissing the holy word and cross of their Sa- 
viour :" 

6 An English tailor at Paris. 

t A ship is said to mi-s stays, when she does not 
I obey the helm in tacking. 

• The dandy term for a tailor. 



326 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Then. Dick, the mixture of bonnets and bowers, 
Of foliage and frippery, fiacreia.uA flowers, 
Green-grocers, green gardens — one hardly knows 

whether 
'Tis country or town, they're so mess'd up together! 
And there, if one loves the romantic, one sees 
Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, reclin'd under trees; 
Or Quidnuncs, on Sunday, just fresh from the barber's, 
Enjoying their news and groseille ' in those arbours; 
While g.iily their wigs, like the tendrils, are curling, 
And fi runts of red curraut-juice » round them are 

purling. 

Here, Dick, arm in arm as we chattering stray, 
And receive a few civil "God derns" by the way, — 
For, 'tis odd, these mounseers, — though we've wast- 
ed our weal 111 
And our strength, till we've thrown ourselves into a 

phthisic, 
To cram down their throats an old King for their 
health, 
As we whip little children to make them take 
physic ;— 
Yet, spite of our good-natur'd money and slaughter, 
They hate us, as Beelzebub hates holy-water ! 
But who the deuce cares, Dick, as long as they nou- 
rish us 
Neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes — 
Long as, by bay'nets protected, we, Natties, 
May have our full fling at their salmis and pates? 
And, truly, I always declar'd 'twould be pity 
To burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city. 
Had Dad but his way, he'd have long ago blown 
The whole batch to old Nick — and the people, I own, 
If for no other cause than their curst monkey looks, 
Well deserve a blow-up — but then, damn it, their 

Cooks ! 
As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their whole 

lineage, 
For aught that /care, you may knock them to spin- 
age ; 

But think, Dick, their Cooks — what a loss to man- 
kind ! 
What a void in the world would their art leave be- 
hind ! 
Their chronometer spits— their intense salamanders — 
Their ovens— their pots, that can >oflen old ganders, 
All vanish'd for ever— their miracles o'er, 
And the Marmite Perpetuelle 3 bubbling no more ! 
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies! 
Take whatever ye fancy — take statues, take mo- 
ney — 
But leave them, oh leave them, their Perigueux pies, 
Their glorious goose-livers, and high pickled 
tunny ! * 
Though many, I own, are the evils they 've brought 
us. 
Though Royalty 's here on her very last legs, 
Yet, who can "help loving the land that has 'aught us 
Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eigs?* 



» "Lemonade and eau dc-grostille are measured 
out at every corner of every street, from fantastic 
vessels, jingling with bells to thirsty tradesmen or 
weaned messengers."— See Laiy Morgan's lively de- 
scription of the streets of Paris, in her very ami^ing 
work upon France, book vi. 

» These gay, portable fountains, from which the 
groseille water is administered, are among the most 
characteristic ornameuts of the stree's of Paris. 

» "Celte merveilleuse Marmite Perpetuelle, sur le 
feu depuis pre* d'un siecle; qui a donne le jour a plus 
de 300 000 chapons n —Alman. de Gourmands, Qua- 
trieme Annee, p. 152. 

* Le thon nrarit e. one of the most favourite and 
indigestible hors-d'cEuvres. This fish is taken chietiy 
in the Golfe de Lyon. " La tete et le des-ous du 
ventre son! le* parties les plus recherchees des gour- 
mets."— Court Gastronomique, p 252. 



You see, Dick, in spite of their cries of " God-dam,* 
" Coquin Anglais," et caet'ra — how generous I ami 
And now (to return, once again, to my " Day," 
Which will take us all night to get'through in this 

way,) 
From the Boulevards we saunter through many a 

street, 
Crack jokes on the natives — mine, all very neat- 
Leave the Signs of the Times to political fops, 
And find tvjice as much fun in the Signs of the 

Sh"ps; — 
Here, a Louis Dix-huit — there, a Martinmas goose, 
(Much in vogue since your eagles are gone out of 

use)— 
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a great many, 
But Saints are the most on hard duty of any : — 
St. Tony, who used all temptations to spurn, 
Hire hangs o'er a beer-shop, and tempts in his turn ; 
While there St. Venecia 6 sits hemming and frilling 

her 
Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner j — 
St. Austin'.- the ''outward and visible sign 
"Of an inward" cheap dinner, and pint of small 

wine; 
While St. Denys hangs out o'er some hatter of ton 
And possessing,' good bishop, no head of his own.'' 
Takes an int'rest in Dandies, who've got— next to 

none ! 
Then we stare into shops — read the evening's af- 

fichet — 
Or, if Mime, who 're Lotharios in feeding, should wish 
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish bad trick, 
As it takes off the bloom of one's ap|*:ite, Dick,) 
To the Passage da — what dye call't — da Pano- 
rama* 8 
We quicken our pace, and there heartily cram as 
Seducing young pare*, as ever c uld C02en 
One out nf one's appetite, down by the dozen. 
We viry . of cou: se — pelits pates do one day, 
The next we've our "lunch with the Gauflrier Hol- 

landais.9 
That popular artist, who brings nut, like Sc— tt, 
His delightful productions so quick, hot aod hot ; 
Not the worse for the exquisite comment that fol- 
lows, — 
Divine marcsquino, which — Lord, how one swal- 
lows ! 

Once more, then, we saun'er for'h after our snack, or 
Subscribe a few francs for the price of a fiacre, 
And drive far away to the old Montagues H 
Where we fii.d a few twirls in the car nf much use 
To regen'ra'e the hunger and thrrs' of as sinners. 
Who've laps'd into snack — the perdition of dinners. 
And here, Dick — in answer to one of yur queries, 
Ab >u' «hich we, Gourmands, haie had much dis- 
cussion — 
I've tried all these moun'ains, Swiss, French, and 
Rugeien'-, 
And think, for digestion,*" there 's none like the 
Russian ; 



* The exact number me- tioned by M. de la Rev- 

niere — "On connoit en France 6eo "manirres difler- 
entes d'accimmoder les rrufs ; sans compter celles 
que nos savans imaginent chaque jo 

S Veronica the Saint of the Holy Handkerchief, is 
also, under the name of Venisse or' Venecia, the tute- 
lary saint of milliners. 

i St. Denyt walked three miles after his head was 
cutoff. The mot of aw man rf wit upon this legend 
is well known: — "Je leer is bien ; enpareilcs, it 
n'y a que le premier pa? qui coute." 

• Off the Boulevards Italiens. 

» In the Palais R yal : successor, I believe, to the 
Flamand, so long celebrated lor the mtxikux of bis I 
Gaufns. 

«" Doctor Cotterel recommends, for this purpose, I 
the Beaujon or French Mountains, and calls them 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



327 



So equal the motion — so gentle, though fleet — 

It, in short, such a light aud salubrious scamper is, 

That take whom you please— take old L— s D— xh— t, 

Aud stuff him — ay, up to the neck — with slew'd 

lampreys,' 
So wholesome these Mounts, such a solvent I 've found 

them, 
That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down them, 
The fieud, Indigestion, would 11} far away, 
And the regicide lampreys 2 be foiled of their prey ! 
Such, Dick, are the classical sports that content us, 
Till five o'clock brings on that hour so momentous, 3 
That epoch but woa ! my lad— .here comes the 

^chne ; tier, 
And, curse nim, has made the stays three inches 

wider — 
Too wide by an inch and a half— what a Guy ! 
But, no matter — 't will all be set right by-and-by. 
As we 've Massinol's * eloquent carle to eat still up, 
An inch and a half's but a tririe to fill up. 
So — not to lose time, Dick — here goes for the task; 
Au revcir, my old boy — of the Gods I but ask, 
That my life, like -'the Leap of the German," s 

may be, 
" Du lit a la table, d'la table au lit !» 

B.F. 



LETTER IX. 
FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD 

VISCOUNT C— ST GH. 

My Lord, th' Instructions, brought to-day, 
"1 shall in all my best obey." 
Your Lordship talks and writes so sensibly ! 
And —whatsoe'er some wags may say — 
Oh! not at all incomprehensibly. 



* une medecine aerienue, couleur de rose ;" but I own 
I prefer the authority of Mr. Bob, who seems, from 
the following note found in his own hand-writing, to 
have studied all these mountains very carefully : — 
Memoranda — The Swiss little notice deserves, 
While the (all at Kuggieri's is death to weak nerves; 
And(whale'er Doctor Cott'rel may write on the question) 
The U»D at the BVaujoo 's too sharp for digestion. 
I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in accenting 
the second syllable of Ruggieri. 

1 A dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, at the 
end of his book, could imagine no more summary 
mode of getting rid of all his heroes and heroines than 
by a hearty supper of stewed lampreys. 

2 They killed Henry L of England: — "a food 
(says Hume, gravely,) which always agreed better 
with his palate than his constitution." 

Lampreys, indeed, seem always to have been a fa- 
vourite di~h with kings — whether from some conge- 
niality between them and that fish, 1 know not; but 
Dio Cassius teuj •_•» that Pollio fattened his lampreys 
with human blood. St. Louis of France was particu- 
hrly fnud of them. — See the anecdote of Thomas 
Aquinas eating up his majesty's lamprey, in a note 
upon Rabelais, liv. iii. chap. 2. 

3 Had Mr. Bob's Dinner Epistle been inserted, I 
was prepared with an abundance of learned matter to 
illustrate it, for which, as, indeed, for all my "scien- 
lia pnpinaB,"* 1 am indebted to a friend in the Dublin 
University,— whose reading formerly lay in themog-ic 
line ; but, in consequence of the Provost's enlightened 
alarm at such studies, he has taken to the authors, 
"de re ataria^ instead; and has left Bodin. Remi- 
gius, Jigrippa and his little dog Filiohu, for Apiciics, 
Nonius, and that most learned aud savoury Jesuit, 
Bulengerus. 

* A famous Restaurateur — now Dupont. 
An old French saying ; — " Faire le saut de l'Al- 
' du lit a la table el de la table au lit" 



I feel th' inquiries in your letter 

About my health and French most flattering 
Thank ye, my French, though somewhat better, 

Is, on the whole, but weak and smattering: — 
Nothing, of course, that can compare 
With his who made the Congress stare 
(A certain Lord we need not name), 

Who ev'n in French, would have his trope, 
And talk of " batir un systeme 

" Sur Vequilibre de 1'Europe !" 

Sweet metaphor ! — and then th' Epistle, 
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle,— 
That tender letter to " Mou Prince," 6 
Which show'd alike thy French and sense J— 
Oh no, my Lord — there 's none can do 
Or say un-English things like you ; 
And, if the schemes thai tail thy breast 

Could but a vent congenial seek, 
And use the tongue that suits them best, 

What charming Turkish would'st tbou speak I 
But as for rue, a Frenchless grub, 

At Congress never bom to stammer, 
Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub 

Fall'n Monarchs, out of Chambaud's grammar — 
Bless you, you do not, cn?i?iof know 
How far a little French will go ; 
For all one's stock, one need but draw 

On some half-dozen words like these — 
Comme ca — par-la — la-bas — ah ha! 

They '11 take you all through France with ease. 

Your Lordship's praises of the scraps 

I sent you from my Journal lately, 
(Enveloping a few lac'd caps 

For Lady C), delight me greatly. 
Her flattering speech — " What pretty things 

"One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages V> 
Is praise which (as some poet sings) 

Would pay one for the toils of ages. 

Thus flatter'd, I presume to send 
A few more extracts by a friend ; 
And I should hope they 'II be no les« 
Approv'd of than my last MS, — 
The former ones, I tear, were creas'd, 

As Biddy round the caps would pin them ; 
But these will come to hand, at least 

Unrumpled, for there's — nothing in them. 

Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed te 
LordC. 

Aug. 10. 
Went to the Mad -house — saw the man,t 

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend 
Of Discord here full riot ran, 

He, like the rest, was guillolin'd; — 
But that when, under Boney's reign, 

(A more discreet, though quite as strong one) 
The heads were all restor'd again, 

He, in the scramble, got a wrong one. 
Accordingly, lie still cries out 

This strange head fits him most unpleasantly; 
And always runs, poor dev'l, about, 

Inquiring for his own incessantly ! 



6 The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh 
(written, however. I believe, originally in English,) 
in which his Lordship, professing to see "no moral 
or political objection'' to the dismemberment of Sax- 
or.y, denounced the unfortunate King as "not only 
the most devoted, but the most fav Dured of Bonararte's 
vas?als." 

1 This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the 
Bicetre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fud^e states 
it, that, when the heads of those who had been guil- 
lotined were restored, he by mistake got some other 
person's instead of his own. 



328 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



While to his case a tear I dnpt, 

And saunter'd home, thought 1 — ye Gods I 
How many heads might thus be swopp'd, 

And, after all, not make much odds ! 
ForinsUnce, there's V— s — tt — t's head 
("Tarn carum" ' it may well be said) 
If by some curious chance il came 

To settle on Bill Soames's* shoulders, 
Th' effect would lum out much the same 

On all respectable cash-holders : 
Except that while, in is ntw socket, 

The head was planning schemes to win 
A zig-zag way into one's packet, 

The hands would plunge directly in. 

Good Viscount S— dm— h, too, instead 
Of his own grave, respected head, 
Might wear (or aught 1 see thai bars) 

Old Lady Wilheimina Frump's — 
So while the hand sign'd Circulars, 

The head might lisp out " What is trumps?' 
The R — g— t's brains could we tiansfer 
'l'o some robust man-milliner, 
I be loop, the sheirs, the lace, and ribbon 
Would go, 1 doubt not, quite as glib on ; 
And, vice versa, lake tin 
To give the f—ce the shopman's brains, 
One onlv change from thence would Low, 
RiLLum would uot be wasted so. 

T was thus I ponder'd on, my Lord ; 

And, ev'n a' night, when laid in bed, 
I found myself, b 

Tims dropping, - I <r head 

At length I thought, 
How such a change wi ruld suit niy»e.'/. 
Twill sleep ind making, on. 

With various pericrauinrut saddled 
At las' 1 tried >our Lord-h | 

And then 1 grew led — 

Forgot all other beads, od rot 'em '. 
And slept, and dreamt that 1 was — Bottom. 



Aug. 21. 



Walk'd out with daughter Bid — was shown 
The Hon- ind the Throne, 

Whose velvet cushion's just the -inie 3 

il on — what a shame ! 
Oh. can we wi nder, best of spe. cl.ers, 

When I. 
That France's ' fundamen ! features" 

Are mucl. 

erve the Throne, 

And cushion too — and keep theni free 
From accidents, which liavc been known 

To happen ev'n to K lyaltj 1 * 



Aug 23. 



Read, at a stall (for oft one pops 
On something >l theee stills and shops. 
That does 'o quote, and sivs one's Book 
A clinical aid k 

Indeed I 've found, in Latin, lately, 
A course of stalls impoves uiegtea'ly)- 



Twas thus I read, that, in the East, 

A monarch's fat's a serious matter; 
And once in every year, at least, 

He 's weigh d — to see if he gets fatter : » 
Then, if a pound or two he te 
Increas'd, there's quite a jubilee ! * 

Lord — and far fr< m me 
To treat such things with levity — 
But just suppose the R — g— ''» "weight 
Were made thus an affair of state ; 
■ at the close, — 

'S'ead of a speech, which, all can see, it 
Heavy and dull enough, God knows — 

We were to 'ry how heavy he is. 
Much would it g ad all heuis to hear 
I hat, while the Nation's Revenue 
Loses so many pound* a year. 

The P e, God Mess'hiin ! gains a few. 

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, 

I see the F.asterus weign 
But, for the R— g — I, my advice is, 

We should throw in much header things: 
For instance 

Which, ' -rve 'o wrap them; 

''Prodigi i clap them - 

Let ers, 'ha' C— r'» t's • pen indites, 

. 'usioD, 
The Major like a 

And i ever comes la a Conclusion : — 
L"rd S — in — rs" pamp 1 let — r his head — 
(Ah, thai were *■■ rad '.) 

th w hich we in n . 
The .-perches of .Sir John C— I II—: 

I Lords, 
'lo » huti - 

uhi-p'ring goes, 
Tha' you may always know him by 
A pa'ch of | ow ier on h s nose ! — 
If this wou't do, we in mu-t cam 
The'R.. -ck-rh— m; 

Entitled -Re 

Hisr p'- a I cthatiml 

I 

Wh. the ime, 

F.tch in, with u' re^eiv- 

.'e. us Dame— 
If that we'n't raise him, devil 's in it I 



Aug. SI. 



Consulted Murphy's Tacitus 
About those famous spies at Rome, 8 



i Tarn cari capitis. — Horat. 
» A celebiated pickpocket. 

3 The only change, if I recollect right, is the sub- 
stitution of l'ilies for bees. This war up^o the bees 
is, of course, universal; •« exi'ium mitere apilus." 
like the angry nymphs in Vi.gil — but may a t new 
/warms arise out ot the victims of Leiitm >cy yet ? 

4 1 am afraid that Mr Fudge alludes here to a very 
awkward accident, which is well k n wn to have 
happened lb poor I. — s It D — s— e, some year* since, 
at one of the R— g-t's Ke es. He was sitting next 
our gracious Queen a' the time. 



i "The thirl day of the Feast the King 

himself to be w >- _ — F. Ar- 
il, &c 

s «• I i hat alt the Oro- 

rahs exprr-sed g t '.ed two 

- 
of the m - 
skull is a 
looked up I 
ter head i> iovaliu Sj srti. 

8 The name of the fi -' - ' up me 

Ira le of i 

— "qui I 

niiseri* tempoium e! audae je ti nnnum feeero«L»— 
lacit. .inual. i. 74. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



329 



Wlmm certain Whigs — to make a fuss — 
Describe as much resembling us, l 
Informing gentlemen, ai home. 
Bu 1 , bless 'he fools, Ihey can't be serious, 
To say Lord S — dm — th's like Tibeiius ! 
What! lie, the Peer, that injures no man, 
Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman ! — 
'lis true, the Tyrant lent an ear lo 
All sorts of spies — so doth 'he Peer, loo. 
'Tis true my Lord's Elect tell ribs 
And deal in perj'rv — ditto lib's. 
'lis true, the Tyrant screen'd and hid 
Hi-, rogues from justice^ — ditto Sid. 
'1 is true the I'eer is grave and glib 
At moral seeches — d.tlo Tib. s 
'Tis true, the feats the Tyiant did 
Were in his do'age — diUo Sid. 

So far, 1 own, the parallel 

Twixt Tib and Sid g.es vastly well ; 

But there are points in Tib that strike 

My humble mind as much more like 

Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him, 

lit ih' India Board — that soul of whim! 

Like him. Tiberius lov'd his joke, * 

On mailers, too, where few can bear one; 
E g. a man, cut up. or bioke 

Up n the wheel — a dev.lish fair one ! 
Your common frac'uri s, wounds, and fits, 
Are nothing to such wholesome wits; 
But. let the sutl'rer ga-p for life. 

The joke is then worth any money; 
And, if he writhe beneath a knife, — 

Oh dear, that 's something quite too funny. 
In this respect, my Lord, you see 
The Roman wag and ours agree: 
Now as to ymir resemblance — mum — 

This parallel we need hoi follow ; * 
Though 'i i», in Ireland, said by some 

Your Lordship beats Tiberius hollow 
Whips, chains — but these are things loo serious 

For me to men'ion or d.scuss ; 
Whene'er your Lordship ac's Tiberius, 

Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitus ! 



Sept. 2. 



Was thinking, had Lord S— dm— th got 
And good decent sort of Plot 
Against the winter-time— if not, 
Alas, alis, our ruin 's fated ; 
All d.me up, and spiflicaledt 
Ministers and all their vassals, 

Down from C— tl gh to Castles, 

Unless we can kick up a riot, 
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet ! 



i They certainly possessed the same art of insti- 
gating their victims, which the Report of the Secret 
Committee at'ribu'es <o Lord Sidmouth's agents: — 
" socius (says Tacitus of one of them) libidinum et 
necessilatum, quopluribus indiciis inligaret." 

2 " Neque tamen id Sereno ansae fuit, quern odium 
publicum tutimem faciebat . Nun ut quis distric ior 
accusator vclut sacrosanct us erat " — Annal. lib. iv. 
36. — Or, as it is tran-lated by Mr. Fudge's fi iend, 
Murphy: — '-This daring iccu-er had the curses of 
the people, and the protection of the Emperor. In- 
formers, in proportion as they rose in guilt, became 
sacred characters." 

3 Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches 
the epithet "constitutional."' Mr. Fudge might have 
added to his parallel, that Tiberius was a good pri~ 
vate character: — "egregium vita fimaque quoad 
privatus.' 

* '• Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus." 
s There is one point of resemblance between T'be- 
rius and Lord C. which Mr Fudge might have men- 
tioned — li suspensa semper et obscura virba." 

28"» "" 



What 's to be done? — Spa-Fields was clever; 

But even that brought gibes and mockiugs 
Upon our heads — so, mem. — must never 

Keep ammunition in old stockings; 
For fear some wag should in his curst head 
Take it to say our force was worsted. 
Mem. too— when Si j an army ruses, 
It must not be " incog." like Mayes's: 
Nor must the Gei.eiai be a hobbling 
Professor of the art of cobbling ; 
Lest men, who perpetra e such puns, 

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, 
He fel', from soleing Wellingtons,* 

A Wellington s great soul within ! 
Nor must an old Apoihecuy 

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, 
With (what these wags would call, so merry,) 

Physical force and jj/iui.'-ence ! 
No — no — our Plot, my Lord, must be 
Next lime contriv'd autre skilfully. 
John Bull, I grieve lo say, is growing 
So troublesomely sharp and knowing, 
So wise — in short, so Jacobin — 
'Tis monstious haid to takt. him in. 

Serf. 6. 
Heard of the fate of our Ambassador 

In China, and was sorely nettled : 
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'er 

Till all this matter's fairly settled; 
And here's the mode occurs to me : — 
As none of our Nobility, 
Though lor their own most gracious King 
(They would kis hands or — any thing), 
Can be persuaded to go through 
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou ; 
And as these Mandarins wo'n't bend, 

Without some mumming exhibition, 
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send 

Griunldi lo them on a mission ; 
As legale, Joe could play his part, 
And if, in diplomatic art, 
The ■' volto scioltn'M's meritorious, 
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious ! 
A title (oi Inm's easily made; 

And, by the by, one Christinas time, 
If I remember right, he play'd 

Lord Morley in some pantomime; 8 — 
As Earl of M— rl— y then gazette him, 
If t'other Earl of M— rl — y 'II let him. 
(And why thou d not the world be hlesf 
With fioo such s'ars. for East and West?) 
Then when before the Yellow Screen 

He's broughl —and, su e, the very essence 
Of etiquete would be thai scene 

Of Joe in the Celestial Presence! — 
He thus should say: — " Duke Ho and Soo, 
'• I 'II play what ricks you please for you, 
•' If you'll, in turn, but do for me 
" A few small tricks you now shall see. 
"If I consult your Emperor's liking, 
"At least you Ml do the same for my King." 
He then should give them nine such grins, 
As would astound ev'u Mandarins; 
And throw such somerse s before 

The pic'ure of King George (God bless him i) 
As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er, 

Would, by Confucius, much distress him ! 



« Short boots, so called. 
I i The open countenance, recommended by Lord 
Chesterfield. 

8 Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was »io< 
Grimaldi, bid some very inferior performer, who 
played this part of " Loid Morley" in the pantomime, 
I — so much to the horror of the disinguished Karl of 
i that name. The exposlulatmy le lers of the Noble 
Earl to Mr. H— rr— s, upon his vulgar profana'ion of 
his spick-and-span new title, will, I trust, some time 
or other, be given to the world. 



330 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



I start this merely as a hint, 

But think you'll find some wisdom int j 

And, should you follow up the job, 

My son, my Lord (you know poor Bob), 

Would in ihe suite be glad to go 

And help his Excellency, Joe ; — 

Ai least, like noble Amh — rst's son, 

The lad will io to practise on.* 



LETTER X. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS 
DOROTHY . 

Well, it is n't the King, after all, my dear creature ! 
But don't you go laugh, now — there's nothing to 

quiz in 'I — 
For grandeur of air and for grimness of feature, 
He might be a King, Doll, though, hang him, he 

is n't. 
At 6rst, I felt hurt, for 1 wish'd it. 1 own, 
If for no o'her cau^e but to vex Miss Malone, — 
(The great heiress, you know, of Shaodangan, who 's 

here, 
Showing riff with mch airs, and a real Cashmere » 
While mine 's but a paltry, old rabbit-skin, dear !) 
Put Pa says, on deeply corisid'ring the thing, 
'• I am just as well pleas'd it should not be the King; 
"As I think for my Biddy, so gentille and jolie, 
" Whose charms nny their price in an honest way 

fetch, 
"That a Brandenburgh" — (what is a Brandenburgh, 

Doll] 
" Wi.ulJ be, after all, no such very great catch. 
"If the R— g— t indeed — " added he. looking sly — 
(You rememl er that comical squint of li is eye) 
But I stopp'd him wi'h " La, Pa, ho» can you say so, 
" When 'the R— g— t loves nune but old women, you 

know !" 
Which is fact, my dear Dolly — we, girls of eighteen, 
And so slim — Lord, he'd think us not tit to be seen ; 
And would like us much better as old — ay, as old 
As that Counter of Desmond, of whom l\e been 

told 
That she liv'd to much more than a hundred and ten, 
And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry-tree then 1 
What a frisky old girl ! but — to come to rm lover, 
What though uot a King, is a hero I 'II swear.— 
You shall hear all that's happen'd, just briefly run 

over. 
Since that happy night, when we whisk'd through 

the air! 

Let me see — 't w?.<on Saturday — yes, Dolly, yes — 
From that evening I da'e the firs' dawn of mv t'liss ; 
When we both rattled off in that Hear little car iaje, 
Whose journey. Bob says, is so like Love and Mar- 
riage, 
" Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly, 
" And ending as dull as a six-inside Dillv !" 3 
Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the night through ; 
And, next day, having scibbled my letter to you. 
With a heart full of hope this -weef fellow to meet, 
I set out wi'h Papa, to see Louis Dix-hnit 
Make his bow to some half-dozen women and boys, 
Who set up a small concert of shrill Viv; le Roii — 
And how vastly gen'eeler, mv dear, even this is, 
Than vulgar Pall-Mall's ora'orio of hisses ! 



| l See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy. 
; ' See Lady Morgan"s "France" for the anecdo'e, 
, told her by Madame de Geulis, ol the young gentle- 
I man whose love was cured by finding that bis Mis- 
j tress wore a shawl •• peau de tapio." 

» The cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly 
i by a chain. 



The gardens seem'd full — so, of course, we walkM 

o'er 'em, 
'Mong orange-trees, clipp'd into town-bred decorum, 
And daphnes, and vases, and many a statue 
There staring, with not ev'n a stitch on them, at yoo! 
The ponds, too, we view'd — stood awhile on the 

brink 
To contemplate the play of those pretty gold 

fishes — 
" Live 4t//2ion," savs merciless Bob, " which, I think, 
" Would, if eotri'd, with a little mint sauce, be 

delicious !" * 
But what, Dolly, what, is the gay orange-grove, 
Or gold fishes, to her that > in search of ber love? 
In vain did I wildly explore every chair 
Where a thing like a man was — no lover sate there ! 
In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast 
At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs 'hat went past, 
To obtain, if 1 could, but a glance at that curl,— 
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl, 
As the lock that, Pa says,* is to Mussuimeu giv'n, 
For the angel to hold by that " lues them to heaven V 
Alas, there went by me full many a quiz. 
And mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his ! 
Disappointed, I fouiid myself sighing out " well-a- 

day."— 
Thought of the words of T — m M— re's Irish Melody, 
Something about the " green spot of it 

(Which, you know, Captain Mackintosh sung to us 

one day) : 
Ah Dolly, my " spot" was that Saturday night. 
And ils verdure, bow fleeting, had witherM by 

Sunday ! 
We din'd at a tavern — La, what do I say ? 
If Bob was to know ! — a hestauratiur's, dear ; 



* Mr. Bob need not be ashamed of his cookery 
jokes, when he is kept in countenance by such men 
as Cicero, St. Augustin, and that jovial bishop, Vt- 
nantius FortunaXUM. The pun of the great orator 
up<>n the *• jus Verrinum," which he calls bad Aog- 
Inroth, from a play urion both the word-. 
knoun ; and the Saint's puns upon the conversion of 
Lot's wife into salt are equally iDger.ir.. 

salem con versa h • raestitit 

condimentum. quo layxanl ahquid.'.-nde illud cavea- 
tur exen . cap. 30. 

— The jokes of tl Kadagun- 

da. the convivial Bishop » b* found 

among his poems, in some 

had robbed him. 1 be following is similar to CicaroS 
pun : — 

Plus juscell* Corl qnun m« jm Talent. 
See his poems. Corpus Poetar. Latin, torn. ii. p. 
1732. — Of Ihe same kind »as Afonrmaur's joke, 
when a dish was spilt over him — summum 
ma injuria;* and the same celebrated parasite, in 
ordering a sole to be placed before bim, said, — 
Eligi cui dicas, to mini lot* place*. 

The reader may like« ise see, among a good deal of 
kitchen erudition, the learned Liptius's jokes no cat- 
ting up a capon in bis SatuTnaL Sermon, lib. ii. 
cap. 2. 

* For this scrap of knowledge " Pa" was, I suspect, 
indebted to a note upon Volney's Ruins rat 

usually forms part rf a Jacobin's library, and wi'h 
which Mr. Fudge >ell acquainted ai 

the time when he wrote h"« " l)iwn with K 
The note I this tuft 

of hair (on the crown of the htadi, worn by the ma- 
jority of ' _-.- 1 of the Tomb is 
to take tbe elect and carry them to Paradise." 

* The young lady, whose memory is not very cor- 
rect, must allude, I 'think, to the following lines': — 

Oh that nurr form is ne'er 
t First I^sve traced 
Still it liBfrioe haunU Che 
Oa Memory's waste! 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



331 



Where your properest ladies go dine every day. 

And drink Burgund out of large tumblers, like beer. 
Fine Bob t for he's really grow n super-hue) 

Condescended, for once, to make one of the party; 
Of course, though but three, we had dinner for nine, 

And in spite of my grief, love, I own I eat hearty. 
Indeed, Doll, I know not how 't is, but, in grief, 
I have always found eating a wondrous relief; 
And Bob, who 's in love, said he felt the same, quite — 

" My sighs," said he, " ceas'd with the first glass I 
diank you ; 
"The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs made me 
light, 

"And — now that all's o'er — why, I'm — pretty 
well, thank you !" 

To my great annovance, we sat rather late ; 
For Bobby and Pa'had a furious debate 
About singaig and cookery — Bobby, of course, 
Standing up for the la'ter Fine Art'in full force ; » 
And Pa saving, "God only knows which is worst, 

" The French Singers or Cooks, but 1 wish us well 
over ii — 
" What with old Lais and Very, I 'm curst 

" If my head or my stomach will ever recover it !" 

'T was dirk, when we go 1 to the Boulevards to stroll, 

And in viin did I look 'niong the street Macaronis, 
When, sudden it struck me — last hope of my soul — 

That some angel might take the dear man to Tor- 
loni's!'* 
We enter'd — and, scarcely had Bob, with an air, 

For a grappe a la jardiniere, call'd to the waiters, 
When, oh Doll ! 1 saw him — my hero was there 

(For I knew his white small-clothes and brown lea- 
ther gaiters), 
A group of lair statues from Greece smiling o'er him,3 
And lots of red currant-juice sparkling before him I 
Oh Dolly, the^e heroes — what creatures they are ; 

In the boudoir the same as in fields full of slaughter! 
As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car, 

As when safe at Tortoni's, o'er ie'd currant water ! 
He join'd us — imagine, dear creature, my ecstasy — 
Join'd by the mau I'd have broken ten necks to see! 
Bob wish'd to treat him with Punch a la glace, 
But the sweet fellow swore that my beault, n;y grace, 
And my je-ne sais-quoi (then bis whiskers he twirl'd) 
Were, io Aim, "on de t> pof all Ponch in de vorld." — 
How pretty ! — though oft (as, of course, it must be) 
Both his French and his English are Greek. Doll, to me. 
But, in short, 1 felt happy as ever fond heart did ; 
Aud happier still, when 't was fix'd, ere we parted, 
That, if the next day should be pastoral weather, 
We all would set oft; in French buggies, together, 
To see Montmorency — that place w hich, you know, 
Is so famous for cherries and Jem Jacques Rousseau. 
His card then he gave us— the name, rather cre.is'd— 
But 'I was Calicot — something — a Colonel, at least ! 
After which— sure there never was hero so civil — he 
Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli, 
Where his last words, as, at parting, he threw 
A soft look o'er his shoulders, were — " How do you 
do !"« 



» Cookery has betn dignified by the researches of 
a Bacon; (see his Natural History. Receipts, &c.) 
and takes its station as one of the Fine Arts in the 
following passage of Mr. Dugald Stewart:— "Agree- 
ably to this view of the subject, sweet may be said to 
be intrinsically pleasing, and bitter to be relatively 
pleasing; while both are, in many cases, equally 
essential to those effects, which, in the art of cookery, 
correspond to that composite beauty, which it is the 
object of the painter aud of the poet to create." — 
Philosophical Essays. 



* "You eat your ice at Tortoni's," says Mr. Scott, 
1 under a Grecian group." 

* Not an unusual mistake with foreigners. 



But, lord — there 's Papa for the Post— I 'm so Text— 
MontmoTency must now, love, be kept for my next. 
That dear Sunday night ! — 1 was charmingly drest, 
And — so providen ial ! — was looking my best ; 
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce — and my 

frills, 
You've no notion how rich — (though Pa has by the 

bills) 
And you'd smile had you seen, when we sat rather 

near, 
Colonel Calicot eyeing the cambric, my dear. 
Then the flow'rs in my bonnet— but, la, it's in vain— 
So, good-by, my sweet Doll— I shall soon write again. 

B. F. 
Nota bene — our love to all neighbours about — 
Your Papa iu particular — how is his gout ? 

P. S. — I've just opened my letter to say, 
In your next you must tell me, (now do, Dolly, pray, 
For I hate to ask Bob, he's so ready to quiz.) 
What sort of a thing, dear, a JSrancUniburgh is. 



LETTER XI. 
FROM PHEMM CONNOR TO . 

Yes, 't was a cause, as noble and as great 

As ever hero died to vindicate — 

A Nation's right to speak a Nation's voice, 

And own no power but of the Nation's choice! 

Such was the grand, the glorious cause that now 

Hung trembling on Napoleon's single brow ; 

Such the sublime arbitrament, that pour'd, 

In patriot eyes, a light around his sword, 

A hallowing light, which never, since the day 

Of his young victories, had iilum'd its way ! 

Oh 't was not then the time for tame debates, 

Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your gates ; 

When he, who late had fled your Chieftain's eye, 

As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus rly,s 

Denounc'd against the land, tint spunrd his chain, 

Myriads of swords to bind it fast again — 

Myriads of fierce invading -words, to irack 

Through your best blood his path of vengeance back 

When Europe's Kings, that never yet combin'd 

But (like those upper Stars, tint, when conjoin'd, 

Shed war and pestilence,) to scourge mankind, 

Gather'd around, with hos'.s from every shoie, 

Hating Napoleon much, but Freedom more, 

And, in that coming strife, app.all'd to see 

The world yet left one chance for liberty ! — 

No, 't was not then the time io weave a net 

Of bondage round your Chief; to cuib and fret 

Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight, 

When every hope was in his speed and might — 

To waste the hour of ac'ion in dispute, 

And coolly plan how freedom's boughs should shoot, 

When your invadei's axe was at the root ! 

No, sacred Libeny ! that God, who throws 

Thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows 

How well 1 love thee, and how deeply hate 

Jill tyrants, upstart and Legitimate — 

Yet, in that hour were France my native land, 

I would have follow'd, with quick heart and hand, 

Napoleon, Nero — ay, no matter whom — 

To snitch my country from that damning d^om, 

That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd waits — 

A Conqueror's satrap, throu'd within her gates ! 

True, he was false — despotic — all yon please — 
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties — 



* See .SJIian, lib. v. cap. 29, — who tells us that these 
geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, 
always cross Mount Taurus with stones iu their bills, 
to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to 
the eagles — diansTOvrai o-tairrcovrtc. 



332 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Had, by a genius, formM for nobler things 
Thau be » ilbiu the grasp of vulgar Kings, 
But rais'd the hopes of inen — as eaglets fly 
Wiih tortoises aloit into ihe sky — 

theui down a^ain 
All this j 



LETTER XII. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DORO- 
THY . 

Al iast, Dolly,— thanks to a potent emetic. 
Which Bobby and ha, with grimace sympathetic, 
Have ewallow'd tins morning, to balauce ihe bliss, 
Of an eel mateloU and a Lisyue d'tcrevistet — 
1 \e a morning at home to myself, and sit down 
To describe you our heavenly trip out of toun. 
How agng you must be for this leiicr, my dear ! 
Lady J^ne. in the no'.el, less langu.sh'd 'to hear 
If that elegmt cornet she met at Lord Neville's 
Was aclua>ly dying with love or — blue devils. 
But Love, Dolly, Love is Ihe heme / | uraue; 
With Blue Dcv.i-, thank heav'u, 1 have nothing to do— 
Except, indeed, dear Colonel Calicot spies 
Anv imps of that colour in certain blue eves, 
Which he si .res at till /, Doll, at hit do the same; 
Then he simpers— 1 blush— and would of en eioaiin, 
If 1 ki.ew but the French for il, " Lord, &ir, for 



Well, the morning was Sorely— the trees in full dress 
For Ihe nappy occasion— the sunshine exprut — 
Had »e order d it, dear, of the best poei going, 
It scuce cou.d be furnish d more g Iden al. j g 
'I bough laie when we staried, ihe scenl of the air 
Was like Gatiie's rose-ua'er, — and, bnghl, here and 

Ifcera, 
(in the gr.iss an o<ld dew-drop was glrferjng yet, 
Like my aum's diamond pin on her green ubbinet ! 
While ihe birds seem'd to warble as blest on the 

«, 
As if each a plun.'d Calicot had for her spouse; 
And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in 

rows. 
And — in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes 
Wilb the cieature one Uvea, l is all couleur dt rate ; 
And. ah, I shall ne'er, liv'd I ever so long, see 
A day such as that at divine Montmorency ! 

There was but one drawback — at first when we 

starled, 
The Col. nel and I were inhumanly parted ; 
How cruel — young beans of such moments to rob ! 
He weni in Pa's Doggy, and I went «iih Bob; 
And, I own, 1 fell - know 

Thai P. pa and his comrade agreed but to-to. 
For the Colonel, it stems, is a stickler of Boney's — 
Served vcilh him of c urse — nay, I'm sure they were 

So martial his features ! dear Doll, you can trace 
t'lm, Aosterlits, Lodi, as plain in his face 
As you do on thai pillar of glory and brass,* 
Which the |Oor Due de B— n must hate so to pass! 
It appears, too. be made — as mos- fueigners do — 
About English affairs an odd blunder or iwo. 



For example — misled by ihe names, I dare say — 

He conf ,u..ded Jack Castles with Lord C gh ; 

And — sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever on — 
Fancied the yreient Lord C— md- n the clever oat I 

But politics ne'er were the Bweet fellow's trade; 
' T was for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. 
And, oh, had you beard, as together we walk'd 
Thro' that beautiful forest, bow sweetly he talk'd ; 
And how jerfeclly well he appear'd, Doll, to know- 
All the life and adventures of Jean Jacques Kous- 

seau 1 — 
'•'T was there," said he — not that his tcords I can 

s a'e — 
T was a gibb"risb that Cupid alone could translate; — 
But "there." said he, (pointing where, small and 

remote, 
The dear Hermitage rose,) "there bis Julie he 

wiole, — 
" Upon paper gilt-edg'd,3 without blot or erasure; 
" Then sanded it over n ith silver and azure, 
" And — i.h, what will genius and fancy not do ? — 
" Tied the leaves up 'oge her » ith iioritj.arsilic blue !* 
What a trait of Rousseau '. » hat a croud oi - 

From sand and blue ribbons are conjur'd up here 1 
Alas, that a man of such exquisite * 
Should send bis poor br.ts to the Foundling, my 

dear ! 

" T was here, too, perhaps."' Olonel Calicot said — 
As down the small t 

(Though once I could see his sublime forehead wrinkle 
Wi ii iaie not to hud there the iov'd penuinkieiS 

r.ir D'Lpmay 
"(Who I y hn Liar* every day,) 

"That dear tlaur.el petticoat, pull'd c: 
"A uais coat, to keep the enthusiast v. arm '." ' 



Such, Doll, were the sweet recollections we ; 

auderd. 
M it islj 
Led us to la k about o her en 
Cambric, aud silk, and — I i. 

s set, 
And full on the ( Be down, 

When be ask'd me, with eagerness, — who inaJe my 

The question confus'd me— for. Doll, you must know, 

And 1 ought to have told . 

That, b> Va» sir. 

That enchanting cvui.urw.re, Madame 



l Somebody (Fontenel'e. I believe,) has said, that if 
he had his hand full of tru'hs. he would 0|wu but one 
finger at a lime; and Ihe san e s rt of reserve 1 find 
to be necessary wi b respect to Mr. Connor's v. ry 
plain-spoken leiters. ihe remainder of ihis Epistle 
is so full of unsafe niaitrr-of-fact tha' it must, for the 
present at least, be wi hheld from the public. 

* The column in the Place Vei.dome. 



» " Emplnyant pour cela te pus beau |»pier dore, 
ucn'ture avec de a 
et cou-aut u.es cahiers avec de la ucmparei: 
—Let ConJ liv. 9. 

* This word, ' e 
of M.s- i 

angry when her ! r 
last two syllables : 
"I "d fain prai»e roar P.x-m — bat tell me, bass 
When / cry sol tries - f tu it ?" 

* The flower which R'usseau brought into such 
fashion u 

u Ab, villa de 1. |e> . 

* •• Mon ourt, voila votie asyle— et rous, mess ; 
ourt, ne v.endrez vous pas aussi ?" — tc fcc 

' "L'n jriur, qu'il getoit 'res l"->n. en cuvrauit un 
pacne' qu'elle m c 
de "fl.nt . 
' pnrte, e r 
g.let Ce s.'in. plus qu i -; lendre, 

comme si elle sc 

emotion, je baisai vingt lois en [• 
billet et le jupoi.." 

8 Miss Biddy's notions of French prommtiitjoo j 
may be perceived in ibe rhymes which she always 
| selects for " Le But-™ 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



333 



But *m forc'd now to have Victorine, who — deuce 

take her ! — 
It seems is, at present, the King's mantua-maker — 
1 mean of his parly — and, though much the smanest, 
Le Roi is condemn'd .is a rank Bonapartist.* 
Think, Dull, how coufounded 1 look'd — so well 

know ing 
The Colonel's opinions— my cheeks were quite glow- 
ing ; 
1 stammer'd out something — nay, even half nam'd 
The legitimate sempstress, when, loud, he exclaim'd, 
" Yes, yes, by the stitching 't is plain to be seen 

" It was made by that Bourbonile b h, Victorine!" 

What a word for a hero '. — but heroes will err, 

And 1 thought, dear, I'd tell you things just as they 

were. 
Besides, though the word on good manners intrench, 
I assure you '( is not half so shocking in French. 

But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon pass'd away, 
And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day. 
The thoughts that arise, when such dear fellows woo 

us,— 
The nothings that then, love, are everything to us — 
That uuick correspondence of glances and sighs, 
And what Bob calls the " Twopenny-post of the 

Eyes"— 
Ah, Doll! though I know you've a heart, 'tis in vain 
To a heart si unpractis'd these things to explain. 
They can only be felt, in their fulness divine, 
By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline, 
Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like mine ! 

Bnt here I must finish — for Bob, my dear Dolly, 
Whom physic, 1 find, always makes melancholy, 
Is seiz'd with a fancy for church yard reflections} 
And, full of all yesterday's rich recollections. 
Is just setting off for Montmartre — " for there is," 
Said he, looking solemn, ■• the tomb of the Verys ! * 
" Long, long have 1 wish'd, as a votary true, 

" O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans ; 
" And, to-day — as my stomach is not in good cue 

" For \he. flesh of the Verys— 1 'II visit their bones .'" 
He insists upon my going with him — how teasing! 

This letter, however, dear Dolly, shall lie 
Uuseal'd in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleasing 

Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you — good-bye. 

Four o'clock. 
Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin'd forever — 
1 ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, never! 



'- Le Roi, who was the Coufuriere of the Empress 
Maria Louisa, is at present, of course, nut of fashion, 
and is succeeded in her station by the Royalist man' 
tua-maker, Victorine. 

2 It is the brother o( the present excellent Res'au 
rateur who lies entombed so magnificently in the 
Cimetiere Montm.ir re. The inscription on the co- 
lumn at the head of the tomb concludes with the (o\- 
lowing words:— "Toute sa vie fut consacree aux arts 
utiles." 



To think of the wretch — what a victim was I ! 
»T is too much to endure — I shall die, I shall die — 
My brain 's in a fe\er — my pulses beat quick — 
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick ! 
Oh, what do you think ? after all my romancing, 
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, 
This Colonel — I scarce can commit it to paper — 
This Colonel's no mote than a vile linen-draper!! 
>T is true as I live — 1 had coax'd brother Bob so, 
(You 'II hardly make out what I 'm writing, I sob so,) 
For some little gift on my birth-day — September 
The thirtieth, dear, I 'm eighteen, you remember — 
That Bob to a shop kindly ordei'd the coach, 

(Ah, little 1 thought who the shopman would prove,) 
To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche, 
Which, in happier hours, 1 have sigh'd for, my 
love — 
(The most beautiful things — two Napoleons the 

price — 
And one 's name in the corner embroider'd so nice !) 
Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enler'd the shop, 
But — ye Gods, whit a phantom ! — 1 thought I should 

drop — 
There he stood, my dear Dolly — no room for a 
doubt — 
There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him 
stand, 
With a piece of French cambric before him roll'd out, 
And that horrid yard-measure upiais'd in his hand! 
Oh — Papa, all along, knew the secret, 't is clear — 
'T was a shopman he meant by a " Brandenburgh," 

dear ! 
The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King, 

And, when that too delightful illusion was past, 
As a hero had worshipp'd— vile, treacherous thing — 

To turn out but a low linen-draper at last ! 
My head swam around— the wretch smil'd, I believe, 
But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceive — 
I fell back on Bob — my whole heart seemed to 

wither — 
And, pale as a ghost, I was carried hack hither! 
1 only remember that Bob. as I caugnt him, 

With cruel facetiousnrss said, " Curse the KHdy ! 
"A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him, 
" But now 1 find out he 's a Counter one, Biddy !" 
Only think, my dear creature, if this should be 
known 
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss Malone ! 
What a s'.ory 't will be at Shandaigan for ever! 
What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with 
the men ! 
It will spread through the country — and never, oh 
never 
Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again ! 
Farewell — 1 shall do something desp'rate, I fear — 
And, ah ! if my fate ever reaches your ear, 
One tear of compassion my Doll will not grudge 
To her poor — broken-heai ted — vou ng friend, 

BIDDY FUDGE. 

Ncta bene— I am sure you will hear, with delight, 
That we're going, all three, to see Brunei to-night. 
A laugh will revive me — and kind Mr. Cox 
(Do you know him ?) has got us the Governor's box. 



334 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



To Regibus alas 

Virgil, Georg. lib. ir. 

Clip the wings 

•flying, arbitrary Kings. 

Dryden'B Translation. 



DEDICATION. 

TO LORD BYRON. 

Dear Lord Byron,— Though this Volume should 
possess no other merit in your eyes, than that of re- 
minding you of the short time we passed together at 
Venice, when some of the triries which it contains 
were written, you will, I am sure, receive the dedi- 
cation of it with pleasure, and believe that I am, 
My dear Lord, 

Ever faithfully yours, 



PREFACE. 

Though it was the wish of the Members of the 
Poco-curante Society (who have lately done me the 
honour of electing me their Secretary) that I should 
prefix my name to the following Miscellany, it is but 
lair to them and to myself to stale, that, except in the 
"painful pre-eiiiiiience" of being employed Xa tran- 
scribe their lucubrations, my cl;»im to such a distinc- 
tion in ihe litle-page is not greater ihau that of any 
other gen leman, who has contributed his share to the 
contents of the volume. 

I had originally intended to take this opportunity of 
giving some account of the origin and objects of our 
Institution, the names and characters of Ihe different 
member-, &c &c— but, as I am at present preparing 
fur the press the First Volume of the "Transactions 
of the Poco-curante Society," 1 shall reserve for that 
occasion all further de'ails upon the subject; and 
content myself here with referring, for a general 
insight into our tenets, to a Song » hich will be found 
at Ihe end of this work, and which is sung to us on 
the first day of every mon h, by one of our oldest 
members, ro the tune of (as far as I can recollect, 
being no musician,) either " Nancy Dawsou" or "He 
stole away the Bacon." 

It may be as well also to state, for the information 
of those critics, who attack with the hope of being 
answered, and of being, thereby, brought into n tice, 
that il is the rule of this Society to return no other 
answer to such assailants, than is contained in the 
three words " N"n curat Hippoclides," (meaning, in 
Eiii-lisb, "Hippoclides does not c.ire a fig,") which 
were spoken two thousand (ears ago by the first 
founder of Poocurautism, and have ever since been 
adopted as the leading dictum of the sect. 

THOMAS BROWN. 



FABLE I. 

THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLI- 
ANCE. 
A DREAM. 

I 've had a dream thai bodes no good 
1 Unto the Holy Bro herhood. 



I may be wrong, but I cf nfess - 

As far as it is right or lawful 
For one, no conjurer, to guess — 

It seems to me extremely awful. 

Methought, upon the Neva's flood 

A beautiful Ice Palace stood, 

A dome of frosl-work, on the plan 

Of lhat once buill by Empress Anne,l 

Which shone by moonlight — as the tale is — 

Like an Aurora Boreal is. 

In this said Palace, furnisb'd all 

And lighted as the best on land are, 
I dreamt there was a splendid Ball, 

Giv'n by the Emperor Alexander, 
To entertain win all due zeal, 

Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a 
Regard so kind for Europe's weal, 

At Troppau, Laybacb, and Verona. 

The thought was happy — and design'd 
To hint how thus the human Mind 
May, like the stream imprison'd there, 
Be check*d and chill'd, till it am bear 
The heaviest Kings, lhat ode or sonnet 
E'er yet be-prais'd, to dance upon it 

And all were pleas'd, and cold, and stately, 

Shivering in grand illumination — 
Admii'd the superstructure greatly, 

Nor gave one thought to the (ou ndation. 
Much l o the Czar himself exulted, 

To all plebeian fears a stranger, 
For, Madame Krudener, when consulted, 

Had plcdg'd her word there was no danger. 
So. on he caper'd, fearless quite, 

1 hinkii.g himself extremely clever, 
And waHz'd away with all his might, 

As if Ihe Frost would last for ever. 



Just fancy how a bard like me, 

Who reverence mouarchs, must have 

To see that goodly company. 
At such a ticklish sport assembled. 



Nor were the fears, that thus astounded 
My loyal soul, at all unfounded — 
For. l.i : ere long, lho-e walls so D - 

Were seiz'd with an ill-men'd dripping, 
And o'er ihe floors, now grow ing glassy, 

Their Holinesses look '6 slipping. 
The Czar, half through a Polonaise, 

Could scarce get on'f r downright s'umt.^nf 
And Prussia, though to slippery way* 

Well us'd, was cursedly uear tumbling 

Yet still 't was. who could stamp the floor most, 
Russia and Austi : ost — 



i " It is well known that the Empress Anne built 
a palace of ice on ilie Neva, in 1740, whirh wu 
fifty-two feet in length, and when 
surprising efftct.''— Pinktrton. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



335 



And now, to an Italian air, 

This precious brace would, hand in hand, go ; 
Now — while old Louis, from his chair, 
lntrealed them his loes to spare — 

Call'd loudly out for a Fandango. 

And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, 

At which they all sel to, like mad ! 

Never were Kings (though small th' expense it 

Of wit among their Excellencies) 

So out of all their princely reuses. 

Bui, ah, that dance — that Spanish dance 

Scarce was Ihe luckless strain begun, 
When, glaring red, as 't were a glance 

Shot from an angry Southern sun, 
A light 'hrough all the chambers flam'd, 

Astonishing old Father Frost, 
Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd, 

" A thaw, by Jove — we 're lost, we 're lost I 
"Run. France — a second Waterloo 
" Is come to drown you — sauve qui pent!" 

Why, why will monarchs caper so 

In palaces without foundations? — 
Instantly all was in a flow, 

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations — 
Those Royal Arms, 'hat look'd so nice, 
Cut out in the resplendent ice — 
Those Eagles, handsomely provided 

With double heads for double dealingB — 
How fast the globes and sceptres glided 

Out of their claws on all the ceilings! 
Proud Prussia's double bird of prey 
Tame as a spa'ch cock, slunk away; 
While — just like France herself, when she 

Proclaims how great her nav>l skill is — 
Poor Louis' drowning fleurs-de-lys 

Imagin'd themselves ujaier-lilies. 



And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, 

But — still more fatal execution — 
The Great Legitimates themselves 

Seem'd in a sta'e of dissolution. 
Th' indignant Czar— when just about 

To issue a sublime Ukase, 
" Whereas all light must be kept out"— 

Dissolved to nothing in its blaze. 
Next Prussia took his turn to melt, 
And, while his lips illustrious felt 
The influence of this southern air, 

Some word, like " Constitution" — long 
Congeal'd in frosty silence there — 

Came slowly thawing from his tongue. 
While Louis, lapsing by degrees, 

And sighing out a faint adieu 
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese 

And smoking fondus, quickly grew, 

Himself, into a fondu too ; — 
Or like that goodly King they make 
Of >ugar for a Twelfth-night cake, 
When, in some urchin's mouth, alas, 
It melts into a shapeless mass ! 



In short, I scarce could count a minute, 
Eie the bright dome, and all within it, 
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were gone 

And nothing now was seen or heard 
But the bright river, rushing on, 

Happy as an enfianchis'd bird, 
And prouder of that natural ray, 
Shining along its chainle>s way — 
More proudly happy thus to glide 

In simple grandeur to Ihe sea, 
Than w hen, in sparkling fetters tied, 
T was deck'd with all that kingly pride 

Could bring to light its slavery ! 



That Spanish Dance — that southern beam 
But I say nothing — there 's my dream — 
And Madame Krudener, the she-propbet, 
May make just what she pleases of it. 



FABLE II. 



THE LOOKING-GLASSES. 

PROEM. 

Where Kings have been by mob-elections 

Rais'd to the throne, 't is strange to see 
What different and what odd perfections 

Men have requir'd in Royalty. 
Some, liking monarchs large and plumpy, 

Have chos'n their Sovereigns by the weight;— 
Some wish'd them tall, some thought your dampy, 

Dutch-built, Ihe true Legitimate.! 
The Easterns in a Prince, 'I is said. 
Prefer what 's call'd a jolter-head : * 
Th' Egyptians wer'n'l at all partic'lar, 

So that their Kings had not red hair — 
This fault not ev'n the greate-t stickler 

For the blood-royal well could bear. 
A thousand more si<ch illu>tratioi,s 
Might be adduc'd from vaiious nations. 
But, 'mong the many tales they tell us, 

Touching th : acquir*d or natural right 
Which some men have to rule their fellows, 

There 's one which 1 shall here recite: — 



FABLE. 



There was a land — to name the place 
Is neither now my wish nor duty — 

Where reign'd a certain Royal race, 
By right of their superior beauty. 

What was the cut legitimate 
Of these great persons' chins and noses, 

By right of which they rul'd Ihe state, 
No history I have seen discloses. 

But so it was — a settled case — 

Some Act of Parliament, pass'd snugly, 

Had voted them a beauteous race, 
And all their faithful subjects ugly. 

As rank, indeed, stood high or low, 
Some change it made in visual organs; 

Your Peers were decent — Knights, so so — 
But all your common people, gorgons ! 

Of course, if any knave but hinted 
That the King's nose was luni'd awry 

Or that the Queen (God bless her !) squinted—' 
The judges doom'd that knave to die. 

But rarely things like this occurr'd, 
The people o their King were duteous, 

And took it, on his Royal word. 
That they were frights, and He was beauteous. 

The cause whereof, among all classes, 
Was simply this — these island elves 

Had never yel seen looking-glasses, 
And, therefore, did not know themselves. 

l The Goths had a law to choose always a short, 
j thick man for their King. — Minister, Cosmos- lib. 

iii. p. 164. 
! 2 "in a Pii.ce a jolter-head is invaluable." — Orv 
1 ental Field Sports. 



336 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



Somelimes, indeed, their neighbours' faces 
Might strike them as more full of reason, 

Moie fresh than Ihose in certain places — 
Bu'. Lord, the very thought was treason! 

Besides, howe'er we love our neighbour 
And take bis face's part, 't is known 

We ne'er so much in earnest labour, 
As when the face attack'd's our own. 

So, on Ihey went — the crowd believing — 
(As crowds well govern'd always do) 

Their rulers, too, them selves deceiving — 
So old the joke, they thought 't was true. 

But jokes, we know, if they too far go, 
Must have an end — and so, one day, 

Upon that coa-,1 there was a cargo 
Oi lookiui-glasses cast away. 

'T was said, some Radicals, somewhere, 
Had laid Iheir wicked heads together, 

Aud.foic'd that ship to founder thete, — 
While some believe it was the weather. 

However this might be, the freight 
Was lauded without fees or duties ; 

And from that hour historians date 
The downfall of the Race of Beauties. 

The looking-glasses got about. 

And grew so common through the land, 
Tha scarce a linker c uld walkout, 

Without a mirror in his hand. 

Comparing faces, morning, i oon, 
And night, their constant occupation 

By dint ot looking glasse-, soon, 
'They grew a most retiecling nation. 

In vain the Court, aware of errors 
In all the old, es'ablish'd mazards, 

Prohibited the use of mil I 
And tried to break them at all hazards: — 

In vain — their laws might just as well 
Have been vv as e paper on the shelves ; 

That fatal freight had br ke the spell ; 
People had look'd — and knew themselves. 

If chance a Duke, of bith sublime, 
1'iesiiii'd upon hi* ancient lace, 

(Some calf-head, ugly from all ime,) 
They popp'd a minor to his Grace : — 

Just hinting, by that gentle sign, 
How lit ile Nature holds it true, 

That what is cal.'d III aiiceiil line, 
Must be the line of Beauty too. 



From Dukes' thej passM to re»al phizzes, 
C'"iii|iar'd them proudly with their own 

And cried, •' How cuuld *ueh moi - 
" In Beauty's name usurp the ti. 

They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books, 

Cosinetical tKccn 
Which made the Kin; try various looks, 
Bui none impiov'd his physiognomy. 

And satires at the Court were levell'd, 
And small lampoon?, so full of .slynesses, 

That soon, in short, they quite he-devil'd 
Their Majesies and Royal Highnesses. 

At length — but here I drop the veil, 

To -pare some loval folks' sensitions ; — 

Besides, wha' followed is the tale 
Of all such late-enlighten'd nations; 



Of all to whom old Time discloses 
A truth they should have sooner known- 

That Kings have neither rights nor noses 
A whit diviner than their own. 



FABLE III. 



THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. 

I saw it all in Fancy's glass — 

Herself, the fair, the wild magician, 

Who bid this spleudid day-dream pass, 
And nam'd each gliding apparition. 

T was like a torch-race— such as they 
Of Greece perfomi'd, in ases gone, 

When the fleet youths, in long array, 
Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on. 

I saw th' expectant nations stand, 

To catch the coming flame m turn; — 

I saw, from ready hud to hand, 
The clear, though struggling, glory burs. 

And, oh, their joy, as it came near, 
'T was, in itself, a joy to see ; — 

While Fancy whisper'd in mv ear, 
"That torch they pass is Liberty !' 

And, each, as she receiv'd the flame, 
Lighted her altar with its ray ; 

Then, smiling, to the nit who came, 
Speeded it on its sparkling »ay. 

From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 
Wis furnish'd wilh the fiie already, 

Columbia cau:bt the boon divine. 
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 

The splendid gift then Gallia took, 
And, like a « ild Bacchante, raising 

The brand aloft, its sparkles sh<ok. 
As she would set the world a-blaziog! 

Thus Inndling wild, so fierce and high 

Her altar biaz'd into the air. 
That A'binn, to 'hat fire too nirh. 

Shrunk back, and shudderM at its glare ! 

Next, Spain, so new was light to her, 
Leap'ii at the torch — but ere the spark. 

That fell upon hershr.ne could stir, 

' F wa- quench 'd — and all again was dark. 

Yet, no — no/ quench - d —a treasure, worth 

So much to mortals, rarely Hies: 
Again her living liiht look'd fb th, 

And shone, a beacon, in all eyes. 

Who next receiv'd the flame ? alas, 

es — shame of sh rnies, 
That ever Through such hands shoulijpass 
That brightest of all earthly fl.nus: 

Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch, 
When, fright. -ned, 

Nor wai'tns ev'n to feel Ike • 
She dro| p'd it to the earth —and fled. 

And fall'n it might have long rena 

But Greece, n It i saw her moment now. 

Caught up the prize, th ugh pro-'raie. stainU, 
And wav'd it rouud her beaute ius brow. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



337 



And Fancy 'jade me mark where, o'er 

Her altar, as it? fl^me ascended, 
Fair, laurell'd spirits seem'd to soar, 

Who thus in song their voices blended : — 

"Shine, shine for ever, glorious Flame, 

" Divinest gift of Gods lo men ! 
" From Greece thy earliest splendour came, 

♦■ To Greece thy ray returns again. 

" Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round, 
•' When dimm'd, revive, when lost, return, 

"Till not a shrine through earth be found, 
" On which thy glories shall not burn !" 



FABLE IV. 

THE FLY AND THE BULLOCK. 

PROEM. 

Of all that, to the sage's survey, 

This world presents of topsy-turvy, 

The.e's nought so much disturbs one's patience. 

As little minds in lofty stations. 

'Tis like that sort of painful wonder, 

Which slender columns, labouring under 

Enormous arches, give beholders; — 
Or those poor Caryatides, 
Condemn'd to smile and stand at ease, 

With a whole house upon their shoulders. 

If, as in some few royal cases, 

Small minds are born into such places 

If they are there, by Right Divine, 

Or any such snfficient reason, 
Why— Heav'n forbid we should repine! 

To wish it otherwise were treason; 
Nay, ev'n lo see it in a vision, 
Would be what lawyers call misprition. 

Sir Robert Filmer sai'h — and he, 

Of course, knew all about the matter — 
" Both men and beasts love Monarchy ;" 

Which proves how rational — the latter. 
Sidney, we know, or wrong or right, 
Entirely difler'd from the Knight: 
Nay, hiii's a King may lose his head, 

By slipping awkwardly his bridle: — 
But'this is treasonous, ill bred, 
And (now-a-diys, when King. a re led 

In paient snaffles, downright idle. 

No, no — it isn't right-line Kings 
(Those sovereign lords in leading-strings 
Who, from their birth, are Faith-Defenders,) 
That move my wrath — 't is your pretenders 
Your mushroom rulers, sons of ear'h, 
Who— not, like t' others, bores by birth, 
Establish'd pratia Dei blockheads, 
Born with three kingdoms in their pockets — 
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops, 

Push up inlo the loftiest stations. 
And, though too dull to manage shops, 

Presume, the dolts, to manage nations ! 

This class it is that moves my gall, 
And stiis up bile, and spleen, and all. 
While other senseless things appear 
To know the limits of their sphere — 
While not a c nv on earth romances 
So much as lo conceit she dances — 
While the most jumping frog we know of, 
Would scarce at Astley's hope to show off — 
Your * * * s, your * •* * s d are, 

Untrain'd as are their minds, to set them 
To any business, any where, 

At any time that fools will let them. 



But leave we here these upstart things - 
My business is, just now, with Kings ; 
To whom, and to their right-line glory, 
I dedicate the following story. 



FABLE, 



The wise men of Egypt were secret as dummies : 
And, ev'n when they most condescended to teach, 

They pack'd up their meaning, as they did their 
mummies, 
In so many wrappers, 'twas out of one's reach. 

They were also, good people, much given to Kings- 
Fond of craft and of crocodiles, monkeys and mys- 
tery; 

But blue-bottle flies were their best belov'd things — 
As will partly appear in this very short history. 

A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they say. 

To that other great traveller, young Aiiacharsis,) 

Stept into a temple at Memphis one day, 
To have a short peep at their mystical farces. 

He saw i a brisk blue-bottle Fly on an altar, 
Made much of, and worshipp'd, as something divine; 

While a large, handsome Bullock, led there in a 
halter, 
Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the shrine. 

Surpris'd at such doings, he whisper'd his teacher — 
"If 'i isn't impertinent, may I ask why 

"Should a Bullock, that useful and powerful creature, 
" Be thus offer'd up to a blue-bottle Fly ?" 

" No wonder''— said t'other — " you stare at the sight, 
" But we as a Symbol of Monarchy view it — 

"That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate Risht, 
"And that Bullock, the People, that's sacrificed 
to it." 



CHURCH AND STATE. 
PROEM. 

'The moment any religion becomes national, or estab- 
lished, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is 
then impossible lo keep it unconnected with men's in- 
terests; and, if connected, it must inevitably be per- 
verted by them."— Soame Jenpns. 

Thus did Soame Jenyns — thoush a Tory, 
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations; 

Fee! how Religion's simple glory 
Isstain'd by S'ate associations. 

When Catherine, ere she crush'd the Poles, 

Appeal'd to the benign Divinity ; 
Then cut them up in protocols. 
Made fractions of their very souls * — 

All in the name of the bies-'d Trinity; 
Or when her grandson, Alexander, 
That mighty Northern salamander.s 
Whose icy touch, felt all about, 
Puts every fire of Freedom out — 
When he, too, winds up his Ukases 
With God and the Panagia's praises — 



29 



* According to JElian, it was in the island of Lcu- 
cadia they practised this ceremony— $vtiv j3ovv ra»j 
/ii'iai;.— be AnimaL lib. ii. cap. 8. 

* Ames, derni-ames, &c. 

3 The salamander is supposed to have the pnw«r of 
extinguishing fiie by its mtural coldness and moisture. 



W 



338 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



When he, of royal Saints the type, 

In holy water dips the spunge, 
With which, at one imperial wipe, 

He would all human rights expunge; 
When Louis (v. hom as King, and eater, 
Some name Dix-huit, and some Dts-huitres,) 
tails down " St. Louis' God," to witness 
The right, humanity, and fitness 
Of sending eighty ihousaud Solons, 

Sages, with muske:s and lae'd coats, 
To cram iuslruc ion, nolens volens, 

Down the poor sti uggiing Spaniards' throati — 
I can't help thinking, (though lo Kings 

1 must, of cour.-e, like other men, bow,) 
That when a Christian monarch brings 
Religious name to gloss these things — 

Such blasphemy out-£eubows Benbow ! 1 

Or — Dot so fai for facts to roam, 
Having a few much nearer home — 
When we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd, 
" Must Ireland's slaves be tith'd, and task'd, 
fc And dnv'u, like »groes or Croats, 

" That you may roll in wealth and bliss?" 
Look from beneath their shovel bats 

Wiih ail due pomp, aid answer "Ves!" 
But then, if ques'ion'J, '-Siall the brand 
" Intolerance flings throughout that land,— 
'• Shall the fierce strife now taught to grow 
" Betwixt her palaces and hovels, 
" he ever queuch'd !■ — fnm the same shovels 
Look grandly torib, and answer " iNo." — 
Alas, alas ! hive that a cl iim 
To merciful Religion's name ? 
If more you seek, go see a bevy 
Of bowing parous at a levee — 
(Choosing your time, when straw's before 
Some apoplectic bishop's do r,; 
'J hen. if th<>u canst, with life, escape 
That rush of lawn, that press of ciape, 
Just witch their rev'rei.ces and graces, 

As on each smirking suitor I. i»ks, 
And say, if those roui.d shining faces 

To heav'n or earth most turn their disks? 

This, this it is — Religion, made. 
Twin Church and State, a truck, a trade 
This most ill-ma'.cb'd, unholy Co., 
From whence the ills we witness flow; 
The war of many creeds with one — 
Th' extremes of too much faith, and none — 
Till, betwixt ancoo trash and new, 
Twixl C:iut and Blasphemy — the two 
Rank ills with which this age is curst — 
We cau no more tell which is worst, 
Than er-l could Egyp , a hen so rich 
In various plague, determine which 
She though! nut pestilent and vile, 
Her frog:, like Benbow and Carlisle, 
Cloaking their native u.uJ-iictes loud, 
Or her fat locusts, like a 
Of plui t ring, 

ightiug aud devouring! — 



This— this it is — and here I pray 

Reviews, 

Who make us poor, dull auto 

No) wluit we mean, but what they choose; 
Who to our most abundant 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 

As caterpillars hnd those flies,* 
Which, not content to sting like devils, 

Lay eggs upou their hacks likewise — 



> A well-known publisher of irreligious books. 

* '" The greatest number of the ichneumon tribe 
»re seen settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and 
darting at different intervals their stings into its tody 
—at every dart they depose an egg."— Gddtmilh, 



To guard against such foul deposits 
Of other's meaning in my rhymes, 

(A thing more needful here, because it Is 
. ticklish in these times; — 

I, here, to all such wits make known, 
Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory 

T is tint Religion — this alone — 
1 aim at in the ioliowing story ; — 



FABLE. 



When Royalty was young and bold, 
Ere, touch'd by 1 ime, he had become- 

If 't isn't civil to say oUL, 
At least, a d-deoaiU joint hommc ; 

One evening, on some wild pursuit, 
Driving along, he chane'd to see 

Religion, passii g by on foot, 
Aud took him in his vis-a-vis. 



This said Religion was a Friar, 

The humblest aud the best of men, 
Who ne'er had notion or desire 

Of riding in a coach till then. 

" I say r — quoth Royalty, who rather 

Enjov'd a masqueiadiug j ke — 
«• 1 say, suppose, uiy good old father, 

" lou leud me, tor a while, your cloak." 

The Friar consented — little knew " 
What tricks the youth had in his head ; 

■ J too 
fiy a lae'd coat he got in stead. 

Away ran Royalty, slap-dash, 
Scampering' like mad about the town ; 

Broke w: -mps to smash. 

And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down. 

While nought could tbey, whose beads were broke, 
Learn of the " why"* or of the u » here fore," 

Except that t was I 
The gentleman, who crack*d them, wore. 

Meanwhile, the Friar, whose heal was turo'd 

By the lae'd coat, giew frfc 
Look 'J big — his i — 

And storm'd about, as great men do : 

Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses — 

Said " d-Biii )ou'' often, or as 
Laid cla m to other 
In sh n, grew either knave, or mad. 

As ir-rk like this was unbefitting. 

And flesh and 1 1 od no 
The t ■ art 

Summun'd he culprits bo h before it. 

Where, af'er hours in wrang 

e well). 

Religion to St. Luke's was 
And Royalty pack'd ofl to Bridewell. 



Religion ne'er to lend hit cloak. 
But not to crack poor people's 1 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



339 



FABLE VI. 

THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. 

PROEM. 

Novella, a young Bnlognese, 

The daughter of a learn'd Law Doctor,! 
Who had with all the subileties 

Of old and modem jurisis stock'd her, 
Was so exceeding fair, 't is said, 

And over hearts held such dominion, 
That when her father, sick in bed, 
Or busy, sent her, in his stead, 

To lecture on the Code Jusliman, 
She had a curl iin drawn before her, 

Lest, if her chaims were seen, the students 
Should let their young eyes wander o'er ber, 

And quite forget their juritprudence.* 

Just so it is with Truth, when seen, 
Too dazzling far,— 't is from behind 

A light, thin allegoric screen, 
She thus can safest teach mankind. 



FABLE. 



In Thibet once there reign'd, we're told, 

A lit'le Lama, one year old — 

Rais'd to the throne, that realm to bless, 

Just when his little Holiness 

Had cut — as near as can be reckon'd — 

Some say hh first tooth, some his second. 

Chronologera and Nur«es vary, 

Which proves historians should be wary 

We only know Ih' important truth, 

His Majesty had cut a tooth. 3 

And much his subjects were enchanted, — 

As well all Lamas' subjects may be, 
And would have giv'n their heads, if wanted, 

To make tee-iotums for the baby. 
Thron'd as he was by Righ' Divine 

(What Lawyers call Jure Divino, 
Meaning a right to yours, and mine, 

And every body's toods and rhino,) 
Of course, his faithful subjects' purses 

Were reidy with their aids and succours'. 
Nothing was seen but pension'd Nurses, 

And the land groan 'd with bibs and tuckers. 

Oh ! had there been a Hume or Bennet, 

Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, 

Ye Gods, what room for long debates 

Upon the Nursery Estimates ! 

What cutiing down of swaddline-clotb.es 

And pm-a fores, in nightly battles ! 
What calls for papers to expo-e 

The*va te of sugar-plums ai d rattles! 
Bui no — if Thibet had M P.'s, 
They were far better bred than these; 
Norgave the slighte-t opposition, 
During the Monarch's whole dentition. 



But short this calm ;— for, just when he 
Had reach'd th' alarming age of three, 
When R \al natures, auJ, no doubt, 
Those of all noble beasts break out — 
The Lama, who till then was quiet, 
Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot ; 
And, ripe for mischief, early, late. 
Without regard for Church or State, 
Made free with whos e'er came nigh ; 

Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by the nose, 
Tum'd all the Judges' wigs awry, 

And trod on the old Generals' toes; 
Felled the Bishops with hot buns, 

Rode cock horse on the City maces, 
And shot from little devilish guns. 

Hard peas into his subject' laces. 
In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, 

And grew so mischievous, God bless him ! 
That his Chief Nurse— with ev'n the aid 
Of an Archbishop — was afraid, 

When in these moods, to comb or dress him. 
Nay, ev'n the persons magi iuclin'd 

Through thick and thin, for Kings to stickle, 
Thought him (if they 'd but speak tlieii mind, 

Which they did nut) an odious pickle. 



At leng'h some patriot lords — a breed 

Of animals they 've got in Thibet, 
Extremely rare, and lit, indeed, 

For folks like Pidcck, to exhibit — 
Some patriot lords, who saw the length 
To which things went, combiud their streugth, 
Ai:d penn'd a manly, plain and free 
Remonstrance to the Nursery ; 
Protesting warmly that they yielded 

To none, ihat ever went before 'em, 
In loyalty to him who wielded 

Th' hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em; 
That, as f.r treason, 't was a thin? 

That made them almos' sick to think of— 
That they and theirs si* od by the King, 

Throughout hi> measles and his chin-cough, 
When oihers, thinking him consumptive, 
Had ratted to the Heir Pre-umptive ! — 
But. still — though much admiring Kings 
(And chiefly those in leading-brings), 
Thev saw, with shame and grief of soul, 

There was no longer now the wise 
And constitutional con rol 

Of bitch before their ruler's eyes; 
But that, of late, such pranks, and tricks, 
And fieaks i ccurrM the whole day long, 
As all, bul men with bishopricks. 

Allow \J, in ev'n a King, were wrong. 
Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd 

Thai Honourable Nursery, 
That such reforms be henceforth made, 

As all go- d men dtsir'd to see; — 
In other words (let they might seem 
Too tedious), as the gentlest scheme 
For pulling all such pranks to rest. 

And in its bud the mischief nipping — 
Thev venlur'd humbly to sueeest 
His Majesty should have a whipping. 



i Andreas. 

3 Quaud il etoit occupe d'aucune essoine, il envoy- 
oit Novella, sa fille, en son lieu lire aux escholes en 
charge, et, atin que la biaule d'elle n'empechat la 
pensee des oyants, elle avoil une petite cour ine de 
vani ell?. — Christ, de Pise, Cite des Dames, p. 11 
cap. 36. 

3 See Turner's Embassy to Thibet for an account 
of his interview with the Lama. — "Teshoo Lama 
(he says) was at this lime eighteen mouths old. j 
Though he was unable to speak a word, he made the j 
most expressive signs, aid conducted himself with, 
astonishing dignity and decorum." 



When this was read, no Congreve rocket, 

Discharg'd into the Gallic trenches, 
E'e' equailM the tremendous shock it 

Pm luced upon the Nursery benches. 
The Bishops, who of course had votes, 
Bv right of age and petticoats, 
Were first and foremost in the fuss — 

" What, whip a Lama ! suffer birch 

* To touch his sacred infamous ! 

" Deistical '. — assailing thus 

" The fui.damenals of the Church \ — 
"No — no — such patriot plans as these, 
" (So help them Heaven- and their Sees 
" They held to be rank blasphemies." 



340 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



Th' a'arm thus given, by the*e and olher 

Grave ladies of 'he Nursery side, 
Spread through the laid, till, such a pother, 

Such par y squabbles, fir and wide, 
Never in history's | age had teen 
Recorded, as were then between 
The Whippers and Non-whippers seen. 
Till, things arriving at a stale, 

Which gave some fears of revolution, 
The patriot lords' advice, though late, 

Was [iut at last in execution. 
The Parliament of Thibet met — 

The little Lama, call'd before it, 
Did, then and there, his whipping get, 
And (as the Nursery Gazette 

Assures us) like a hero bore it 

And though, 'mong Thibet Tories, soma 
Lament that Royal Martyrdom 
(Plea-e to observe, the letter D 
In this last word's pronounc'd like B), 
Yet to th' example of that Prince 

So much is Thibet's land a debtor, 
That her long line of Lamas, since, 

Have all behav'd themselves much better 



FABLE VII. 



THE EXTINGUISHERS. 



PROEM. 

Though soldiers are the true supports. 
The natural allies of Courts, 
Woe to the Monarch, who depends 
Too much on his rtd coated friends ; 
For even soldiers sometimes think — 

Nay, Colonels have been known to 
And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 
Or red, or blue, are on the brink 

(Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 



Not many soldiers, I believe, are 

As fond of liberty as Mina ; 
Else— woe to Kings, when Freedom's fever 

Once turns into a Scarletina! 
For then — but hold — t is best to veil 
My meaning in the following tale : — 



F ABL1 



A Lord of Persia, rich and great, 

Just come into a large estate. 

Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbours, 

Close to his gate, some rascal Gbebers, 

Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 

In heretic combustion rose. 

But Lords of Persia can, no doubt. 

Do what ihey will — so, one fine morning, 
He turn"d the rascal Ghebers out, 

First giving a few kicks for warning. 
Then, thanking heaven most piously, 

He knock'd their Temple to the ground, 
Blessing himself for joy to see 

SuchF-agan ruins strew 'd around. 
But much it vex'd mv Lord to find, 

That, while all else ohey'd his will, 
The Fire these Gbebers left behind, 

Do what he would, kept burning still. 
Fiercely he storm d, as f bis frown 
Could scare the bright insurgent d »vn ; 
But. no — such fires are headstrong things, 
And care sot much for Lords or Kings. 



Scarce could his Lordship well contrive 
The flashes in one place to smother, 

Before — hey presto: — all alive. 
They sprung up freshly in another. 



At length when, spite of prayers and damns, 

'T was found the sturdy flame defied him, 
His stewards came, with low salarns, 
Offering, by contract, to provide him 
Some large Extinguishers, (a plan, 
Much us'd, they said, at Ispahan, 
Vienna, Petersburgh — in short, 
Wherever Light "a forbid at court,) 
Machines no Lord should be without, 
Which would, at once, put promptly out 
All kinds of tire-,— from slariug, stark 
Volcanos to the tiniest spark ; 
Till all things slept as dull and dark, 
As, in a great Lord's neighbourhood, 
»T was right and fitting all things should 



Accordingly. »ome large supplies 
Of these Ertii guishers were furnish'd 

(All of the true Imperial size), 
And there, in row?, stood black and burnish 'd, 

Ready, where'er a gleam but shone 

Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on. 

But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs, 
In trusting to extinguishers ! 
One day, when he had left all sure, 
(At least, so thought he) dark, secure — 
The flame, at all its exits, entries, 

Obstructed to his heart's content, 
And black exfii.gui--hers, like sentries, 

Plac'd over every dangerous vent — 
Ye Gods, imagine his amaze, 

His wrvh, his rage, when, on returning, 
He f .iuud not only the old blaze. 

Brisk as befoie, crackling and burnings 
Not only ne "rations, 

Popping up round in various stations — 
But, still more awful, strange, and dire, 
Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire ! '. « 
They, they — those trusty, blind machines 

His Lordship liad so long been praising. 
As, undei Providence, the means 

Of keeping down all lawless blazing, 
Were now, rtiemsehes — alas, too true 
The shametul fact — turn'd blazers too, 
And, by a change as odd a< cruel, 
Instead'of dampers, served fur fuel.' 



Thus, of his only hope bereft, 

" What," said the great man. " must be done ?"— 
All that, in scrapes like this, is left 

To great men is — to cut and run. 
So run he did ; while to their grounds, 

The bauish'd Ghebers blest retnrn'd ; 
And, though their Fire had broke its bounds, 

And all aire ad iow wildly burn'd. 
Yet well could they, who lov\l he flame, 
Its "and'ring. its excess reclaim; 
And soon another, fairer D me 
Arose to be its sacred home, 
Where. cherishtt, guarded, not confin'd, 
The living glory dwelt enshrin*d, 
And, shedding Tustre strong, but even. 
Though born'of earth, grew worthy heav'n. 



I The idea of this Fable was caught from one of 
those brilliant mot.', which abound in the conversa- 
tion of my friend, the author of he - Letters to Julia," 
— a production which contains s me of the happiest 
specimens of playful poetry that have appeared is 
this or any age. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



341 



MORAL. 

Tbe moral hence my Muse infers 
Is, Ibat such Lords are simple elves, 

In trusting lo Extinguishers, 
That are combustible themselves. 



FABLE VIII. 

LOD1S FOURTEENTH'S WIG. 

The money rais'd — the army ready — 
Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy 
Valiantly braying in the van, 
To the old .uue " Eh, eh, Sire Ane ."' » — 
Nought wanting-, but some coup dramatic, 

To make French sentiment explode, 
Bring in, at once, the gout fanatic. 

And make the war " la derniere modi 1 '' 
Iustantly, at the Paullon Marsan, 

Is held an Ultra consultation — 
What 's to be done, to help the farce on ? 

What stage-effect, what decoration, 
To make this beauteous France forget 
In one, grand, glorious pirouette, 
All she had sworn to but last week, 
And, with a cry of " Magnifique!" 
Rush for'h to this, or any war, 
Without inquiring ouce — " What for ?» 

After some plans propos'd by each, 

Lord Chateaubriand made a speech, 

(Quoting, to show what men's rights are, 
Or rather what men's rights should tie, 

From Hobbes, Lord Castlereagh, the Czar, 
Aii! other friends 10 Liberty,) 

Wherein he — having first proiested 

'Gains! humouring the mob — suggested 

(As the most high-bred plan he saw 

For giving the new War eclat) 

A grand, Baptismal Melo-drame, 

To be got up at Notre Dame, 

In which the Duke (who, bless his Highness J 
Had by his hilt acquir'd such fame, 

'T was hop'd that he as little shyness 

Would show, when to jAe point he came), 

Should, for his deeds so lion-hearted, 

Be christen'd Hero, ere he started ; 
With power, by Royal Ordonnance, 
To bear that name — at leasl in Fiance. 
Himself — the Viscount Chateaubriand — 
(To help lh' affiir with more esprit on) 
Offering, for this baptismal rite, 

Some of his own fim'd Jordan water 3 — 
(Marie Louise not having quite 

Used all that, foryoung Nap, he brought her,) 
The baptism, in this case, to be 
Applied to that extremity. 
Which B 'Urbon heroes most expose ; 
And which (as well all Europe knows) 
Happens to be, in this Defender 
Of the true Faith, extremely tender.3 



Or if (the Viscount said) this scheme 
loo rash and prema! ure should seem — 
It thus discounting heroes, on lick — 

This glory, by anticipation, 
Was too much in the gc7jre romantiquC 

For such a highly classic naiion, 
He begg'd to say, the Abyssiniaus 
A practice had 'in (heir dominions, 
Winch, if at Paris got up well, 
In full cslume, was sure to tell. 
At all srea: epochs, good or ill, 

They have, says Bruce (and Bruce ne'er budget 
From the strict truth,) a Grand Quadrille 

In public dane'd by the Twelve Judges* — 
And, he assures us, the grimaces, 
The entrechats, the airs and graces 
Of dancers, so profound and stately 
Divert the Abyssmians greatly. 

" Now (said the Viscount), there 's but few 
"Great Empires, where this plan would do: 
" For instance, England ; — lei them take 

•' What p. ins they would— "t were vain lo strive— 
"The twelve stiff Judges there would make 

" The worst Quadi ilie-set now alive. 
" Oue must have seen them, ere one could 
"Imagine properly Judge Wood, 
"Performing, in his wig, so gaily, 
" A qucue-de-chat with Justice Bailey ! 
"French Judges, though, are, by no means, 
" This sort of s'iff, be-wieg'd machines ; 
" And we, who 've seen them at Saumur, 
"And Poitiers lately, may be sure 
" They'd dmce quadrilles, or anything, 
" That would be pleasing to the King — 
"Nay, stand upon their heads, and more do, 
" To please the little Duke de Bordeaux '." 

After these several schemes there enne 

Some others — needless now to name, 

Since that, which .Monsieur plann'd, himself, 

Soon dooni'd all others to the shelf, 

And was receiv'd par acclamation, 

As truly worthy tbe Grande Nation. 

It seems (as Monsieur told the story) 

That Louis the Fourteenth, — that glory, 

That Coryphee of all crow n'd pates,— 

That pink of the Legitimaes — 

Had, when, with many a pious pray'r, he 

Bequeath'd unto ihe Virgin Mary 

His marriage deeds, and cordon Weu* 

Bequeath'd to her his State Wig too — 

(An offering which, at Court, 'I is thought, 

The Virgin values as she ought) — 

That Wig, the wonder of all eyes, 

The Cynosure of Gallia'> skies, 

To watch and tend whose curls ador'd, 

Rebuild its towering roof, when flat, 
And round its rumpled base, a Board 

Of sixty Barbers daily sat.n 



» They celebrated in the dark ages, at many 
churches, particularly at Rouen, what was called the 
Feast of the Ass. On this occasion the ass, finely 
drest. was brought before the altar, and they sung be- 
fore him this elegant anthem. "Eh, eh, eh, Sire Ane, 
eh, eh, eh, Sire Ane." — IVarton's Essay on Pope. 

3 Brought from the river Jordan by M. Chateau- 
briand, and presented to the French Empress for the 
christening of young Napoleon. 

S See the D\ike's celebrated letter to madame, writ- 
ten during his campaign in 1S15, in which he says, 
" I'll le posterieur legerement eudommage." 

29* 



4 "On certain great occasions, the twelve Judges 
(who are generally between six'y and seventy years 
of age) sing tbe song and dance the figure-dance," &C. 
— Book v. 

' " Louis XIV. fit present a la Vierge de son cordon 
bleu, que I'on conserve soigneusement, et lui envoya 
ensuite. son Contrat de Mariage et le Traite des Pyre 
nees. magnifiquement relie." — Memoires, Anecdotes 
pour servir, &c. 

6 The learned author of Recherches Histnriques sur 
Us Perruqites says that the Board consisted nf but forty 
— the same number as Ihe Academy. " Le plus beau 
tenis des perruques fu» celui ou Louis XIV. commenca 

a porter, lui-meme, perruque; On ignore 

I'epoque ou se fit cette revolution ; mais on sait quelle 
engagea Louis le Grand a y donner ses soins paternels, 
en creant, en 1656. quirante cliaiges de perruquiers, 
suivant la cour ; et en 1673, il f>rma un corps de deux 
cents perruquiers pour la Ville de Paris." — P. 111. 



342 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD 



With Subs, or State-Days, to assist, 
Well pensicu'd from the Civil List : — 
That wondrous Wig, array'd in which, 
And form'd alike to awe or witch, 
He beat all other heirs of crowns, 
In taking mistresses and towns, 
Requiring but a shot at one, 
A smile at I' other, and t was done ! — 

" That Wig (said Monsieur, while his brow 
Rose proudly,; " is existing now ; — 
"That Grand Ferruque, amid the fall 

'•Of every other Kojal glory, 
" With curls erect survives them all, 

"And tells in every hair their story. 
"Think, think, how welcome at this time 
" A iclic, so belov'd, sublime ! 
" What woithier standard of the Cause 

" Of Kingly High! can France demand f 
" Or who among our ranks can pause 

" To guard it, while a curl shall stand ? 
" Behold, my friends — (while thus he cried, 
A Curtain which couceal'd this piide 
Of Princely Wigs wis drawn aside) 
" Behold that Grind Ferruque — how big 

" With recollections for the world — 
«' For Fiance — f r us — Great Louis' Wig, 

"By Hippolyte « new frizz'd and curl'd — 
" New frizz'd ! alas, 'I is but too true, 



1 Well may you s:art at that word new — 

'But such the sacrifice, my friends, 

'Tb| Imperial Cossack recommends; 

1 Thinking such snull concessions sage, 

' To niee; the spirit of the age, 

'And do what best that spirit flarers, 

'In Wigs— if not in weightier matters. 

'Wherefore, to please the'Czar, and show 

'That we too, much-wrong d Bourbons, know 

' What liberalism in Mouarchs is, 

1 We have conceded the New Friz! 

'• Thus arm'd, ye galiant Ultras, say, 

' Can men, can Frenchmen, fear the fray ? 

' With this proud relic in our van, 

'•And D'Angouleme our worihv leader, 
'Let rebel Spain do all she can, ' 

" Let recreant Eng.and arm and feed net, 

Urg-d by ihat pupil of Hum's school, 
1 That Radical, L-rd Liverpool — 
1 France can have nought to fear— far from it— 

'• When i.nce aslouuded Europe sees 
' The Wig of Louis, like a Comet, 

'■ Streaming above ihe Pyrenees, 
1 All 's o"er with S| ain — then on, my sons, 

"Un, my inc mpaiable Duke, 
1 And, shooting for the Holy Ones, 

" Cry Vive la Guerre — tt la Perruqut ."' 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD, 

EXTRACTED FROM THE JOURNAL OF A TRAVELLING MEMBER OF 
THE POCO-CURANTE S C IE T Y, 1819. 



The greater part of the following Rhymes were 
written or composed in an old caleche, for the pur 
pose of beguiling the ennui of solitary travelling 
and as verses, made by a gentleman in his sleep, have 
been lately railed "a psycJiological curiosity," it is to 
be hoped that verses, composed by a gentleman to 
keep himself awake, may be honoured with some 
appellation equally Greek. 



INTRODUCTORY RHYMES. 
Different Attitudes in which Author* compose. — 
Bayes, Henry Stephens, Herodotus, $-c.— Writing 
in Bed — in lite Fields. — Plato and Sir Richard 
Blackmore.— Fiddling with Gloves and Twigs.— 
Madame de StaeL— Rliyming on the Road, in an 
old Caleche. 

What various attitudes, and ways 

And tricks, we authors have in wri'ing! 
While some »rite silting, some, like Bayes, 

Usually sh.nd, while they're inditing. 
Poets Ihere are, who wear Ihe fl.-.or out, 

Measuring a line at every stride ; 
While some, like Henry Stephens, pour out 

Rhymes by the dozen, while they ride.4 
Herodotus w rote most in bed ; 

And Ricberand, a French physician, 
Declares the clock-work of Ihe head 

Goes best in that reclin'd position. 



If you consult Montaigne' and Pliny on 
The subjec, 1 is their joint 
That Thought i's richest harvest yields 
Abroad, among Ihe woods and fields; 
That bards, who deal in small retail, 

At home may, at their c unter-, stop; 
But ha the grove, the hill, Ihe vale, 

Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. 
And, verily, I think they 're right — 

For, many a time, on summer eves, 
Just at that closing hour of light, 

When, like an eastern Frmce. who leaves 
For distant war his Harani bowers. 
The Sun bitls faiewell to Ihe flowers, 
Whose heads are sunk, w hose 'ears are flowing 
M.d all the glory ol his goiiitr ! — 
Lv'n / have fell, te .tath those beams, 

When wand'ring through the fields alone, 
Th 'Ujtrs, fancies, m'ellectuil gle.Tm-, 

Which, far too bright to be my own, 
Seem'd lent me by the Sunny Power, 
That was abroad at that still hour. 

If thus I 've felt, how mm' they feel. 

The few, whom genuine Genius warms; 
Upon whose souls he stamps his seal, 

Graven » i'.h Beauty's countless forms ; — 
The few upon this earth, who seem 
B th to give tiu'h to Pl>to's d i earn. 
Since in their thoughts, as in a glass, 

Shadows of heavenly things a) ; 
Reflections of bright shapes that pass 

Through other worlds, abeve our sphere ! 



" Mes p*ns?es dormen'. si je les assis.* — Man 
Pleraque sua carmina equilans composuit.— P ara- taigne. Animus sonini qui in aperto aere ambulant, 
vtcin. Singular. I attollitur. — Pliny. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD 



343, 



But this reminds me I digress ; — 

For Plato, too, pr duc'd, *I i- said, 
(As one, ir.deed, might almos' guess,) 

Hia glorious rbiniia all in bed.* 
'T was in his carnage the sublime 
Sir Richard B ackmore used lo rhyme; 
: the wits don't d> him wrong) 
Twnt death" 1 ai.d epics i,as- d his t.me, 

Scribbling and killing all day long- 
Like Phot-bits in bis car, at esse, 

Now v.arbhtg forth a lofty song, 
Now murdering the yoiiug Niobes. 

There was a hem 'mong the Danes, 
Who wrote, we 're 'old, 'mid all the pains 

And horrors of exenteration, 
Nine charming odes, which, if you '11 look, 

You'll rind preserv'd. with a translation, 
By Bartholinus in his b«vfe 3 
In short, 1 were endless to nci'e 
1 he various modes >n which men write. 
Some wirs are o Ij in the mind, 

When beaus .and belles are round them prating j 
Some, when they dre-s for dinner, rind 

Their muse and vale! both in waiting; 
And manage, at the selfsame time, 
To' adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. 

Some bards there are who cann< t scribble 
Without a ■ uibble; 

Or a small i wig to whisk about — 

fancy, 
Like wells of old, «ere thus found ont 

By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. 
Such was the little feathery wand,* 
That, held for ever in the hand 
Of her.* who won and wore the crown 

Of female genius in this age, 
Seem'd the co.-.ductor, that drew down 

Those words of lightning to her page. 

As for myself— to come, a 1 bat, 
To the' odd way in which / write — 

nnploy'd these few mouths past 
Caieriy in traveling, day and night, 

1 've sot into the easy mode. 

Of rhyming thus along the road — 

Making a way-bill of my pages. 

Counting my stanzas by "my stages — 

Tw nt lays and rf-lai^s no time toe — 

In short, in two words, writing post 



EXTRACT I. 

Genera. 

View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jrtra.*- 

Anxious to reach it before the Sun went down. - 



t The only authority I know for imputing this 
practice f» Plato and Herodotus, is a Latin poem by 
61. de Valois on his Bed, i;i which he <a;.s : — 



* Sir Richard Blaekmore was a physician, as well 
as a bad poet. 

a EaJem cura nee min^res in'er erucia'us animam 
infelicem agenti foil Asbiorno Prudae Danieo heroi, 
cum Bruso ipsam, iutestina exrahei §, inimaniter 
torqueret, tunc enim iwrem c.armina cecinit, &c— 
Bartholin, de Causis Contenift. ilatt. 

* Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather. 

* Madame de Stael. 

6 Between Vattav and Gex. 



Obliged to proceed on Foot.—Alft. — ilont £ 
— Effect of the Scene. 

>T was late — the sun had almost shone 
His last and best, when I ran on, 
Anxious to reach that splendid view, 
Before the day-beams quite withdrew ; 
And feeling as all feel, on first 

Approaching scenes, where, they are told, 
Such glories on their eyes will burst, 

As youthful bards in" dreams behold. 



'T was distant yet, and, as I ran, 

Full of en was my wistful gaze 
Tur .'d to 'he sun, who now began 

To call in all his ou -post rays, 
And form a denser march of light, 
Sucb as beseems a hero's flight. 
Oh. how i wish'd for Joshua's power, 
To st y the brightness of that hour ! 
But no — the sua still less became, 

DiminisVd to a sj eck. as splendid 
And small as we: ; flame, 

That cm th' Apes' les' heads descended ! 

'T was at this instant — while there glow'd 

This last, in'e: sest gleam of light — 
Suddenly, through the opening r ad, 

The valley burst upon my sight! 
That glorious valley, with its Lake, 

And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, 
Miilitv, and pure, and fit to make 

The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling. 

I stood entrancM — as Rabbins say 
This whole assembled, gazing world 

Will stand, upon that an ful d iv, 
When the Ark's Light, al ft unfurl'd, 

Amoug the opening clouds shall shine, 

Divinity's own radhni sign! 

Mighty Mont Blanc, thau wert to me. 

That minute, with thy bro« in heaven, 
As sure a sign of Dei'y 

As e'er to mortal gaze was given. 
Nor ever, were 1 destined yet 

To live my life twice o'er again, 
Can I the deep-felt awe forget, 

The dream, the trance that rapt me then! 

T was all that consciousness of power 

And life, beyond this mortal hour ; — 

Tho-e mountings of the soul within 

At thoughts <f Heav'n — as birds begin 

By instinct in the case 'o rise, 

When near their time for change of skies ;- 

That proud assurance of our claim 

To rink among the Sons of Liih', 
Mingled with shame — oh bitter shame !- 

At having risk'd that splendid right, 
For aught that earth through all its range 
Of glories, offers in excr 
'T was all this, at that ia-tant brought. 
Like breaking sunshine, o'er my thought — 
»T was all this, kindled to a glow 

Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 
Thus purely ever, man might grow, 

F.v'n upon earth, a !!ii, g divine, 
And be, once more, the creature made 
To walk uns'ain'd th' Elysian sh.de! 

No, never shall I lose the trace 

Of what I 've felt in this bright place. 

A; d, should mv spirit's hope" grow weak, 

Should I, oh God, e'er doubt thy power, 
This migh'y scene again I'll seek, 

At the same calm and glowing hour, 
And here, at the sublimest shrine 

That Nature ever rear'd to Thee, 
Rekindle all that hope div.ne, 

And feel my immortality ! 



344 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



EXTRACT II. 

Geneva. 

fATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 1782. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Yes — if there yet live some of those, 
Who, when this small Republic rose, 
Quick as a startled hive of bees, 
Against her leaguering enemies — » 
When, as the Royal Satrap shook 

His well-known fetlers at her gates, 
Ev'n wives and mothers arm'd, and took 

Their stations by their sons and mates ; 
And on these walls there stood — yet, no, 

Shame to the traitors — would have stood 
As firm a band as e'er let flow 

At Freedom's base their sacred blood ; 
If those yet live, who, on that night, 
When all were watching, girt for fight, 
Stole, like the creeping of a pest, 
From rank to rank, from breast to breast, 
Filling the weak, the old with fears, 
Turning the heroine's ztal to tears, — 
Betraying Honour to that brink, 
Where, one step more, and he must sink — 
And quenching hopes, which, though the last, 
Like meteors on a drowning mast. 
Would yet have led to death more bright, 
Than life e'er lor.k'd, in all its light ! 
Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms 

Throughout th' embattled thousands ran, 
And the high spirit, late in arms, 
The zeil that might have work'd such charms, 

Fell, like a broken talisman — 
Their gates, that they had swom should be 

The gales of Deith, that very dawn, 
Gave passage widely, bloodlessly, 

To the proud foe — nor sword was drawn, 
Nor ev'u one martyr'd body cast 
To stain their foots'eps, as they pass'd j 
But, of the manv sworn at night 
To do or die, some fled ;he sight, 
Some stood to look, with sullen frown, 

While some, in impotent despair, 
Broke their bright armour and lay down, 

Weeping, upon the fragments there ! — 
If those, I say, who brought that shame, 
That bla-t upon Geneva's name, 
Be living still — though crime so dark 

Shall hang up, fix'd and unforgiven, 
In History's page, th' eternal mark 

For Scorn to pierce— so help me, Heaven, 
I wish ihe traitorous slaves no worse, 

No deeper, deadlier disaster, 
From all earth's ills no fouler curse 

Than to have •#*»#»##*#* their master 



EXTRACT III. 

Geneva. 

Fancy and Truth. — Hippomene* and Atalanta. 

Mont Blanc — Cloud*. 

Even here, in this region of wonders, I find 
That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind ; 



» In the year 17S2, when the forces of Berne, Sar- i 
dinia, and France laid siege io Geneva, and when, f 
after a demonstration of heroism and self-devotion, 
which promised to rival the feats of their ancestors in 
1602 .'gainst Savoy, the Genevans, either panic-struck 
or betrayed, to the surprise of all Europe, opened 
their gates to the besiegers, aid submitted without 
a struggle to the extinction of their liberties. — See an 
account of this Revolution in Coxe's Switzerland. 



Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray 
By the golden illusions he flings in her way .3 

What a glory it seem'd the first evening I gaz'd I 
Mont Blanc, like a vision, then suddenly rais'd 
On the wreck of the sunset — and all his array 

Of high-towering Alps, louch'd still with a light 
Far holier, purer than that of the Day, 

As if nearness to Heaven had mads them so bright 
Then the dying, at last, of these splendours away 
From peak after peak, till they left but a ray, 
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, 

O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly hong, 
Like the last sunny siep of As'rsea, when high 

From the summit of earth to Elysium she sprung ! 
And those infinite Alps, stretching out from the sight 
Till they mingled with Heaven, now shorn of their 

light, 
Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the sky, 
Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by ! 

That scene — I have view'd it this evening again, 
By the same brilliant lieht tbat hungover "it then — 
The valley, the lake intheir tenderest charms — 

Mont Blanc in his awfullest pomp— and the whole 
A bright picture of Beauty, reclin'd in the arms 

Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul! 
But where are the mountains, that round me at first, 
One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst? 
Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling on 
Like the waves of eternity — where are they gone? 
Clouds— clouds — they were nothing but clouds, after 
all! 3 
That chain of Mont Blancs, which my fancy flew 
o'er. 
With a wonder that nought on (his earth can recall, 
Were but clouds of the evening, and now are no 
more. 

What a picture of Life's young illusions! Oh, Night, 

Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all from my 

sight. ^ ^ ' 



EXTRACT IV. 



The Picture GaUery.— Albano't Rape of Proterpine. 
— Reflection*. — Universal Salvation. — Abraham 
lending away Agar, by duercino. — Genius. 

Went to the Brera — saw a Dance of Loves 
By smooth Albano ; * him, whose pencil teem* 

With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves 
The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams. 

Tis for the theft of Enna's flower i from earth, 
These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth 



3 nitidique cupidine pomi 

Declinat cursus, aurumque volubile tollit. 

Ovid. 

* It is often very difficult to distinguish between 
clouds and Alps: and on the evening when 1 first 
saw this magnificent scene, Ihe cloud's were so dis- 
posed along ihe whole horizon, as to deceive me into 
an idea of the stupendous extent of these nioun'aius. 
which my subsequent observation was very far, of 
course, from confirming. 

* This picture, the Agar of Guercinn, and the ; 
Apostles of Guido (the two latter of winch are now 
the chief ornaments of the Brera), were fonueilv in 
the Palazzo Zanipieri at Bologna. 

* that fair field 

Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, ! 
Herself a fairer flower, by gloonry Bis was 
gather'd. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



345 



Round the gTeen tree, like fays upon a heath — 

Those, that are neares', link'd in order bright, 
Cheek after cheek, like rcse-buds in a wreath ; 
And those, more distant, showing from beneath 

The others' wings their little eyes of light. 
While see, among the cloud?, their eldest brother, 

But just fldwo up, tells with a smile of bliss 
This piank of Pluto to his charmed mother, 

Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss ! 

Well might the Loves rejoice — and well did they, 

Who wove these fables, picture, in their weaving, 
That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day, 

Origen Inst his saintship for believing,!) — 
That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray 

Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast, 
Ev'n to the depths of hell will find his way, 

And soothe, and heal, and triumph there at last I 



Like sunshine in the drop— with all those dyes, 
Which Fancy's variegating prism supplies. 

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd 

Wiih all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, 
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd 

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet mai- 
ness. 
But where to choose the region of my vision 

n this wide, vulgar world — what real spot 
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian 

For two such perfect lovers, I know not. 
Oh for some fair Formosa, such as he, 
The young Jew, fabled of, in the' Indian Sea, 
Bv nothing, but its name of Beauty, known, 
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own, 
Her fairy kingdom — take its people, lands, 
And tenements into her own bright hands. 
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit 
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite! 



Guercino's Agar — where the bond-maid hears 

From Abrani's lips that he and she must part J 
And looks at him with eyes all full of tears, 

That seem the very last drops from her heart. 
Exquisite picture ! — let me not be told 
Of minor faults, of colouring tame and cold — 
If thus to conjure up a face so fair,* 
So full of sorrow ; wiih the story there 
Of all that woman suffers, when the stay 
Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls auay- 
If thus to touch the bosom"s tenderest spring, 
By calling into life such eyes, as bring 
Back to our sad remenibr >nce some of those 
We 've smil'd and wept with, in their joys and woes, 
Thus filling them with tears, like tears we 've known, 
Till all the pictur'd grief becomes our own — 
If this be deem'd the victory of Art — 

If thus, by pen or (itncil, to lay bare 
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart 

Before all eyes, be Genius — it is there ! 



EXTRACT V. 

Padua. 
Fancy and Reality. — Rain-drops and Lakes.— Plan 
of a Story. — Where to place the Scene of it. — In 
tome unknown Region. — Psalmanazar's Impos- 
ture with respect to the Island of Formosa. 

The more I've view'd this world, the more I've 
found, 

That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, 
Fancy commands, within her own bright round, 

A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. 
Nor is it that her power can call up there 

A single charm, that 's not from nature won, 
No more thin rainbows, in their pride, can wear 

A single hue unborrow'd from the sun — 
But 't is the men'al medium it shines through, 
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue ; 
As the same light, that o'er the level lake 

One dull monotony of lusire rlin^s, 
Will, eniering in the rounded rain-drop, make 

Colours as gay as those on Peris' wings! 

And such, I deem, the difference between real, 
Existing Beauty and that form ideal, 
Which she assume?, when seen by poets' eyes, 



* The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even 
to the regions of the damned. 

3 It is probable that 'his fine head is 



EXTRACT VI. 

Ven.ce. 
The Fall of Venice not to be lamented. — Former 
Glory.— Expedition against Constantinople.— Gi- 
ustinianis. — Republic. — Characteristics of the old 
Government.— Golden Booh.— Brazm Mouths.— 
Spies. — Dungeons. — Present Desolation. 

Mourn not for Venice — let her rest 
In ruin, 'mong those States unblest, 
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, 
Where'er they trampled, Freedom died. 
No — let us keep our tears for them, 

Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been 
Not from a blood-stain'd diadem, 

Like that which deck'd this ocean-queen, 
But from high daring in the cause 

Of human Rights — the only good 
And blessed strife, in which man draws 

His mighty sword on land or flood. 

Mourn not for Venice ; though her fall 

Be awful, as if Ocean's wave 
Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, 

And Justice triumphs o'er her grave. 
Thus perish'd ev'rv King and State, 

That run the guilty race she ran, 
Strong but in ill. and inly great 

By outrage against God and man ! 

True, her high spirit is at rest, 

And all those days of glory gone, 
When the world's waters, east and west, 

Beneath her white-wing'd commerce shone; 
When, with her countless barks, she went 

To meet the Orient Empire's mighl,3 
And her Giustinianis sent 

Their hundred heroes to that fight.4 

Vanish'd are all her pomps, 't is true, 
But mourn them not — for vanish'd, too, 

(Thanks to that Power, who, soon or late, 

Hurls to the dust the guihy Gieat,) 
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud, 

The chains, the rapine, and the blood, 
That fill'd each spot, at home, abroad, 

Where the Republic's standard s'ood. 



3 Under (he Doge Michaeli, in 1171. 
« "La famille entiere des Justiniani, l'une des plus 
illustres de Venise, voulut marcher toute en iere dans 
portrais, as cette expedition; ellefnurnit cent combattans; c'etait 
we find it epeated in a picture by G lercino, which renouveler l'exemple dune illusiie famille de Rome ; 
is in the possession of Signor Camuccini, the brother , le meme malheur les attendait."— Histoire de Vinis*, 
of the celebrated ainter at Rome. par Daru. 



[346 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



Desolate Venice '. when I track 

Thy haughty course through centuries back; 

Thv rii'Lless jr-.ue , obey'd hut curst — 

Tiie. stern machinery of thy State, 
Which hatred would, Ike steam, have burst, 

Had a stronger fe>r not chill d ev'n hate; — 
Tliv perfidy, shil worse than augh; 
Thy own unb ushing Sarpi ' aught;— 
Thy friendship, which, oVr all beneath 
It- shadow, ron'd down dews of death;* — 
Thv Oligarchy's Bo k of Gold, 

Clos'd asa nst humble Virtue's name,3 
But oiiei'd wide far slaves who sold 

I heir na ive land to thee and shame;* — 
Thy all-pervading host of sp es. 

Watching o'e' eve y glance and breath, 
Till men lo l;'d in each ot ers' eyes, 

To read Ihtii chance of life or'desth; — 
Thy laus, Ilia' made a marl of bio d. 

And legalized the assass n's knife; 6_ 
Thy sunless cells beneath 'he flood, 

And racks, and Leads.s ihat burnt out l.fe ;- 



l The ce'eb'ated F'a Paolo. The collection of 
Maxims wh'ch this bold monk drew up a' the request 
of ihe Venetian G verum. nt f r the guidance of the 
Secrei Inquisition of Stale, are so uTocioui a= to seem 
ra'her an over-charged sa ire upon despo'ism, than a 
sys em of policy, seriously inculcated, and but loo 
readilv and constantly pursued. 

The spirit, in which these maxims of Fa'her Paul 
are conceived, may be judged from the instruction 
which he give* for the management of the Venetian 
colonies and province-. Of (he former he savs: — 
"II faut les tiaiter c mme des animaux fence-. Its 
rogner les dents, el les grille-, les humilier s uvent, 
surtout leur oler les occasions de s'aguernr. Du pain 
et le baton, voila ce qu'il leur faut ; gaidons I'huma- 
nite pour une meilleuie occasion. "' 

For the treatment of the provinces he advises thus : 
— '-Tendre a depouiller les villesde leurs privileges, 
faire que les banians rfappauvriesent, et que leurs 
biens soient achelet . Can qui, dans 

les consei s municipiux. se moutreront ou plus auda- 
cieux ou plu- devoues aux interets de la population, il 
f nit les perdre ou les gag er a quelqi.e prix que ce 
soil : enfin. i'il sc (rounc dan' let provinces quclques 
chtfsdi parti, Q faut Us e xtcr miner sou sun prelate 
qutlconqut, matt ui cvitatit dt rccourir a la justice 
ordinaire. Que le poison fasse Vvffice dt baurreau, 
ccla est mains odieux et bcauccup plus profitable* 

1 Conduct of Venict' towards her allies and depen- 
dencies, particularly 'o unf rtuna'e 1'aJua. — Fate of 
Francesco Carrara, for which see liaru, vol ii. p. 141. 

3 ''A I'exceplion des (rente ci'adinsadmis augrand 
cnnseil pendant la guerre deChiozzi, il n'e-l pasarrive 
une seule foia que les Mens ou les services aient paru 
a ceite noblesse orgueilleu-e des litres sufEsans pour 
s'asseoir avec elle." — Daru. 

* Among those admitted to the honour of being in- 
scribed in the Libra d'oro were some families of Hres- 
cia Treviso. and other places, whose only claim to 
that distinction was the zeal with which they pros- 
trated themselves and Iheir country at the feet of Ihe 
republic. 

s By the infamous statutes of the Stale Inquisition,* 
not only was assassination recognized as a regular 
mode of punishment, but this secret power over life 
was delegavd to their minions at a distance, with 
nearly as much facility as a license is given under the 
game laws of England The only res ricion seems 'o 
have been the necessity of applying for a new certifi- 
cate, after every individual exercise of the power. 

* M. Daru has given an abstrac 1 of these S'atutes, 
from a manuscript in Ihe Bblio deque du Roi, and it 
is hardly credible thai such a system of treachery and 
cruelly should ever have been established l-y any go- 
vernment, or submitted lo, for an instant, by any 
people. Among various precautions against the in- 



When I review all this, and see 

The doom that now bath fali'n on thee; 

Thy nobles, towering once so proud. 

Themselves beneath the joke now bow'd,— 

A yoke, by no oi-e grace redeem'd. 

Such is, of old, around hee beam'd, 

But mem and base as e'er yel gall'd 

Earth's tyrants, when, them elves, enthrall'd 

I feel Ihe moral vengeance swee', 

And, smiling o'er Ihe wreck, repeat 

"Thus perish every King and Slate, 

'•That tread the steps which Venice trod, 
" Strong but in ill, and only great, 

"By outrage agaiust man and God 1" 



EXTRACT VII. 

Venice. 
Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself. — Reflec- 
tions, when about to read them. 

Let me, a moment.— ere with fear ^nd hope 
Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves I ope — 
A- one, in fairy iale, to whom the key 

Of some enchanter's secre' hails is given, 
Doub's, while he en'ers, slowly, tremblingly, 

If he shall meet with shape- from hell or heaven- 
Let me, a moment, think » hat thou-ands live 
O'er the wide ear h this ins'ant, who would give, 
Gladly, whole sleeple s nights to bend Ihe brow 
Over ihese precious leaves, as I do n rw. 



trigues of their own Nobles, we find the following: — 
'• Pour persuader aux e rangers qu'il etait difficile; et 
dangereux d'enlreleoir qielqu' intrigue secrete avec 
les nobles Venitiens, on iuiagina de faire avertir mis- 
terieu-ement le Nance du Pape (alio que les autre* 
miuisiresen fussent informes) que I'lnquisi ioo avait 
au'orise le- patriciens a p -ignarder quiconque essaie- 
rait de tenter leur fidelile. Mais craignaul que les 
anibsatadeers ne preta-sent fbi diffitilemeal a urie 
deliberation, qui en effet n'exi-tait pas, 1'lnquisition 
voulait prouverqu'eile en e'ait capable. Elle ordonna 
des recherches pour decouvrir s'll n'y avait pas daus 
Venise quelqne exile au-de-sus du comniun, qui eut 
rompu son ban ; ensuile un des patriciens qui e'aient 
aux gages du tribunal, recut la mission d'a«-as-iner ce 
malheureux, et I'ordre de s'en vaster, en disa.it qu'il 
s'elait p rle a cet acle, parce que ce bai ni eUil ["agent 
d'un ministre e'rar.ger, et avait cherche a le coriom- 
pre ^ — •• Remarquons." adds M. Daru. '• que ceci 
n'est pas une simple anecdote ; e'est une mission pio- 
jeiee, deiiberee. ecrite d'avance ; une regie de con- 
duce tracee par des hommes graves a leurs succes- 
seurs, el consignee dans des - 

The r-ises, in which assassina'ion is ordered by 
these S atules, are as follow : — 

" L'n ouvrier de I'arsenal, un chef de ce qu'on ap- 

pelle p rmi les marms le menstrance. pas-ail il au 

service dune puissance eiiangere: il fallait le faire i 

. surtout si c e'ait un homnie repute brave I 

et habile dans sa profession.*— (.Art 3 des Staluts.) | 

"Avait-il commis quelqne action qu'on ne jugeait I 
pas a prop sde punir juridiquement,on devait le faire ! 

i't. 14.) 

" l'n arii-an passai'-il a letranger en y exportant 
quelque pn cede de I industrie nali-nale: c e'ait en- 
core un crime capital, que la loi inennue ordonnait j 
de punir par un aa 26.) 

The facility with which they got nd of their Duke 
of Bedford-, Lord Fi'zwilliams, ftc. was admirable: I 
it was thus — 

" Le patricien qui se rermettait | e moindre propos 
centre le gouvemement, e'ait admonete deux fbiss et ■ 
a la troisieme noye comme incorrigible."— {Art. 39.) j 

s " Les prisons des plombs ; c'esi-a-dire ces four- 
naises a denies qu'on avai dis'ribuees eu petites eel- ' 
i luJe sous les terras?** qui couvrenl le palais.» 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



347 



How all who know — and where is he unknown ? 
'■ To what far region have his songs not flown, 
Like Psai, hon's birds,' speaking their master's name, 
In ev'rv language, syllabed bv Fame ? — 
How ail, who've felt (lie vari >us spells combin'd 
Within the circle of thai master-mind,— 
Like spell*, deriv'd from many a star, and met 
T geiher in some wond'rous amulet — 
Would burn lo know when first the Light awoke 
In his young soul, — and if the gleams that broke 
From that Aurora of his genius, rais'd 
Most pam or bliss in ihose on whom they blaz'd; 
Would love to irace th' unfolding of that power, 
Which hath grown ampler, grander, every hour; 
And feel, in watching o'er his first advance, 

As did th' Egyptian traveller,* when he stood 
By the young Nile, and fathom'd with his lance 

The first small fouutains of that mighty flood. 

They, too, who, mid the scornful thoughts that dwell 

In his rich fancy, tinging all i:s streams,— 
As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell 

On earth of old,3 hid touch'd them with its 
beams,— 
Can track a spirit, which, though driven to hate, 
I From Nature's hands came kind, affecti nate ; 
And which, ev'n now, struck as it is with b ight, 
Comes out, at times, in love's own native light ; — 
How gladly all, who've w atch'd these struggling rays 
Of a bright, ruind spirit through his lays, 
Would heie inquire, as from his own frank lips, 

What desolating grief, what wrongs had driven 
That noble nature into cold eclipse ; 

Like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven, 
An/1 bom, not only to surprise, but cheer 
Wit ti warmth and lustre all within its sphere, 
Is now so quench'd, that of its grandeur lasts 
Nought, but the wide, cold 6hadow which it casts ! 

Eventful volume ! whatsoe'er the change 

Of scene and clime— th' adventures, bold and 

strange — 
The griefs— the frailties, but too frankly told — 
The loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold, 
If Truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks 

His virtues as his failings, we shall find 
The record there of friend-hips held like rocks, 

And enmities, like sun-touch d snow, resign'd; 
Of fealty, cheri-h'd without change or chill, 
Ir. tho-e who -erv'd him. young, and serve him still ; 
Of generous aid, giv'n with that noiseless art 
Which wakes not piide, to many a wounded heart; 
Of acts — but, no — net from himself must aught 
Of the bright features of his life be sought. 
While they, who court the world, like Milton's 

cloud,* 
" Turn forth their silver lining" on the crowd, 
This gifted Being wraps himself in night ; 

And, keeping ail that softens, and adorns, 
And gilds his social natuie hid from sight, 

Turns but its darkness on a world he scorns. 



EXTRACT VIII. 

Venice. 
Female Beauty at Venire. — No longer what it von 



» Psaphnn, in order to attract the attention of the 
world, taught multitudes of birds lo speak his name, 
and then let them fly away in various directions; 
whence the proverb, " Psaphonis aves." 

* Bruce, 

* "And the name of the s'ar is called Wormwood, 
and the third part of the waters became wormwood." 
— Rev. viit. 

* "Did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night ?" 

Comus. 



in the Time of Titian. — His Mistress.— Various 
Forms in vohicli he has painted her.— Venus. — 
Divine and profane Love.— La Fragilita d'Mmore. 
— Paul Veronese. — His Women. — Marriage of 
Cana. — Character of Italian Beauty. — Raphael 
Fornarina. — Modesty. 

Thy brave, thy learn'd, have past away : 
Thy beautiful ! — ah, where are they ? 
The forms the faces, that once shone, 

Models of grace, in Titian's eye, 
Where are they now ? while flowers live on 

In ruin'd places, why. oh why 

Must Beauty thus with Glory die? 
That maid, whose lips would still have mov'd, 

Could art have breath d a spirit through them; 
Whose varying charms her artist lov'd 

More fondly every time he drew them, 
(So oft beneath his touch they pass'd, 
Each semblance faiier than the last ; 
Wearing each sh ipe that Fancy's range 

Otfeis 10 Love— yet still the one 
Fair idol, seen ihrough every change, 

Like facets of some orient stone, — 

In each the same bright image shown. 
Sometimes a Venus, unarray'd 

But in her beaut> 6 — sometimes deck'd 
In costly raiment, as a maid 

Thai kings might for a throne select.6 
Now high and proud, like one who thought 
The world should at her feet be brought ; 
Now, with a look reproachful, sad.i — 
Unwonted look fiom brow so glad; — 
And telling of a pain too deep 
For tongue lo speak or eye> to weep. 
Sometimes, through allegory's veil, 

in double semblance seen to shine, 
Telling a strange and mvstic tale 

Of Love Profane and Love Divine 8 _ 
Akin in features, hut in heart 
As far as earth and heav'n apart. 
Or else (by quaint device to prove 
The frailty of all worldly love) 
Holding a globe of glass, as thin 

As air-blown bubbles, in her hand, 
With a young Love confin'd therein. 

Whose wings seem waiting to expand — 
And telling, by her anxious eyes, 
That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies ! s 

Thou, too, with touch magnificent, 
Paul of Ver na ! — where are they, 

The oriental forms, 10 that lent 
Thy cinvass such a bright array? 

Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress 

Seems part of their own loveliness; 



* In the Tribune at Florence. 

6 In the Palazzo Pitti. 

i Alludes particularly lo the portrait of her in the 
Sciana collection at Rome, where the look of mourn- 
ful reproach in those full, shadowy eye', as if she 
had been unjustly accused of something wrong, is 
exquisite. 

8 The fine picture in the Pahzzo Borghese. called 
(it is not easy to say why) ''Sacred and Profane 
Love," in which the two figures, sitting on the edge 
of the fountain, are evidently portraits of the, same 
person. 

9 This fanciful allegory is the subject of a pic'ure 
by Titian in the possession of the Marquis Cambian 
at Turin, whose c llection, though small, contains 
some beautiful specimens of all the great masters. 

to As Paul Veronese gave but little into the beau 
ideal, his women may be regarded as pretty clone 
imit i ions of the living models which Venice afford- 
ed in his time. 



348 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



Like the sun's drapery, which, at eve, 
The floating clouds around him weave 
Of light they from himself receive! 
Where is there now the living face 

Like those that, in Ihy nuptial throng,* 
By their superb, voluptuous grace, 
Make us forget the time, the place, 

The holy gues's they smile among, — 
Till, in ihat feast of heaven-sent wine, 
VVe see no miracles but thine. 

If e'er, except in Painting's dream, 

There bloom'd such beauty here, 't is gone,- 
Gone, like the face that in the stream 

Of Ocean for an instant shone, 
When Venus at that mirror gave 
A last look, ere she left the wave. 
And though, among the crowded ways, 
We oft are startled by the blaze 
Of e>es that pass, with titful light, 
Like fire-flies on the wing at night,* 
T is n t hat nobler beamy, given 
To show how angels look in heaven. 
Ev'n in its sh»pe most pure and fair, 

'T is Beauty, w it h but half her zone,— 
All that can warm the Sense is there, 

Kui the Soul's deeper charm is flown : — 
T is Raphael's Fornarina,— warm, 

Luxuriant, arch, but uurefin'd ; 
A Mower, round which the noontide swarm 

Of young Desires may buzz and wind, 
But where true Love no treasure meets, 
Wonh hoardiDg in his hive of sweets. 

Ah no,— for this, and for the hue 

Upon the rounded cheek, which fella 
How fresh, within the heart, this dew 

Of Love's unrifled sweetness dwells, 
We must go back lo our own Isles, 

Where Modesty, which here but gives 
A rare and transient grace to smiles, 

In the heart's holy centre live-; 
And thence, as from her throne diffuses 

O'er thoughts and 1> oks so bland a reign, 
That not a thought or feeling loses 

Its freshness in that gentle chain. 



EXTRACT IX. 

Venice. 
The English to be met with everywhere. — Alps and 
Threadneedle Street —The Simplon and the Stocks. 
— Rage for travelling. — Slue Stockings among the 
Wahabees.— Parasols and Pyramids.— Mrs. Hop- 
kins and the Wall of China. 

And is there then no earthly place. 

Where we can res', in die.im Elvshn, 
Without some curst, round English face, 

Popping up near, to break the vision ? 
'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, 

Unholy cits we're dnom'd to meet; 
Nor highest Alps nor Apennines 

Are sacred from Threadneedle Street! 

If up the Simplon's path we wind, 

Fancying we leave 'his world behind, 

Such plea-ant sounds salute one's ear 

As — " Baddish news from Change, my dear — 

" The Funds — (phew, curse this ugly hill} — 

" Are lowering fast — (w hat, higher still ?/ — 



i The Marriage of Cana. 

2 " Certain it is (as Arthur Young truly and feeling- 
ly says) one nowaud then meets with terrible eyes in 
Italy." 



*' And — (zooks, we 're mounting up to 
" Will soon be down to six'v seven." 

Go where we may — rest where we will, 

Eternal London h:iui>ts us still. 

The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch — 

And scarce a pin's head difference which - 

Mixes, though ev'n to Greece we run, 

With every rill from Helicon ! 

And, if this rage for travelling lasts, 

If Cockneys, of all sees and caste*, 

Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, 

Will leave their puddings and coal fires, 

To g'pe at things in foreign lands, 

No soul among them understands; 

If Blues desert their coteries, 

To show off 'mong the Wahabees; 

If neither sex nor age controls, 

Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids 
Young ladies, with pink parasols, 

To glide among the Pyramids 3 — 
Why, then, farewell all hope to find 
A spot, that 's free from London kind ! 
Who knows, if to the West we roam, 
But we may find -ome Blue "at home" 

Among the Blacks of Carolina — 
Or, flying to the Ea.-tward, see 
Some Mrs Hopkins taking tea 

And toast upon the Wall of China ! 



EXTRACT X. 

Mantua. 
Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband, 

They tell me thou 'rt the favour'd guest « 

Of every fair and brilliant throng; 
No wit, like thine, to wake the jest, 

No voice like thine, to breathe the song. 
And none could gue-s. so gay thou art, 
That thou and I are far apart. 
Alas, alas, how different flows, 

With thee and me the time away ! 
Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows — 

Still, if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
I only know that w i'h'iut thee 
The sun himself is dark for me. 

Do I put on the jewels rare 

Thou 'st always 1 iv'd 'o «ee me wear? 

Do 1 perfume'the locks that thou 

So oft bast braided o'er my brow, 

Thus deck'd, through festive crowds to run, 

And all th' assembled world to see, 
All but the one, the absent one, 

Worth more than present wortdi to me ! 



s It was pink spencers. 1 believe, that the imagina- 
tion of the French traveller conjured up. 
« Utque feru.t la'us convivia laeta 

Et celebra_< lentis otia misa jocis; 
Aut cithara a?s'ivum at'enuas can uque calorem. 

Hei mihi, quam dispar nunc mea vita tua? ! 
Nee mihi displiceantquas sun' tibi graa; sed ipsa est, 

Te sine, lux oculis pene inimica meis. 
Non auro aut eemn.a capu' exornare nitenti 

Me jmat, aut Arabo spargere odore comas : 
Non celebres luJos fastis spectare diebus. 

***** 
Sola tuos vultus referens Riphaelis imago 

Ficta manu, curas allera 
Huic ego delioas ficio. arr.droque jocorqne, 

AHoquor e! tanqnam reddere verba queat 
Assensu nutuque mihi saei e ilia v detur 

Deere velle aiquid et tua verba lcqui. 
Agnoscit balboqne parem pner ore salutaU 

Hoc solor longas decipioque dies. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



349 



No, within; cheers this widow'd heart — 
My only joy, from thee apart, 
From thee thyself, is siitnii hours 

And davs, befure thy pictur'd form — 
That diea'm of thee, which Raphael's power* 

Ha\e made with ail but life-breath warm! 
And as I smile 10 it, and say, 
The words I speak to Ihee in play, 
1 fancy from their silent frat:;e, 
Those eyes and lips give back the same ; 
And still X gaze, and still they keep 
Smiling thus on me — till I weep! 
Our little b >y, too, knows it well, 

For there I lead him every day, 
And leach his lisping lips to tell 

The name of one that 's far away. 
Forgive me, love, but thus alone 
My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone. 



EXTRACT XI. 

Florence. 
No — 't is not the region where Love 's to be found — 
They have bosoms that sigh, they have glances that 
rove, 
They have language a Sappho's own lip might 
resound, 
When she warbled her best — but they've nothing 
like Love. 

Nor is 't that pure sentiment only they want. 
Which lleav'n for the mild and the tranquil bath 
made — 

Calm, wedded affection, that home-rooted plant, 
Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles in the shade ; 

That feeling, which, after long years have gone by, 
Remains, like a portrait we 've sat for in youth, 

Where, ev'n though the flush of the colours may fly, 
The features still live, in their first smiling truth; 

That union, where all that in Woman is kind, 
With all that in Man most ennobhngly towers, 

Grow wreath'd into one — like the column, combin'd 
Of the strength of the shaft and the capital's 
flowers. 

Of this— bear ye witness, ye wives, everywhere, 
By the Arno, the Po, by all Italy's streams — 

Of this heart-wedaed love, so delicious to share, 
Not a husband bath even one glimpse in his 
dreams. 

But it if not this, only ;— born full of tbe light 
Of a sun, from whose fount ihe luxuriant festoons 

Of these beau'iful valleys drink lusire go bright, 
That, beside him, our suns of the north are but 
moons,— 

We might fancy, at least, like their climate they 
burn'd ; 
And that Love, though unus'd, in this region of 
spring, 
To be thus to a tame Household Deity turn'd, 
Would yet be all soul, when abroad on the wing, 



Such fi's of the blood as those clima'es impart, 
Where Love is a sun-stroke, that maddens the 
fiame. 



Wh"se beginnings are virjinly pure as the source 
Of some small mountain rivulet, destiu'd to roll 
As a torrent, ere long, losing peace in its course 



A course, to which Modesty's struggle but lends 
A more headlong descent, without chance of re- 
call ; 

But which Modesty ev'n to the last edge attends, 
And, then, throws a halo of tears round its fall ! 

This exquisite Passion — ay, exquisite, even 
Mid the ruin its madness too often hath made, 

As it keeps, even then, a bright trace of the heaven, 
That heaven of Virtue from which it has stray'd — 

This entireness of love, which can only be found, 
Where Woman, like something that s holy, watch'd 
over, 

And fenc'd, from her childhood, with purity round, 
Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, to a lover! 

Where not an eye answers, wherejjot a hand presses, 
Till spirit with spirit in sympathy move; 

And the Senses, asleep in their sacred recesses, 
Can only be reach'd through the temple of Love '. — 

This perfection of Passion — how can it be found, 
Where the mystery nature hath hung round the tie 

By which s<>uls are together attructed and bound, 
Is laid open, for ever, to heart, ear, and eye ; — 

Where nought of that innocent doubt can exist, 
That ignorance, even than knowledge more bright, 

Which circles the young, like 'he morn's sunny mist, 
And curtains them round in their own native 
light ;— 

Where Experience leaves nothing for Love lo reveal, 
Or for Fancy, in visions to gleam o'er Ihe thought ; 

But the truths which, aloiie, we would die to conce.il 
From the maiden's young heart, are the only oues 
taught. 

No, no, 't is not here, howsoever we sigh, 

Whether puiely to Hymen's one planet we pray, 

Or adore, like Saba?ans, each light of Love's sky, 
Here is not the region, to fix or to stray. 

For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross, 

Without honour to guard, or reserve to restrain, 

What have they, a husband can mourn as a loss ? 
What have they, a lover can prize as a gain ? 



EXTRACT XI I. 

Florence. 
Music in Italy.— Disappointed by it.— Recollections 

of other Times and Friends.— Dalton Sir John 

Stevenson. — Bis Daughter. — Musical Evenings 
together. 

***** 
If it be true that Music reigns, 

Supreme, in Italy's soft shades, 
'T is like ibit Harmony, so famous, 
Among the spheres, « hich, He of Samos 
Declai'd, had such transcendent merit, 
That not a soul on earth could hear it ; 
For, far as I have come — frnm Lakes, 
Whose sleep 'he Tramontane breaks, 
Through Milan, and that land, which gave 

Tbe Hero of ihe rainbow vest^ — 
By Mincio's banks, and by that wave," 

Which made Verona-'s bard so blest — 
Places, that (like Ihe Attic shf.re. 

Which rung back music, when the sea 
Struck on its marge) shiuld be, all o'er, 

Thrilling alive with melody — 



i Bergamo — the birth-place, it is said, of Harle- 
ain. 
2 Tbe Lago di Garda. 



30 



350 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



I 've beard no music — not a note 
Of such sweet native airs as float, 
In my own land, among the th:0Dg, 
And speak our naiion's soul for soug. 

Nay, ev'n in higher walks, where Art 
Performs, as 't were, the gardener's part, 
And richer, if not sweeter, makes 
The flow'rs she from the wild-hedge takes — 
Ev'n there, no voice bah charm d my ear, 

No tasie ha h won my perfect praise, 
Like thine, dear friend » — long, truly dear — 

Thine, and thy lov'd Olivia's lays. 
Sbe, always beautiful, aud growing 

Stiil more so every note she sings — 
Like an inspir'd young Sib\ 1.2 glowing 

With her own bright imaginings ! 
And thou, most worthy to be tied 

In music to he^ as in love, 
Breathing that language by her side, 

All oiher language far above, 
Eloquent Song— whose tones and words 
In every heart find answering chords 

How happy once the hours we past, 

Singing or listening all da\ long, 
Till Time itself seem'd chang'd, at last, 

To music, and we liv'd in song! 
Turning the leaves of Haydn o'er, 

As quick, beneath her master hand, 
They open'd all their brilliant store, 

Like chambers, touched by fairy wand; 
Or o'er the page of Mozart bending, 

Now by his airy warnings checr'd, 
Now in his mournful Requiem blending 

Voices, through which the heart was heard. 

And si ill, to lead our evening choir, 
Was He invok'd, thy l-vd-oue's Sire* 
He, win., if aught 01 grace (here be 

In the wild uoles I write or sing, 
First smooth'd their links of harmony, 

Aud lent tbem charms 'hey did not bring; 
He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, 
With whom, employ'd in his sweet art, 
(That ar', which gives this world of ours 

A no ion bow they spe >k in heaven,) 
I've pass'd soon bncht aud charmed hours 

Than all earth's wisdom could have given. 
Oh, happy days, oh, early friends, 

How Life, since then, hath lost its flowers ! 
Rut yet — ihough Time some foliage rends, 

The stem, the Friendship, still is ours ; 
And long may it eudure, as green, 
And fresh as it bath always been ! 

How I have wandcr'd from my theme 1 

But where is he, that could return 
To such cold subjec's from a dream. 

Through which these best of feelicgsbum?- 
Not all the works of Science, Art, 

Or Genius in ihis wot Id are worn 
One genuine sigh, that from the heart 

Friendship or Love draws treshly forth. 



EXTRACT XIII. 

Rome. 
Reflection* on reading De Cerctau's Account of the 



Conspiracy of Rie7izi, in 1347.* — The Meeting of 
Vie Consj.ira.tors on tlie fright of the 19rA of May. 

— Thtir Precession in the Morning to the Capital 

— Riuizi's Speech. 

'T was a proud moment — ev'n to hear the words 

Of Truth and Freedom 'mid Ihese temples breath' J, 
And see, once more, Ihe Forum shine with swords, 

In Ihe Republic's sacred name uu.-bea h'd — 
That glimpse, that vision of a brighter day 

For his dear Rome, must to a Roman be, 
Short as it was, worth ages past away 

In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 

T was on a night of May, beneatb that moon, 
Which had, through many an age, seen Time 
The strings of this Great Empire, till it fell 
From his rude hands, a broken, silent shell — 
1 he sound of the church clock,-' near Adrian's Tomb, 
Summon'd the warriors, who bad riseu for Rome, 
To mee : unarm'd, — will) none to watch them there, 
But God's owd eye, — and pass the night in prajer. 
Holy beginning of a holy cause, 
When heroes, girt for Fieedom's combat, pause 
Before high Heav'n, and, bumble in their might. 
Call down its blessing on that coming hgbt. 

At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot band ; 
And, as the breeze, fresh from Ihe liber, fanu'd 
Their giided gonfalons, all eyes could see 

The palm-tree there, the sword, the keys of 
Heaveu* — 
Types of the justice, peace, and liberty, 
1 hat » ere to bless ihein, when their chains were 
riven. 
On to the Capitol the p-.geant mov'd, 

While many a Shade of other times, that still 
Around ihat grave of grandeur sighing rov'd, 

Hung o'er their footsteps up the Sacred Hill, 
And heard its mournful echoes, as the last 
High-minded heiis of ihe Republic pa-s'd. 
'T was then that thou, their Tribune, ' (name which 

bro ght 
Dreams of lost gloy to each patriot's though!,) 
Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shali seek 
To wake up in her sous agalu, thus speak : — 
"Romans, look round you — on this sacred place 
" There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike 
men. 
" What see you now ? what solitary trace 
'• Is left of ail, that made Rome's glory ibeo ? 



i Edward Tuite Dalton, the first husband of Sir 
John Stevenson's daughter, the late Marchioness of 
Head fort. 

* Such as those of Domenichino in the Palazzo 
Borgbese, at the Capitol, &c 

* Sir John Stevenson. 



« The "Conjuration de Nicolas Gabrini, dit de 
Rienzi,'' by the Jesuit De Cerceau, is chiefly taken 
from Ihe much more authentic work of Fonifincca 
on the same subject. Rienzi was the son cf a laun- 
dress. 

* It is not easy to discover what church is meant by 
Du Cerceau here: — "II fit crier dans les rues de 
Rome, a son de tronipe, que chacun eut a se trouver, 
sains amies, la nuit du lendemaiu, dix reuvieme. dans 
Peghse du cha eau de Samt-Ange, au sonde la cloche, 
ahu de pout voir au B 

6 •' Les gentilshomines conjures portaient devant 
- 
ion disrur. porlait le piemier. qui etait de 

; J qne les au'.rcs. On y voyait des 
caiac^ert- — e sur deux lions, 

tenant dune main le gh be du monde, et de lautre 
line Palme ) our representer la ville dl 
C'etait le G nfalon tie la I l.afrnds 

b!a c, avec un St. Paul tenant de la drnjtt 
Due et de la gauche l< c .uronnedc-' 
par E i. 

. ere avait en man ttj i '. 
Concorde et de la 1'aix. ; le de» 

seiu de R enzi. qui etait Je retablir la liberie la jus- 
tice et la ra.x '— Du Citccau, li». ii. 

I Mass* 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



351 



" The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount rerefl 

" Ev'n of its Dame — and nothing now remains 
" Bui the deep memory of that glory, left 

" To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! 
" Bui shall this be ? — our sun and sky the same, — 

"Treading the very soil our fathers Irode, — 
" What withering curse hath f.rll'n ou soul and frame, 

* What visitation hath there come from God, 
" To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, 
" Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves ? 
" It cannot be— rise up, ye mighty dead, — 

" If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
"These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread, 

" Till all but Romans at Home's lameness blush ! 

" Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, 

" Where only date-trees sigh and serpents hiss; 
"And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 

" For the stork's brood, superb Fersepolis ! 
"Thrice happy both, that your extinguish'd race 
"Have left no embers — ro half-living trace — 
" No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, 
" Till past renown in present shame's forgot. 
" While Rome, the Queen of all, whose very wrecks, 

" If lone and lifeless through a desert hurl'd, 
" Would wear more true magnificence than decks 

" The' assembled thrones of all the' existing world — 
" Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, slain'd and curst, 

"Through every spot her princely liber laves, 
"By living human things — the de.dliest, worst, 

"This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves! 
"And we — oh shame! — we, who have pouder'd 
o'er 

" The patriot's lesson and the poet's lay ; » 
" Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 

" Tracking our country's glories all tlie way — 
"Ev'n toe have tamely, basely kiss'd the ground 

"Before Ihat Papal Power,— that Ghost of Her, 
"The World's Imperial Mistress — sittme, cro.wi'd 

" And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulchre '. » 

"But this is past: — too long have lordly priests 
" And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 

"Withering about us — like devoted beasts, 

" Dragg'd to the shrine, with laded garlands tied. 

"'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks! 

" Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 

" The Genius of the Old Repub.ic, free 

" As first he stood, in chainle>s majesty, 

" And sends his voice through a-es yet to come, 

" Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome.!" 



EXTRACT X IV. 

Rome. 

Fragment of a Dream. — The great Painters sup- 
posed to be Magicians. — The beginnings of the 
Art.— Gildings on the Glories and Draperies.— Im- 
provements under Giotto, SfC—The first Dawn of 



The fine Canzone of Petrarch, beginning "Spirlo 
il," is supposed, by Voltaire and others, to have 



i The 
gentil," is supp 

been addressed to Rienzi ; but there is much more 
evidence of its having been written, as Ginsuene 
asserts, to the youn» Stephen Coli una, on Ins t.eing 
created a Senator of Rome. Tint Petrarch, however, 
was filled wilh high and patriotic hopes by the first 
measures of this extraordinary man, appear* from 
one of his letters, quoted by Du Cerceau, where he 
says, — "Pour tout dire, en un mot, j'attes'e, non 
comme lecteur, mais comme temoin oculaire, qu'il 
nous a ramene le jus'ice, la paix, la bonne foi, la 
tecurite, et tous lea auires ves'iges de I'age d'or." 

* This image is borrowed from Hobbes, whose 
words a^e, as near as I can recollect:— "For what is 
the Papacy, but the Glinst of the old R ;man Empire, 
sitting crowned on the grave thereof?" 



the true Style in Masaccio. — Studied by all iht | 
great Artists who followed him. — Leonardo da ! 
Vinci, with whom commenced the Golden Age of 
Painting.— His knowledge of Mathematics and of ; 
Music — His female Heads all like each other.— j 
Triangular Faces.— Portraits of Mona Lisa, S,-c 
—Picture of Vanity and Modesty.— His chef-d'eeu- 
vre, the Last Supper. — Faded and almost effaced. 

Fill'd with the wonders I had seen, 

In Rome's stupendous shrines and halls, 
1 felt the veil of sleep, serene, 
Come o'er the memory of each scene, 

As twilight o'er he landscape falls. 
Nor was it slumber, sound and deep, 

But such as suits a poet's rest — 
That sort of thin, trai sp.rent s.eep. 

Through which his day-dreams shine the best. 
Melhought upon a plain 1 stood, 

Where ceriain wondrous men, 'twas said, 
Wilh strange, miraculous power endu'd, 

Were comma:, each in turn, to shed 
His arts' illusions o'er the sight, 
And call up miracles of light. 
Ihe sky above his lonely place, 

Was of that cold, unceriain hue, 
The canvass wears, ere, warm'd apace, 

Its bright creation dawns to view. 

But soon a glimmer from the east 

Proclaim'd the first enchantments nigh; 3 
And as the feeble light incrers'd, 

Strange figures niov'd across the sky, 
Wilh golden glories deck'd, and streaks 

Of gold among their garments' dyes ; * 
And life's resemblance ting'd their cheek-, 

But nought of life was in their eyes; — 
Like the fresh painted Dead one meets, 

Borne slow along Rome's mournful streets. 

But soon these figures pass'd away ; 

And forms succeeded to their ; lace, 
With less of gold, in I heir array, 

But shining wilh more natural grace, 
And all could see the charming wands 
Had pass'd into more grf ed hands.* 

Among ihese visions there was one,6 
Surpassing fair, on which the sun, 
That instant risen, a beam let fall, 

Which through the dusky twilight trembled, 
And reacli'd at length, ihe spot where all 

Those great magicians s'ood assembled. 
And as they turn'd their heads, to view 

The shining lu-tre, I could trace 
The bright varieties it threw 

On each uplifted studying face; 1 



3 The paintings of those arti-ts who were intro- 
duced into Venice and Florence fiom Greece. 

* Margaritone rf Orezzo, who was a pupil and 
imita' r r of ihe Greeks, is said to have invented this 
art of gilding the ornaments of pictures, a practice 
which, though it gave way to a purer taste at the 
beginning of the 16 h century. »as s'lll occasionally 
used by many of the great masters : as Ly Raphael in 
the ornaments of the Forrrarina, and by Rubens not 
unfrequently in glories and llames. 

5 Cimabue. Giotto, &c. 

6 The works of Masaccio. — For the character of 
this powerful and original genius, see Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds's twelfth discourse. His celebrated frescos are 
in the church of St. Pictro del Carmine, at Florence. 

1 All the great artists studied, and many of them 
borrowed from Masaccio. Several figures in the Car* 
toons of Raphael are taken, with but little alteration, 
from his fiescos. 



352 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



While many a voice with loud acclaim, 
Call'J for'h, " Masaccio" as the name 
Of him, the' Enclian er, who had rais'd 
This niir.icle, on which all gaz'd. 

T was daylight now— the sun had risen, 

From out the dungeon of old Night,— 
Like the Apostle, from his prison 

Led by the Angel's h >nd of light ; 
And — as the fet ers, when that'ray 
Of glory reach'd them, diopp'd away,* 
So fled the clouds at touch of day ! 
Just then, a beat tied sage 2 came forth, 

Who oft in th ugh'ful dteam would stand, 
To tiace upon the du=ky earth 

S range learned figures with bis wand ; * 
And oft he to k the silver lute* 

His little page behind him bore, 
And wak'd such mu^ic as, when mote, 

Left in the soul a thirst for more ! 



le, his op 

And forms and faces, that from out 
A depth of shadow mildly shone, 

Were in the soft Mr seen about. 
Though thick as midnight stars tbey beam'd, 
Yet all the living sisters seemd. 
So close, in every poin', resembling 

Each other's beauties — from the eyes 
Lucid as if through crystal trembling, 

Yet soft as if suffused with sigh-, 
To the long, fawn-tike mouth, and chin, 

Lovelily tapering, less and less, 

Till, by this veiy chirm's eicess, 
Like virtue on the verge of sin, 

It toucli'd the bounds of ugliness. 

Here look'd as when they liv'd the shades 
Of some 'f Arno's dark-ey'd maids — 
Such maids as should alone live on, 
In dreams thus, when their charms are gone: 
Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes 

A pam'er for whole years might gaze,* 
Nor find in all his pallets dyes. 

One that could even approach their blaze I 

Here float two spirit shapes^ the one, 
With her white fingers to the sun 
Ou!s| read, as if to ask hi- ray 
Whether it ere had chanc'd to play 
On lilies half so Etir as they ! 
Thh self-pleas'd nymph, was Vanity — 
And by her side another smiPd, 

In f 'rm as beautiful is she, 
But with that air, subdu'd and mild, 

That s'ill reserve of purity, 
Which is to beauty like the haze 

Of evening t ■< some sunny view, 
Softening such charms as it displays, 



and his 



» "And a light shined in the prison . . 
chains fell off from his hands." AcU. 

* Leonardo da Vinci. 

* His treatise on Mechanics, Optics, &c, 
in the Ambrosian library at Milan. 

* On dit que LeonarJ paiut pour la premiere 
la cur de Milan, dins un espece de encours ouvert 
entre les meilleurs joueurs de lyre d'ltalie. II se pre- 

senta avec une lyre de sa facon.construit en argent 

Histoire de la Peinture en Italic. 

* He is said to have been four years emploved upon 
the portrait of this fair Florentine, with ut being able, 
after all, to come up to his idea of her beauty. 

« Vanity and Modesty in the collection of Cardinal 
Fesch, it Rome. The composition of the four hands 
here is ra'her jwknrd. tut the picture, altogether, is 
very delightful. There is a repetitiou of the subject 
in the possession of Lucien Bonaparte. 



And veiling others in that hue, 
Which fancy only can see through ! 

This phantom nvmpb, who could sue be, 

But the bright Spirit, Modesty ? 

Long did the learn'd enchmter stay 

To weave his spells, and s'ill there pass'd 
As in the lantern's shifting play, 
Gmup after group in close array, 

Each fairer, grander, than the last 
But the great triumph of his power 

Was yet to come : — gradual and slow, 
(As all that is ordain'd to tower 

Among the works of man must grow,) 
The sacred vision stole to view, 

In that ha f light, half shadow shown, 
Which gives to ev'n the gayest hue, 

A sobefd, melancholy tone. 

It was a vision of that last,* 
Sorrowful night uhich Jesus pas'd 
Wi'b lis disciples when he said 

Mournfully to them — ' I stall be 
" Betray 'd by one, who here bath fed 

"This night at the same board with me." 
And though the Saviour, in the dream 
Spoke no: these words, we s<w them beam 
Legibly in his eyes (so well 
The geat magician work'd his spell). 
And read in every houghtful line 
Imprinted on that brow'divme, 
The meek, the tender niturr, griev'd, 
Not anger*d, to be thus deceit 'J — 
Celestial love requited ill 
For all its care, yet loving s'ill — 
Deep, deep regret that there should fall 

Fra<n nun's deceit so foul a blight 
Upon that parting hour — and all 

Hit Spirit mus' have felt that night. 
Who, soon to die for human-kind. 

Thought only, 'mid his mortal pain, 
How many a soul was left behind 

For w horn be died that death in vain '. 

Such was the heavenly scene — alas 
That scene so bright so soon should pass 
But pictur'd on the humid air. 
Its tints, ere long, grew languid there;* 
And storms came on, tha . co.d and rough, 

Scttter'd its gent'est glories all — 
As when the barfiug winds blow off 

The hues that hang o'er Term's fall,— 
Till, one by one, the vision's beams 

Faded away, and soon it fled. 
To join those Other v nish'd dreamt 

That now flit palely 'mooe. the dead,— 
The shadows of those shades, that go, 
Around Oblivion's lake, below < 



XTBACT XV. 



Mary Magdalen. — Her Story. — IfuTturout Pictura 
of her. — Correggio. — Guido. — Raphael fc — 



t The Las! Supper of Leonardo da Vinci, which is 
in the Kefecory (/the Convent delle Grazie at Milan. 
See L'Histoire de la Peinture in llalie, liv. iii. chap. 
45. The writer of that inteie-ting wcrk (to whom I 
take this opi oriunity of offering my ackoow ledgxueu s 
for the copy he se t me a yer since fr^m Rome.) will 
tee I have profi'ed by some of his observations on ibis 
celebrated picture. 

* Leonardo appears to have used a mixture of oil 
and v irnish for this picture, which alone, without the 

ej causes of its ruin, would have 
ed any long duration of its beauties. It a 
almost entirely effaced. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



353 



Canova's turn exquisi te Statues. — The Somariva 
Magdalen. — Chantrey's Admiration of Canova's 
Works. 

No wonder, Mary, that thy story 
Touches all hearts — for there we see 

The soul's corruption, and its glory, 
Its death and life combhi'd in thee. 

From the first moment, when we find 

Thy spirit haunted by a swarm 
Of dark desires,— like demons shrin'd 

Unhnlily in that fair form, — 
Till when, by touch of Heav'n set free, 

Thou cam's', with those bright locks of gold 
(So oft the gaze of Bethany), 

And, covering in their precious fold 
Thy Saviour's fee:. did~t shed such tears 
As paid, each drop, the sins of years ! — 
Thence on, through all thy course of love, 

To Him, thy Heavenly Master, — Him, 
Whose bitter death-cup from above 

Had yet this cordial round the brim, 
That woman's failh and love stood fast 
And fearless by Him to the last : — 
Till, oh, blest boon for truth like thine! 

Thou wert, of all, ihe chosen one, 
Before whose eves that Face Divine, 

When risen from the dead, first shone; 
That thou mUht'st see how, like a cloud. 
Had pass'd away iN mortal shroud, 
And in ke that bright revealment known 
To hearts, less trusing than thy own. 
All is affecting, cheering, grand ; 

The kindliesi record ever given, 
Ev'n ui.der God's own kindly hand, 

Of what Repentance wins from Heaven ! 

No wonder, Mary, that thy face, 

In all its touching light of lears, 
Sh"iild meet us in each holy place, 

Wheie Man before his God appears, 
Hopeless — were he not taught to see 
All hope in Him, who pardon'd thee! 
No wonder tint the painter's skill 

Shoud oft have triumph'd in the power 
Of keeping thee all lovely still 

Ev'n in thy sorrow's bittere-t hour; 
That soft Corresgio should diffuse 

His melting shadows round ihy form; 
That Guido's pale, unearthly hues 

Should, in pourtraying thee, giow warm; 
Thai all — from the ideal, grand, 
Inimitable Koinan hind, 
Down lo the small, enamelling touch 

Of smooth Carlino —should delight 
In picturing her, who " lov'd so much," 

And was, in spite of sin, so bright! 

But, Mary, 'mong these bold essayi 

Of Genius and of Art to raise 

A semb ance of Iho e weeping eyes — 

A vision, worthy of the sphere 
Thy faith has earn'd thee in the 6kies, 

And in Ihe hearts of all men here, — 
None e'er hath match'd, in grief or grace, 
Canova's day-dream of thy lace, 
In those bright sculptur'd foims, more bright 
With true expression's breathing light, 
Than ever yet, beneath the stroke 
Of chisel, into life awoke. 
The one,' pourtraying what thmi wert 

In thy first grief, — while yet the flower 
Of those young beauties was unhurt 

By sorrow's slow, consuming power; 



» This statue is one of the last works of Canova, 
and was not yet in marble when I left Rome. The 
other, which seems to prove, in contradiction to very 

30* 



And mingling earth's seductive grace 

With heav'n's subliming thoughts so well 
We doubt, while gazins, in which place 

Such beauty was most form'd lo dwell ! — 
The other, as thou look'dst, when years 
Of fasting, penitence, and tears 
Had worn thy frame ; — and ne'er did Art 

With half suoh speaking power express 
The ruin which a breaking heart 

Spreads, by degrees, o'er loveliness. 
Those wasiing arms, that keep the trace, 
Ev'n still, of all their youthful grace, 
That lonsen'd hair, of which thy brow 
Was once so proud, — neglected now ! — 
Those featuies, ev'n in fading worth 

The freshest bloom to oihers given, 
And those sunk eyes, now lost fo earth, 

But, to the last, still full of heaven! 

Wonderful art's! ! praise, like mine — 

Though springing fiom a soul, that feels 
Deep worship of those works divine, 

Where Genius all his light reveals — 
How weak 't is to ihe words that came 
From him, thy peer in art and fame,2 
Whom I have known, by day, bv night, 
Hang o'er thy marble with delight ; 
And, while his lingering hand would steal 

O'er eveiy grace the taper's rajs,3 
Give thee, with all the generous zeal 
Such master spirits only feel, 

That best of fame, a rival's praise ! 



EXTRACT XVI. 

Les Charmettes. 
A Visit to tlie House where Rousseau lined with 
Madame de Warrens.— Their Menage.— Its Gross- 
ness. — Claude Anet. — Reverence with which the 
Spot is now visited. — Absurdity of this blind De- 
votion to Fame. — Feelings excited by the Beauty 
and Seclusion of the Scene— Disturbed by its Asso- 
ciations with Rousseau's History —Impostures of 
Men of Genius. — Thtir Power of mimicking all 
the best Feelings. Love, Independence, <$-c 

Strange power of Genius, that can throw 
Round all thai 's vicious, weak, and low, 
Such magic lights, such rainbow dyes 
As dazzle ev'n the steadies! eyes. 



'T is worse than weak — 'I is wrong, 't i 
This mean prostration before Fame ; 
This casing down, beneath the car 
Of ldoh, whatsoe'er they are, 
Life's purest, holiest decencies, 
To be career'd o'er as they please. 
No — give triumphant Genius all 
For which his loftiest wish can call. 
If he be worshipp'd, let it be 

For attributes, his noblest, first ; 
Not with that hase idolatry, 

Which sanctifies his last and worst. 



high authority, that expression, of the intensest k.nd, 
is fully within the sphere of sculp'ure, was executed 
many years ago, and is in the possession of Ihe Count 
Somariva, at Paris. 

a Chantrey. 

3 Canova always shows his fine statue, the Vener* 
Viucitrice by the light of a small candle. 



354 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I may be cold ; — may want that glow 
Of high romance, which b.irds should know; 
That holy homage, which is felt 
In treading where tbe great have dwelt; 
This reverence, whatsoe'er it be, 

I fear, I feel, I have it not : — 
for here, at this still hour, to me 

The charms of this delightful si>Ot; 
Its calm seclusion from the throng, 

From all the heart would Ma forget; 
This narrow valley, and the song 

Of i's small murmuring rivulet; 
The flitting, to and fio, of birds, 

Tranquil and tame as they were once 
In Eden, ere the s'arllip^ words 

Of Man disturbed their orisons; 
Tho.-e little, shadowy paths, that wind 
Up the hiil-side, with fruit-trees liu'd, 
And lighted only by tl.e breaks 
The gay wind in the foli.ge makes, 
Or vistas, here and there, that ope 

Through weeping willows, iike the snatches 
Of far-off scenes of light, which Hope 

Ev'n through the shade of sadness catches ! — 
All this, which — could I once but lose 

The memory of those vulgar ties. 
Whose grossness all the heavenliest hue* 

Of Genius can no more disguise, 
Than the sun's beams can do away 
The filth of fens o'er which they play — 
This scene, which would have fill'd my heart 

With thoughts of all that happiest is;— 
Of Love, where self hith only part, 

As echoing back another's bliss ; 
Of solitude, secure and sweet, 
Beneath whose shade the Virtues meet : 
Which, while it shelters, never chills 

Our sympathies with human woe, 
But kee'|>s tbem, like sequester'd rills, 

Purer and fresher in tlieir Sow ; 
Of happy days, that share Iheir beams 

Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ; 
Of tranquil nights that give, in di earns, 

Tbe moonlight of the morning's joy '. — 

All this my heart could dwell on here, 
But for those gross mementos near ; 



Those sullying truths, that cro«s the track 

Of each sweet thought, aud drive them back 

Full into air the mire, and strife, 

And vani'ies of that man's life, 

Who, more than all that e'er have glowM 

With Fancy's flame (and it was hit, 
In fullest warmth and radiance) sbow'd 

What an impostor Genius is; 
How, with that strong, mimetic art, 

Which forms its life aud soul, it takes 
All shapes of though', all hues of heart, 

Nor feels, itself, one throb it wakes; 
How like a gem its light may smile 

O'er the dark path, by mortals trod, 
Itself as mean a worm, tbe while, 

As crawls at midnight o'er the sod ; 
What gentle words and thoughts may fall 

From i's false lip, what zeal to bless, 
While home, friends, kindred, country, all, 

Lie waste beneath its selfishness ; 
How, with the pencil hardly dry 

From colouring up such scenes of love 
And beauty, as make young hearts sieh, 

And dream, and think through heav'n they r ow, 
They, who can thus describe and move, 

The very workers of the^e charms, 
Nor seek, nor know a joy. above 

Some Maman's or Theresa's arms ! 

How all, in short, that makes the boast 
Of their false tongues, tbey want the most; 
And, while with freedom on 'hrir lips, 

Sounding their timbrels, to set fiee 
This bright world, labouring in the' eclipse 

Of pries'craft, and of slavery,— 
They may, themselves, be slaves as low 

As ever Lord or Patron made 
To blossom in his smile, or grow, 

Like stunted brushwood, in his shade. 
Out on the craft ' — I'd lather he 

One of those hinds ihal round me tread, 
With just enough of sense to see 

The noonday snn that S o'er his bead, 
Than thus, wi'th high-built genius curst, 

That hath no heart for refoundation, 
Be all. at once, thai 's brightest, worst, 

Subl.mes', meanest in creation ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY. IN THE CHARAC- 
TER OF VAPID, AFTER THE PLAY OF THE 
DRAMATIST, AT THE KILKENNY THEA- 
TRE. 

(Entering as if to announce the Play.) 

Ladies and gentlemen, on Monday night. 
For the ninth time — oh accents of deliiht 
To the poor autlvr's ear, when three timet three 
Wi'h a full bumper crowns his Comedy ! 
When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken, 
He finds at length his jokes and bmes taken, 

. And sees his play-bill circubte — alas. 

! The onlv bill on w hich his name will pass ! 
Thus. Va'pid, thus shall Thespian scn-ils of fame 

| Through box and gallery waft your well-known name. 
While cri ic eyes the happy cast shall con. 

; And leirned ladies s\>ell ) our Dram. Person. 



Tis said our wor'hy Manager! intends 

To help my night, and he, you know, has friend*. 

Friends, did I say ? for fixing friends, or parti, 

Engaging actors, or c . . 

There's nothing like 

Are turn'd ti 

Soldiers, far him, go' I 

And beaus, turn'd clowns, look uely for bis sake; 

For him ev'n la" I 

For him (oh friendship !) / ac' 

In short, like Oipbeus. his . 

Make boars amusing, and put life in tlicku 

With such a manager we can't but p!ea*e, 
Tho' London sent us all her loud O. P. V» 



! The late Mr. Richard Power. 

3 The brief appellation bv which those . 
were distinguished who, a' the opening of the new 
theatre of Covenr Garden, clamoured for the continn- 
ance of the old prices of admission. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



355 



Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle, 
Arni'd wi'h a thousand fans, we'd give them ba'.tle; 
You, on our side, K. P.' U|ion our banners, 
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners: 
And show that, here— ho» e'er Johu Bull may doubt- 
In all our plays, the Riot-Act 's cut out ; 
And, while we skim ihe cream of many a jest, 
Your well-timed Ihuuder never sours its zest. 



Shakspeare's al ar,2 shall we breathe our lastj 
And, ere ihis long loi'd dome to ruin nods, 
Die all, die nobly, die like demigods! 



EXTRACT 

FROM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN 
BY THE AUTHOR, AT THE OPENING OF 
THE KILKENNY THEATRE, OCTOBER, 
1809. 



Ye', even here, though Fiction rules the hour, 
There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power ; 
And there are tears, too — tears that Memory sheds 
Ev'n o'er ihe feast that mimic fancy spreads, 
When her heart mi»es une lamented guest,3 
Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest 1 . 
Theie, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task, 
And drooping weeps behind Thalia's mask. 

Forgive this gloom — forgive this joyless strain, 
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train. 
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter, 
As mis' at dawn but makes the setting brighter; 
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails — 
As glow-worms keep their splendour for their tails. 

I know not why— but time, methinks, hath pass'd 

More fleet than usual since we parted last. 

It seems but like a dream of yesler-night, 

Whose charm still hangs, wi h fond, delaying light; 

And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue 

Of former joy, we come to kind.e r.ew. 

Thus ever may ihe fh ing moments haste 

Wi lb trackless foot along life's vulgar waste, 

But deeply print and lingeringly move, 

When thus they reach the sunny spots we love. 

Oh, yes, whatever be our gay career, 

Let this be still the sol-lice of the year, 

Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain, 

And slowly sink to level life again. 



THE SYLPH'S BALL. 

A .sylph, as bright as ever sported 
Her figure through Ihe fields of air, 

By an old swarthy Gnome was courted, 
And, strange lo say, he won the fair. 

The annals of the oldest witch 
A pair so sorted cr'uld not show ; 

Bjt how refuse?— the Gnome was rich, 
The Rothschild of the world below ; 



l The initials of our manager's name. 

'This alludes to a scenic representation then pre- 
paring for the last night of the perf nuances. 

3 The late Mr. John Lysier, one of the oldest mem- 
bers and best actors of the Kilkenny Theatrical So- 
ciety. 



And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, 
Are told, betimes, they must consider 

Love as an auctioneer of features, 

Who knocks them down to the beat bidder. 

Home she was taken to his Mine — 
A Palace, paved with diamonds all — 

And, proud as Lady Gnome lo shine, 
Sent out her tickets for a Ball. 

The Zotoer world, of course, was there, 
And all ihe best ; but of the upper 

The sprinkling was but shy and rare, — 
A few old Sylphids, who lov'd supper. 

As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp 

Of Davy, that renown'd Aladdin, 
And the Gnome's Halls exhal'd a damp, 

Which accidents from hie were bad in; 

The chambers were supplied with light 
By many stiange but safe devices ; 

Large fire-flies, such as shine at night 
Among the Orient's flowers and spices; — 

Musical flint mills — swiftly play'd 
By elfin hands — ihat, flashing round, 

Like ceitain fire-eyed mins rel maids, 
Gave out, at once, Loth light and sound. 

Bologna stones, that drink the sun ; 

And water from thai Indian sea, 
Whose waves at night like wild-fire run — 

Coik'd up in crystal carefully. 

Glow-worms, thai round Ihe tiny dishes, 
Like liitle light-houses, weie'set up; 

And pretty phosphorescent fishes, 
That by their own gay light were eat up. 

'Mong the few guests from Ether, came 
That wicked Sylph, whom Love we call — 

My Lady knew him but by name, 
My Lord her husband, not at all. 

Some prudent Gnomes, 'I is said, appriz'd 
That he was coming, and, no doubt, 

Alarm 'd about his torch, advis'd 
He should, by all means, be kept out. 

But rthers di?approv'd Ihis plan, 

And, by his flame though somewhat frighted, 
Thought Love too much a gentleman, 

In such a dangerous place to light it. 

However. fAere he was — ai d dancing 
With the lair Sylph, light as a feather; 

They look'd like two fresh sunbeams, glancing, 
Al daybreak, down to earth together. 

And all had gone off safe and well, 
But for thai plaguy loch, whose light, 

Though not yd kindled — who could tell 
How soon, how devilishly, it might ? 

And so it chanced — which, in those dark 
And tireless halls was quile amazing; 

Did we not know how smali a spark 
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. 

Whether it came (when close entangled 
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes, 

Or from the luccwle, that spangled 
Her locks of jet — is ail surmise; 

But certain 't is the' ethereal girl 

Did drop a spark, at some odd turning, 

Which, by Ihe waltz's windy whirl 
Was fann'd up into actual burning. 



35G 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Oh, for thai Lamp's metallic gauze, 

That curtain of protecting wire, 
Which Davy delicately draws 

Around illicit, dangerous fire J — 

The wall he sets 'Iwixt Flame and Air, 

(Like ihat, which barr'd young Thisbe's bliss,) 

Through whose small holes thi> dangerous pair 
May see each other, but not kiss.' 

At first the torch look'd rather hluely, — 
A sign, ihey say, 'hat no good boded — 

Then quick the gas became umuiy, 
And, crack! the ball-room all exploded. 

Sylphs, gnomes, aijd fiddlers mix'd together, 
With all their aunts, sons, cou-ins, nieces, 

Like butterflies in stormy weather, 

Were blown— legs, wings, and tails— to pieces! 

While, 'mid these victims of the torch, 
The S\ Iph, alas, too, bore her part — 

Found lying, wi h a livid scorch 
As if from lightning, o'er her heart 1 



Well done" a laughing Goblin said- 
Escaping from this gaseous strife — 
T is not the first tune Love has ma 
" A blow-uv in connubial life 1" 



REMONSTRANCE. 

After a Convertation with Lord John RusttU, in 
which he had intimated tome Idea of giving up 
all political Purruitt. 

What ! thou, with thy genius, thy youth, and thy 
name — 

Thou, born of a Russell — whose instinct to run 
The accustom'd career of thy sires, is the same 

As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun ! 

Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp'd with a seal, 
Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set ; 

With the blood of thy race, offer'd np for the weal 
Of a nation, that swears by that martyrdom yet 1 

Shalt thou be faint-hearted and turn from the strife, 
From the mighty arena, where all that is grand, 

And devoted, and pure, and adorning in life, 

>T is for high-thoughted spirits like thine to com- 
mand ? 

Oh no, never dream it — while good men despair 
Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, 

Never think, for an instant, thy country can spare 
Such a light from her darkening horizon as thou. 

With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those 

Who in life's sunny valley lie shelter'd and warm ; 

Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose 

To the top cliffs of Fortune, and breasted her 
storm; 

With an ardour for liberty, fresh as, in youth, 
It first kindles the bard'and gives life to his lyre; 

Yet roellow'd, ev'n now. bv in'. milJne-s of truth, 
Which tempers, but chills not, the patriot fire ; 



Par ique dedere 

Oscula quisque suae, non perveuientia ccn'ra. 
Ovid. 



With an eloquence — not like those rills from a 
height, 
Which ^paikle, and foam, and in vapiurare o'er; 
But a current, that works out its way into light 

Through the filtering recesses of thought and of 
lore. 

Thus gifted, Ihou never canst sleep in the shade ; 

If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame, 
And the chirms of thy cause have not power to 
persuade, 
Yet think how to freedom thou'rt pledg'd by thy 
N ame. 



Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delph 
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine, 
the branches, that spring from the old Russell 
tree, 
Are by Liberty claim'd for the use of her Shrine. 



MY BIRTH-DAY. 

B My birth-day" — what a different sound 
Thai word had in my ycuhful cars! 

And how, each time the day comes round, 
Less and less white its mark appears ! 

When first our scan'y yearn are told, 
It seems like p •slime to grow old ; 
And, as You'h counts the shining links, 

That Time around bim binds so fast, 
Pleased with the task, he little ibinks 

How hard thai ehalO will press at last. 
Vain was the man, and false as vain, 

Wh i said •— ~ - were he ordain'd to run 
" Hi* long career of life again, 

" He would do all thai be had done." — 
Ah, 'i is not thus the voice, th.it dwells 

In sober birih-da>s, speaks to me; 
Far otherwise — of time it tells, 

Laiish'd unwisely, carelessly ; 
Of counsel mock'd"; of talents,' made 

Hapiy for high *nd pure designs, 
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid 

Upon unholy, earthly shrines; 
Of nursii g many a wrong desire ; 

Of w andering after Lo»e too far, 
Ani takir g every meteor fire, 

1 bat cros.-'d my pathway, for his star. — 
All tbi> it tells, md, could I trace 

The' imperfeci picture o'er again, 
With power to add, re'ouch. efface 

The lights and shades, the j >y and pain, 
How little of the past would stay ! 
How qu cklv all should melt away — 
All — but that Freedom of the Mind, 

Which hatb been more than wealth to me; 
Those friendships, in my bojrbood twiu'd, 

And kept till now unchai t 
And that dear home. Ih.v savins atfc, 

Where Love's true light at last I "ve found 
Cheering wi hin, when all grows dark, 

And comfortless, and stormy round ! 



FANCY. 

The m^re I've view'd this world, the more I 're 
found, 
That, till d as t is wi'h scenes and creatures rare, 
I rouad, 

v.-.i creatures far l 



3 Fimtentilc —'Si ie recmment>:s ma camera, 
je ferai tout ce que 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 357 


Nor is it that her power can call up there 


Tell her from fool to fool to run, 


A single charm, thai 's not from Nature won, — 


Where'er her vain caprice may call ; 


No nmre than rainbows, in their pride, can wear 


Of all her dupes not loving one, 


A single list unborrowed from the sun; 


But ruining and maddening all. 


But 't is the mental medium it shines hrough, 




That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue; 


Bid her forget — what now is past — 


As the same light, that o'er ihe level lake 


Our once dear love, whose ruin lies 


One dull monotony of lustre flings. 


Like a fair flower, the meadow's last, 


Will, entering in Ihe rounded rain-drop, make 


Which feels the ploughshare's edge, and diesl 


Colours as gay as those ou angels' wings ! 






Carm. 2P 


*" 




SONG. 


Peninsularum Sirmio, intularumqu* 

Ocelle. 


FANNY, DEAREST. 


Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye 


Yes, had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 


Of all peninsulas and isles, 
That in our lakes of silver lie, 


Fanny, dearest, for thee I 'd sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should turn 


Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles- 


To tears when thou art nigh. 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 


How gladly back to thee I fly ! 
Still d ubting, asking — can it be 


So busy a life I live, 
That even the time it would lake to weep 
Is more than my heart can give. 


That I have left Bithynia's sky, 
And gaze in safety upon thee? 


Then wish me no't to despair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 
The Love lhat 's order'd to bathe in wine, 


Oh ! what is happier than to find 
Our hearts at ease, our perils past; 

When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind 
Lays down its load of care at last; 


Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 




Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 


When, tired with toil o'er land and deep, 


But, ah' 1 , the mirror would cease to shine, 


Again we tread the welcome floor 


If dimm'd loo often with sighs. 


Of our own home, and sink to sleep 


They lose Ihe half of beauiy's ligh', 
Who view it through sorrow's tear 


On the long wish'd-for bed once more.i 




And 't is but lo see ihee truly bright 


This, this it is, that pays alone 


That 1 keep my eye-beams cle.ir. 


'Ihe ills of all life's former track.— 


Then wait no longer till tears shall flow 


Shine out, my beautiful, my own 


Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain ; 


Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back. 


If sunshine onnot dissolve thy snow, 




I shall never attempt it with rain. 


And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs 




The light of heav'n like Lvdia's sea, 


o 


Rejoice, rejoice— let all that laughs 




Abroad, at home, laugh out for me 1 


TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS. 
Carm. 70. 






Diccbai quondam, 8tc. 


TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA. 


TO LESBIA. 


Nulla tuum nobis sobducet femina lectum, Sec. 4c 


Thou lold'st me, in our days of love, 


Lib. iv. Carm. IX 


That I had all that heart of thine ; 
That, ev'u to share Ihe couch of Jove, 


"Never shall woman's smile have power 


Thou would'sl not, Lesbia, part from mine. 


" To win me from those gentle charms !" — 




Thus swore I, in lhat happy hour, 


How purely wert thou worshipp'd then ! 


When Love first gave thee to my arms. 


Nut with Ihe vague and vulgar fires 




Which Beauty wakes in soulle-s men,— 


And still alone thou chnrm'st my sight — 
Still, though our city pr udly shine 

With forms and faces, fair and bright, 
1 see none fair or bright but thine. 


But lov'd, as children by their sires. 


That flattering dream, alas, io o'er; — 


I know thee now — and though these eyes 


Doat on thee wildly as before, 




Yet, even in doating, 1 despise. 


Would thou wert fair for only me, 


Yes, sorceress — mad as it may seem — 

With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee. 
That passion even outlives esteem, 


And could'st no hearl but mine allure! — 


To all men else unpleasing be, 
So shall I feel my prize secure.* 


And I, at once, adore — and scorn thee. 


Oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest 


Carm. 11. 


Of others' envy, others' p aise ; 
But, in its silence safely blest, 


Panca nunciate mtae pueltae. 
****** 


Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 


* quid solutis est beatius curis, 


Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er 


Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 


The fates have will'd through life I »ve rov'd, 


Lahore fessi veuimus larem ad nostrum, 


Now speed ye home, and with you bear 


Desiderat"que aequiescimus lecto. 


These bitter words to her I 'v'e lov'd. 


* Displiceas aliis, sic ego tutus ero. 



358 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Charm of my life ! by who=e sweet power 
All cares are husli'd, all ills subdued — 

My lighl, in even the darkest hour, 
My crowd, in deepest solitude ! >• 



No, not though heaven itself sent down 

Some maid, of more ihan heavenly charms, 

With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 
Would he for her forsake those arms 1 



M IT AT I ON. 



FROM THE FRENCH. 

With women and apples both Paris and Adam 

Made mischief enough in iheir day : — 
God be prais'd that the fate of mankind, my dear 
Madam, 

Depends not on vs, the same way. 
For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple, 

The world would have doubly to rue thee; 
Like Adam, I 'd gladly lake from thee the apple, 

Like Fails, at once give it to thee. 



INVITATION TO DINNER, 



ADDRESSED TO LORD LANSDOWNE. 
September, 1818. 

Some think we bards have nothing real; 

Thai poets live anion; the stars so, 
Their very dinners are ideal. — 

(Aid. heaven knows, too oft they art so,) — 
For instance, that we have, insttad 

Ol vulgar chops, and steus, and hashes, 
First course — a Pluenix, at the head, 

Done in i s ow n celestial ashes; 
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing 
All the time its neck was wringing'. 
Side dishes, thus — Minerva's owl, 
Or any such like learned ton 1 : 
Doves, such as heav'n's poulterer gets, 
When Cui id shoo's his mnthei's pes. 
Larks, >tew'd in Morning's roseate breath, 

Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendour; 
And nightingales, be-rhymed to deith — 

Like youDg pigs whipp'd to make them tender. 



Such fare may suit (hose bards, who 're able 
To banquet at* Uuke Humphrey's tible ; 
But as for me, « ho 've long been taught 

To eat and drink like other people; 
And can put up with mutton, bought 

Where Bromham i iears its ancieut steeple- 
If LansdoM ne will consent In share 
My humble feast, though rude the fare, 
Yet, season'd by that salt he brings 
From Attica's taiinesl springs, 
'T will turn to dainties ; — while the cap, 
Beneath his influence brightening up, 
Like that of Baucis, touch'd by Jove, 
Will sparkle fit for gods above '. 



l Tu mihi curanm requies. tu nocte vel atra 

Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. 
* A picturesque village in sight of my cottage, and 
from which it is separated but by a small verdant 



VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE'8 
INKSTAND. > 

WRITTEN MAY, 1832. 

All, as he left it ! — even the pen, 

So la'ely at that mind's command, 
Carelessly lying, as if then 

Just fallen from his gitted band. 

Have we then lost him ? scarce an hour, 

A little hour, seems to have pa>t, 
Since Life and Inspiration's power 

Around that relie breath'd their last. 

Ah, powerless now — like talisman, 
Found in some vanish 'd wizard's halls, 

Whose mighty chirm with him began, 
Whose cnaiui with him extinguished fall*. 

Yet though, alas ! the gifts that shone 

Around that pen's exploring track, 
Be now, with its great master, g Be, 

Nor living hand can call them back; 

Who does not feel, while thus his eyes 
Rest on the enchanter s broken wand, 

Each earth-born spell it work'd arise 
Before him in succession grand? — 

Grand, from the Truth that reigns o'er all ; 

The unshrinking Truth, that ie s her light 
Thr ugh Lies low, dark, interior fall, 

Opening the whole, severely bright : 

Yet softening, as she frowns along, 

O'er scenes which angels weep to see — 

Where Truih herself half veils the Wrong, 
In pity of the Misery. 

True bard '. — and simple, as the race 

Of true-born poets ever are, 
When, stooping from their starry place, 

They 're children, near, though gods, alar. 

How freshly doth my mind recall, 
'Mong the lew days I 've known with thee, 

One that, m< st buo\antI> of all, 
Floats in the wake of memory ; * 

When he, the poet, doubly graced, 

In life, as in his perfecl stnin, 
With that pure, mellowing power of Taste, 

Without which Fancy shines in vain; 

Who in his page will leave behind. 

Pregnant with genius though it be, 
But half the treasures of a miud. 

Where Sense o'er all holds mastery : — 

Friend of long years! of friendship tried 
Through many a bright ana dark event ; 

In doubts, my judge— in taste, my guide — 
In all, my stay and ornament ! 



* Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that 
gentleman did me 'he honour of present g to me the 
inkstand, pencil, &c. which their distinguished father 
bad long been in the habit of us'ng. 

* The lines tha' follow allude to a dar passed in 
company with Mr. Crabbe, many years since, when 
a par y, con-isling only of Mr. Rogers, Mr. Crabbe, 
and the author of thee verses, had the pleasure of 
dining with Mr. Thomas Campbell, at bit bouse at 
Sydenham. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 359 


He, too, was of our feast that day, 


And show'st what lustre Rank receives, 


And all were guest- cf one, whose band 


When with his proud Corinthian leaves 


Hath shed a new and deaihless ray 


Her rose thus high-bred Beauty weaves. 


Around the lyre of this great laud ; 






Wonder no! if, where all 's so fair. 


In whose sea-odes — as in those shells 


To choose were more than bard can dare 


Where Ocean's voice of majesty 


Wonder not if, while every scene 


Seems still to sound — immortal dwells 


I 've watch'd thee through so bright hath been, 


Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea- 


The' enamour'd Muse should, in her quest 




Of beauty, know not where to rest, 


Such was our host ; and though, since then, 


But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall, 


Slight clouds have ris'n twixt him aud nie, 


Hailing thee beautiful in all '. 


Who would not grasp such hand agaiu, 




Stretch'd forth again in amity ? 

Who can, in this short life, afford 
To let such lni-ts a moment stay, 




A SPECULATION 


When thus one frank, atoning word, 
Like sunshine, melts them all away? 


Of all speculations the market holds forth, 
The best that I know for a lover of pelf, 


Bright was our board that day — though one 
Unworthy brother Ihere had place; 


Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is worth, 
And then sell him at that which he sets on himself. 


As 'moug the horses of the bun, 




One was, thev say, of earthly lace. 


© 


Vet next to Genius is ihe power 


TO MY MOTHER. 


Of feeling where Irue Genius lies; 




And there was light around that hour 


WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822. 


Such as, in memory, never dies; 






They tell us of an Indian tree, 


Light which comes o'er me, as I gaze, 


Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky 


Thou Relic of Ihe Dead, on thee. 


May tempt its boughs to wander fiee, 


Like all such dreams of vanish-d days, 


And shoot, and blossom, wide and high, 


Brightly, indeed — hut mournfully ! 


Far better loves to bend its arms 




Downward again 10 that dear earth, 




From which the life, that fills and warms 
Its grateful being, first had biilh. 




TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT. 


T is thus, though woo'd bv fiat'ering friends, 
And led with fame (if fame it be) 


WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 


This heart, my own dear mother, bends, 
With love's true instinct, back to Ihee! 


1832. 




When I would sing thy beauty's light, 


— — o 


Such various forms, and all so bright, 
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear, 


LOVE AND HYMEN. 


I know not which to call most fair, 




Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring 
For ever rouud thee, tuAicA to sing. 


Love had a fever — ne'er could close 


His little eyes till day wa> breaking; 


And wild and strange enough, Heav'u knows, 


When I would paint thee, as thou art, 


The things be rav'd about while waking. 


Theii all thou wtrt comes o'er my heart 




The graceful child, in beauty's dawn, 


To let him pine so were a sin ; — 


Within the nursery's shade withdrawn, 
Or peeping out — like a young moon 


One, to whom all ihe world's a debtor — 


So Doctor Hymen was call'd in, 


Upon a world 't will brighten soon. 


Aud Love that night slept rather better. 


Then next, in girlhood's blushing hour 




As from thy o«n lov'd Abbey-tower 


Next day the case gave further hope yet, 


1 've seen thee look, all radiant, down, 
With smiles that to the hnaiy frown 


'\ hough still some ugly fever latent ; — 


"Dose, ai before" — a gen'le opiate, 


Of centurits round thee lent a ray, 


For which old Hymen has a patent. 


Chasing even Age's gloom away ;' 




Or, in the world's resplendent throng. 


After a month of daily call, 


As I have uia-k'd thee glide along, 


So fast the dose went on restoring, 


Among the crowds of fair and great 


That Love, who first ne'er slept at all, 


A spirit, pure and separate, 


Now took, the rogue ! to downright snoring. 


To which even Admiration's eve 




Was fearful In approach too nigh ; 

A creatuie, ended by a spe'l 






Within which nothing wrong could dwell; 
And fresh and clear as from the source, 


LINES ON THE ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIAN'S 


Holding through life her limpid course, 


INTO NAPLES, 1821. 


Like Aie'husa through the sea, 
Stealing in fountain purity. 


Carbone notati. 




Av— down to the dust wi'h them, slaves as they are, 


Now, too, another change of light! 


"From this hour, let Ihe blood in their dastardly 


As noble brde, still meeklv bright, 


veins, 


Thou bring'st thy Lod a dower above 


That shrunk at the first to :ch of Liberty's war, 


All eai thly price, pure woman's love ; 


Be wased for lyrauts, or stagnate in cnains. 


— . 





PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH VOLUME. 



On, on like a cloud, through their beautiful vales, 
Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er — 

Fill, till up their wide sunny waters, ye sails 
From each slave-mart of .Europe, and shadow their 
shore ! 

Let their fate be a mock-word — let men of all lands 
Lauj'i out, with a scorn tint shall ring to the pules, 

When" each sword, that the cowards let fall from 
tl.eir hands, 
Shall be forg'd into fetters to enter tbeir souls. 



And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driv'n, 
Base slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, 

To think — as the Dooni'd of'eu think of that heav'n 
They had once within reach — that they migM 
have been free. 



Oh shame ! when there was not ; 
Ever rose 'bove the zero of C- 



bosom, whose heat 

h s heart, 

That did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat, 
And send all its prayers with your Liberty's 
start ; 

When the world stood in hope — when a spirit, that 
breath'd 

The fre;h air of the olden time, whisper'd about ; 
And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheath'd, 

But waited one conquering cry, to flash out ! 



When around you the shades of your Mighty 'n fame, 
Filicajas and Fetrarchs, seemed nursling to view, 

And their words, and their warnings, like tongue* of 
bright flame 
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you ! 

Oh shame ! thai, in such a proud moment of life, 
Worth the hist'ry of ages, when, had you but hurl'd 

One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife 
Between freemen and tyrants bad spread through 
the world — 

That then — oh ! disgrace upon manhood — ev'n then. 

You should falter, should cling to your pitiful 

breath ; 

Cow'r down into beasts, when you might have stood 

men, 

And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death. 

It is strange, it is dreadful : — shout, TyTanny, shout 
Through your dungeons and palaces, " Freedom is 
o'er ;"'' — 

If there lingers one spark of her light, tread it out, 
And return to your empire of darkness once more. 

For, if ruch are the braggarts that claim to be free, 
tome, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me kiss; 

Far nobler to live the bruie bondman of thee, 
Than to sully ev'n chains by a struggle like this ! 



:nd of vol. vii. 



PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH VOLUME. 



On my return from the interesting visit to Rome, of 
which some account has been given in Ihe preceding 
Preface, I took up my .ibode in Pari-, and. being 
_,oined there by my family, continued 10 reside in that 
capital, or its-environs, till about Ihe close of Ihe year 
■ \>22. As no life, however sunny, is without its 
clouds, 1 could not escape, of course, my share of 
such passing shadows ; and this long estrangement 
from our happy English home, towards which my 
family yearned even more fondly than myself, had 
been caused by difficulties of a pecuniary nature, and 
to a large amount, in which I had been involved by 
the conduct of ihe |*rs.n who acted as my deputy in 
the small office 1 held at Hermuda. 

That 1 should ever have c me to be chosen for such 
an employment seem: one of those freaks or an >malies 
of human destiny which bailie all ordinary specula- 
tion ; and went tar, indeed, to realise Beau'marchais' 
notion of the sort of standard by which, too fre- 
quently, qualification for place is regula ed, — " II 
faliut un calculateur ; ce fut uu danseur qui I'obtint." 
But however much, in ihis instance. I suffered from 
my want of schooling in matters of business, and more 
especially from my having neglected the oidinary 
precau'ion of requiring security irom my depu'y, I 
was more than consoled lor ail such embarrassment 
were it even ten times as much, by the eager kindness 
with which friends pressed forward to help to release 
me from my difficulties. Could I venture to name 
the persons, — and they were many, — who thus volun- 
teered their aid. it would be found they were all of 
them men whose characters euhanced such a service, 
and tha , in all, the name and the act reflected honour 
upon each other. 

1 shall so far lift the veil in which such delicate 
generosity seeks to sbroud itself, as to meuti n Iricflv 
the manner in which one of these kind friends,— 
himself possessing but limited means,— ptoposed to 



' contribute to the object of releasing me from my 
• embarrassments. After adverting, in his letter, to my 
misfortunes, ana "the noble way," as he was pleased 
i to say, " in which I bore them," he adds,— " would 
, it be very 'mpertinent to S'y, that I have 50<K. entire- 
ly at your disposal, to be paid when you like; and as 
I much more that 1 c nld .idvauee, upon any reasonable 
security, payable in seven years V The writer con- 
' eludes D> apologising ai xiously and delicately for 
| "the liberty which he thus takes," assuring me that 
" he would not have made the offer it he di 
that he would most readily accept the same assistance 



f'om me." 1 select 



the 



a n.a'k of 



di.ee, boh on account of the del 
manly regard which it mai 
considerations which it would be ou 1 
mention, but which rendered so ge 
friendship from such a quarter peculiarly touching 
and welcome to roe. 

When such were the men who has'ened to my aid 
in this emergency, I need hardly say. it was from no 
squeamish pr.de,— for the pride would have been in 
receiving livours from such hands,— that I cane to 
the resolution of gratefully declining their offers, and 
endeavouri g to work ou'n v deliverance bv mv own 
eflbrts. Wj.h a credit st.li fiesh in the market of 
literature, and wi'h publishers ready as ever to rUk 
their thousands on my name, I could not but feel that, 
however gratifying was the generous zeal of such 

, friends. I should best show that I, ,n -onie degree, 

I deserved iheir offers, by declining, under such cir- 

I cums-ances. 

| Meanwhile an attachment bad issued a; 
from the Court of Admiralty ; and as a ceertiatio* 
was ab ut to be opened with the American claimants, 
for a reduction of their large demar.d upon i 

' posed, at that time, to amount to six thousand pound*. 



PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH VOLUME. 



361 



— it was d;emed necessary that, pending the treaty, I 
should take up my abode id France. 

To write for the means of daily subsistence, and 
even in most instances lo " forestall the slow harvest 
of the brain," was for me, unluckily, no novel lask. 
But I had now, in addition to thee home calls upon 
the Mu>e, a new, painful, and, in its first aspect, 
overwhelming exigence lo provide for; and, certain- 
ly, fans, swarmirig throughout as it was, at that 
period, with rich, gay, and dissipated English, was. 
to a person of my sociil habits and multifarious ac- 
quain ance, the leiy worst possible place that could 
have been resorted lo for even the semblance of a 
quiet or studious home. The only tranquil, and, 
therefore, to me, most precious portions of that period 
were the two summers passed by my family and my- 
self with our kind S| anish friends, the V •«*••** Is, 
at their beautiful place, La Butte Coaslio, on the road 
up to Bellevue. There, in a cottige belonging to M. 
V'*"****l, and but a few steps from his house, 
we con'rived to conjure up an apparition of Sloper- 
ton ; i and I was aide for some time lo work with a 
feeling of comfort and home. I used frequently to 
pass the morning in rambling alone through ihe noble 
park of Si. Cloud, wih no appaiatus for the work of 
authorship but my memorandum-book and pencils, 
forming sentences to run smooth and moulding verses 
into shape. In the evenings I generally joined with 
Madame V****** , lin Italian duetts, or, with 
far more pleasure, sate as listener, while she sung to 
the Spanish guitar those sweet songs of her own coun- 
try to which few voices could do such justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances connected with 
our summer visits to La Butte was the near neigh- 
bourhood of our friend, Mr. Kenny, the lively dra- 
matic writer, who was lodged picturesquely in the 
remains of the Palace of the King's Aunts, at Belle- 
vue. I remember, on my first telling Kenny the par- 
ticulars of my Bermuda mishap, his saying, after a 
pause of real feeling, "Well, — it's lucky you're a 
poet ; — a philosopher never could have borne it." 
Washington Irving also was, for a short time, our 
visi-er; and still recollects, I trust, his reading to me 
some parts of his then forthcoming work, Bracebridge 
Hall, as we sate together on the grass walk that leads 
to the Kocher, at La Butte. 

Among the writings, then but in embryo, to which 
I looked forward for the means of my enfranchise- 
ment, one of the most important, as well as most 
likely lo be productive, was my intended Life of 
Sheridan. But I soon found that, at such a distance 
from all those living authorities from whom alone I 
could gain any interesting information respecting the 
private life of one who left behind him so little epis- 
tolary correspondence, it would be wholly impossible 
to proceed satisfac only with this task. Accordingly 
I wrote lo Mr. Murray and Mr. Wilkie, who were at 
that time the intended publishers of the work, to 
apprize them of this temporary obstacle to its pro- 
gress. 

Being thus baffled in the very first of the few 
resources I had looked to, I next thought of a Ro- 
mance in verse, in the form of Letters, or Epistles; 
and with this view sketched out a story, on an Egvp- 
tian subject, differing not much from that which, 
some years after, formed the groundwork of the 
Epicurean. After labouring, however, for some 
months, at this experiment, amidst interruption, dis- 
sipation, and distraction, which might well put all 
the Nine Muses to flight, I gave up the attempt in 
despair ; — fully convinced of the truth of that warn- 
ing conveyed in some early verges of my own, ad- 
dressed to the Invisible Girl : — 



"A little cot, with trees arow, 
And, like its master, very low. 



31 



Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the world let him ulter urmecn, 
&.c. tv.c.2 

It was, indeed, to the secluded life I led during the 
years 1813 — 1816, in a lone cottage among the fields, 
in Derbyshire, that 1 owed the insptrati"n, whatever 
may have been its value, of some of the Dest and most 
popular portions ol Lalla Rookh. It was amidst the 
snows of two or three Deibjshite winteis that 1 found 
myself enabled, by that concentration of thought which 
retirement alone gives, to call up around me some of 
the sunniest of those Eastern scenes which have since 
been welcomed in India itself, as almost native to its 
clime. 

Abortive, however, as had now been all my efforts 
to woo the shy spirit of Poesy, amidst such unquiet 
scenes, the course of reading I found time to puisue, 
on the subject of Egypt, was of no small service in 
storing my mind with the various knowledge respect- 
ing that country, which some years later I turned o 
account, in writing the story of the Epicurean. The 
kind facilities, indeed, towards this objtct, which 
some of the mos' distinguished French scholars and 
arlis's afforded me, are still remembered by me wi'h 
thankfulness. Besides my old acquaintance, Denon, 
whose drawings if Egypt, then of some value, I fre- 
quently consulted, 1 found Mons. Fourier and Mods. 
Langles no less prompt in placing books at my di-po- 
sal. . With Humboldt, also, who was at that lime in 
Paris, I had more than once some conversation on Ihe 
subject of Egypt, and remember his expressing him- 
self in no very laudatory terms respecting the labours 
of the French savans in that country. 

I had now been foiled and fiustrated in two of those 
literary projects on which 1 had counted most san- 
guinely in the calculation of my resources; and, 
though I had found sufficient time to futnish my mu- 
sical publisher with the Eighth Number of the" Irish 
Melodies, and also a Number of the Na'ional Airs, 
these works alone, I knew, would yield but an insuf- 
ficient supply, compared with the demands so closely 
and threateningly hanging over me In thi^ difficulty 
I called to mind a subject,— the Eastern a legory of 
the Loves of the Angels, — on which I had, some years 
before, begun a prose story, but in which, as a theme 
for poetry, I had now been anticipated by Lord Byron, 
in one of the most sublime of his many poetical 
miracles, " Heaven and Earth." Knowing how soon 
I should be lost in Ihe shadow into which so gigantic 
a precur-or would cast me, I had endeavoured, by a 
speed of composition which must have as oni-hed my 
habitually slow pen, to get'the start of my noble friend 
in the time of publication, and thus give myself the sole 
chance I could perhaps expect, under such unequal 
rivalry, of atttacting 'o my work Ihe attention of the 
public. In this humble speculation, however, I failed ; 
for both works, if I recollect right, made their appear- 
ance at the same time. 

In the meanwhile, the negotiation which had been 
entered into with the Anierican claimants, for a re- 
duction of the amount of their demands upon me, had 
continued to "drag its slow length along;" nor was 
it till the month of September, 1822, thai, byaleler 
from the Messrs. Longman, I received the welcome 
intelligence that the terms offered, as our ultimatum, 
to Ihe opposite parly, had been at last accepted, and 
that I might now with safety return to England. I 
lost no time, of course, in availing myself of so wel- 
' come a puvilege ; and as all that remains now to be 
| told of this trying epi-ode in my past life may be com- 
prised in a small compass, I shall trust to the patience 
of my readers for toleiating ihe recital. 

On arriving in England I learned, for the first time, 
— having been, till then, kept very much in darkness 
on the subject,— that, after a long and frequently in- 
tenupted course of negotiation, the amount of the 
claims of Ihe American merchants had been reduced 
to the sum of one thousand guineas, and that towards 



* Ante, p. 71. 



362 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS 



the payment of this the uncle of my deputy,— a rich i 
London merchant,— had been brought, with some | 
difficulty, to contribute three hundred pounds. 1 was 
likeu ise informed, that a very dear and distinguished 
friend of min-, to whom, by his own di-sire. the state 
of the uego iation was, from lime to lime, repor ed, 
had, upon finding that there appeared, at las', some 
chance of an arrangement, and learning also the 
amount of the advance nude by my deputy's relative, 
immediately deposited in the hands of a banker the 
remaining portion (7502.) of the required sum. to be 
there in readiness for the final settlement of the de- 
mand. 

I hough still adhering to my original purpose of 
owing to my own exertions aloi e the means ol relief 
from lhe?e difficulties, 1 yet fell a p'ea-uie in allowing 
this thoughtful deposit to be applied to the generous 
purpose for i> hich it was defined : and having em- 
ployed in this manner the 750/., I hen transmitted to 
my kind friend. — I need hardly say with "hat feel- 
ings of thankfulness,— a cheque' on my publishers for 
the amount. 

Though this effort of the poet's purse was but, as 
usual, a new launch in'u 'he Future.— a new anticipa- 
tion of jet unborn means,— the result showed, I am 
happy io say, ilia', in litis instance at least, 1 had not 
counted on my bank " in ui/LiLus" too sanguine!) - j 



for, on receiving mv publishers' account, in the month 
of June following, I found 1000/ placei to my credit 
from the sale r.f the Loves of the Angels, and 500/. 
from the Fables of the Holy Alliance 

I mu:t not omit to mention, that, among the re- 
sources at tha' lime placed at my disposal, was one 
small and sacred sum, which had been set apart by its 
young | ossessor for some such bentficeni purpose. 
This fund, amounting to about 3CPJ., aiose from the 
proceeds of the sale of the first edition of a biographi- 
cal work then recenly published, which will long 
be memorable, as well from its own merits and sub- 
ject, as from the lustre that has been since shed back j 
upon it from the public career of its noble author. 
To a gift Irom such hands might well have been ap- 
plied the words of Ovid, 



In this volume, and its immediate successor, will be 
found collected almost all those delinquencies of mine, 
in the way of sa'ire, which have api eared, from time 
io ime. in the public journal-, during Ihe last twenty 
or Ihirty years. The comments and notices required 
to throw light on these political trifles must be re- 
served for our next volume. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



PREFACE. 

The Eastern s'ory of the angels Harut and Miru',* 
and the Rabbinical fictions of the lo\es of I'zziel and 
Shamcnazai,? are the onlv sources 'o which I i eed 
refer, for the origin of the' notion on which this Ro- 
mance is founded. Ill addition to the fitne-s of the 
subject for poetry, it struck me also as capable of af- 
fording an allegorical medium, through which might 
lie shadowed ou' (as I have endeavoured to do in ihe 
following storie-) the fill of the Soul Inn its original 
purity 3 — the loss of light and happii ess which i! 
suffers, in the pursuit of ihi- worlift | erishable plea- 
sures—and the puiiishmei t-, both fr m conscience and 
Divine justice, with which impurity, ptide, and pre- 
sumptuous inquiry in'o ihe a"fui sre e's of He<ven 
are sure Io be v si'ed. The beau'iful story of Cupid 
and Psyche owes is chief ch Tin to this sort'of '• veiled 
meaning " and it hi- Been my wish (however I may 
have failed in the attempt) to communicate to the fol- 
lowing pages the -line moral interest. 

Among ihe doctrines, or nations, derived by Plato 
from the East, one of ihe most natural and sublime is 



» See note on page 365. 

2 Hyde, de Relig. Vet. Pef^rum, p. 272. 

s The account which Macrobius gives* of the down- 
ward journey of the Soul, through thai gate of the zo- 
diac which opens into the lower spheres, is a curious 
specimen of the wild fancies that passed for philoso- 
phy in ancient limes. 

In the system if Manes, the luminous or spiritual 
principle owes its corruption not to any evil tendency 
of its own, but to a violent inroad of the spirits of 
darkness, who, finding themselves in the neighbour- 
hood of this pure light, and becoming passionately 
enamoured of its beau'y. hreik the bound mes between 
them, and take forcible posses-ion of it.t 

» In Somn. Scipionis, cap. 12. 
t See a Treatise " De la Religion des Perses," bv the 
Abbe Foucber, Meinoires de i'Acadeniie, torn. xxxi. 
L Pj «*• 



that which inculcates the pre-existence of the soul, 
ad i's gradual descent into tlnsda-k material world, 
from that region of spirit and light which it is sup- 
posed to have once inhabited, and to which, after a 
long lapse of purification and trial, it will re'urn. 
Ttii- belief, under various symbolic >l firms, mw be 
traced through aim st all 'the Oriental tl 
Ihe I'h'ldeans represent the Soul as or g 
lowed With wings, which fall away when it sinks 
from its na'ive element, aj d must be re-prod need be- 
fore it can hope to re un . S>nie disciples of Zoroaser 
once inqui ed of him, "How the wing- of the Soul 
might be male to grow again 7» — ** Bv sprinkling 
them," he replied, "with the Waters of Lite 
where are thi-se w a'ers to be found }" they asked — 
" In the Garden of God, -5 replied Znroas'er. 

The mythology of the Persians has allegorized the 
same doctrine, in ihe hi-tory of those genii of light 
who strayed from their dwellings in the s< 
ob-cured their original nature by mixture with this 
material sphere; while the Egyptians, connecting it 
with the descent and ascen' of ihe sun in the z diac, 
cons dereJ Autumn as emblematic of Ihe Soul's de- 
cline towards darkness, and the re-appearance of 
Spring as its return to life and light. 

Besides the chief spin s nf t tie Mahometan heaven, 
such as Gabriel. Ihe angel of Revela ions, Israfil, by 
whom the last trumpet is to be sounded, and Azrael, 
the angel of dea'h, there were also a numoer of 
suhal'em intelligences, of which tradition las pre- 
served the names, appointed to preside over the dif- 
ferent stages, or ascen's, into which the celestial 
world was supposed to be divided.* Thus Kelail 
governs the fifh heaven ; while S.adiel, the t residing 

t' the earth, which would be in a 
state of agitation, if this angel did not keep his foot 
planted up n i's oih s 

Among other miraculous interrv-sitirns in favour of 
Mahomet, we find comment! ra'ed in the pages of the 



* " We adorned Ihe lower heaven with lights, and 
placed therein a guaid of mgels."— Koran, chap. xJi. 

• See D'Herbelot, passim. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



363 



Koran tbe appearance of live thousand angels on bis 
side at the battle »f Bedr. 

The ancient Persians supposed that Ormuzd ap- 
pointed thirty aiuels to preside successively over the 
days of the month, and twelve greatei ours to assume 
the government of the months themselves; among 
whom Bahman (10 whom Ormuzd committed the 
custody of ail animals, ixcept m u.) was the greatest. 
Mihr, ihe angel of the Till month, was also the spirit 
thai watched over the attains of friendship and love; 
— Chur had the care of the disk of the sun ;— Man 
was agent for the concerns of the moon ; — Isphan- 
darmaz (whom Cazvin calls the Spirit of the Earth) 
was the tutelar genius of good and virtuous women, 
&c. &c. &c. For all this the reader may consult the 
19th and 20th chapters of Hyde de Relig. Vet. Per- 
sarum, where the names and attributes i>f these daily 
and monthly angels are with much minuteness ai.d 
erudition explained. It appears, from the Zend- 
aves a, that ihe Persians had a certain office or prayer 
for every day of rbe month (addressed to the particu- 
lar angel who presided over it;, which they called the 
Sirouze. 

Ihe Celestial Hierarchy of the Syrians, as de- 
scribed by Kircher, appears to be the must regularly 
graduated of any of ihese systems. In the sphere of 
the Moon they placed he angels, in that of Meicuiy 
the archangels, Venus and the Sun contained the 
Principalities and the Powers;— and so on to the 
summit of the planetary system, where, in Ihe sphere 
of Saturn, the Thrones had their sta ion. Above this 
was the habitation of the Cherubim in the sphere of 
the fixed stars ; and still higher, in the region of those 
stus which are so distant as to be imperceptible, the 
Seraphim, we are told, the most peifect of all celes- 
tial creatures, dwelt. 

The Sabeans also (as D'Heibelot tells us) had their 
classes of angels, to » horn they prayed as mediators, 
or inleicessors; and the Arabians worshipped Jtniate 
angels, whom they called fienab Hasche, or, Daugh- 
ter of God. 



THE LOVES OF THE 
ANGELS. 



'T was when the world was in its prime, 

When the fiesh stars had just begun 
Their race of glory, and young I ime 

Told his first bn h-days by The sun; 
When, in Ihe light of Nature's dawa 

Rejoicing, men and angels met i 
On the high hill and sunny lawn, — 
Ere sorrow can.e, or Sin h id drawn 

' Tw ixt man and heaven her curtain yet! 
When earth lay nearer to the skies 

Than in the=e dajs of crime and woe, 
And mortals saw, without surprise, 
la tbe mid-air, angelic eves 

Gazing upon this world below. 

Alas, that Passion should profane, 
Ev'n then, the morning of the earth ! 

Thar, sadder s' ill. the fatal stain 
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth — 

And that from Woman's love should fall 

So dark a stain, most sad of all 1 

One evening, in that primal h->ur. 
On a hill's side, » here hung Ihe ray 

Of sun-el, brightening rill and bower, 
Three noble youths conversing lay; 

l The Mahometans believe, says D'Herbelot, that 
in that earl> period of the world, " les h>mmes nVu- 
rent qu'une seule religion, et furent souveut visiles des 
Anges, qui leur donnoiem la main." 



And, as thev look'd, from time to time, 

To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd 
His radiant wing, their brows sublime 

Bespoke themof that distant world- 
Spirits, who once, in brotherhood 
Of faith and bliss, near Alia stood, 
And o'er whose cheeks full ofl had blown 
The wind that breathes from Alla's lhrone,3 
Creatures of light, such as still play. 

Like notes in sunshine, round the Lord, 
And through their infinite array 
Transmit each moment, night and day 

The echo of His luminous word ! 

Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft, 

Of Ihe bright eves that charm'd Ihem thence; 
Till, yielding gradual to Ihe soft 

And balmy evening's influence — 
The silent breathing of the flowers — 

The melting light that beam'd above, 
As on their first, fond, erring hours, — 

Each told the story of his love, 
The his ory of that hour unblest,' 
When, like a bird, from its high nest 
Won down by fascinating eyes. 
For Woman's smile he lost the skies. 

The Firs' who spoke was one, with look 

The least celestial of the ihree — 
A Spirit of light mould, that took 

The prints of earth most yieldingly; 
Who, ev'n in heaven, was not of those 

Nearest the Throne,* but held a place 
Far otf. among those shining rows 

That ciicle out through endless space, 
And o'er whose wings the light from Him 
In Heaven's centre falls most dim. 

Still fair and glorious, he but shone 

Among those \ouths the' uuheavenliest one — 

A creature, to whom light remain'd 

From Eden still, but aller'd, slain'd, 

And o'er whose brow not Love alone 

A blight had, in bis transit, cast, 
But other, eirihlier joys had gone, 

And left their foot-p?iuts as they pass'd. 
Sighing, as back through ages flown. 

Like a tomb-searcher. Memory ran, 
Lifting each shroud that Tine had thrown 

O'er buried hopes, he thus began : — 



FIRST ANGEL'S STORY. 

«"T was in a land, that far away 

Into Ihe golden orient lies, 
Where Nature knows no night's delay, 
But springs to mee 1 her bridegroom. Day, 

Upon the threshold of the skies. 
One morn, on earthly mission sent,* 

And mid-way choosing where to light, 
I saw from the blue element- 



al " To which will be joined the sound of the hells 
hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by 
the wind proceeding from the Throne, so often as the 
Blessed wish for music."— See Salt's Koran, Prelinu 
Dissert. 

3 Ihe ancient Persians supposed that this Throne 
was p'aced in the Sun, and that through Ihe stars wetc 
distributed the various classes of Angels hat encircled 
it. 

The Basilidians supposed that there were three hun- 
dred and sixty-live orders of angels, "dont la perfec- 
tion nlloit en dec oissant. a mesure qu'ils s'eloignoient 
de la premiere clause d'espri's places dans le premier 
ciel." See Dupuis, Orig. des Cultes, torn. ii. p. 112. 

* It appears that, in most languages, the term em- 
ployed for an angel means also a messenger. Firisch- 



364 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Oh beautiful, but fatal sight ! — 
Ooe of earth's fairest womankind, 
Half veil'd from view, or rattier shrin'd 
In the clear crystal of a biook ; 

Which, while it hid uo single gleam 
Of her young beauies. made them look 

More spirii-iike, as they might seem 

Through the dim shadowing of a c' 
Pausing in wonder i look'd on, 

Wline, p a>fully around her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone, 

She mov'd in light of her own making. 

At length, as from thai airy height 

I gen'ly lower'd my breathless flight, 
The tremble of my wings all o'er 

(For through each plume I felt the thrill) 
Startled her, as she leach'd the shore 

Of that small lake— h-r mirp r still — 
Above whose bri k she stood, like snow 
When rosy wiih a suiset glow. 
Never shall I forget those eyeei— 
The shame, the innocent suiprise 
Of that bright lace, when in the air 
Uplookiug, she beheld me there. 
It seem'd as if each thought, and lo--k. 

And motion were that miuu'e chain'd 
Fast to the sp it, such root *he t . k. 
And — like a sunflower by a brook, 

With face upturn 'd — so still reu ain'd ! 



In pity to the wondering maid, 

Though loth from such a vision turning, 
Downward I bent, beneath the shade 

Of my spread wings to hide the burning 
Of giances, which — 1 well could feel — 

For me, It her, too warmly shone; 
But, ere I could again unseal 
My restless eyes, or even steal 

■ I .ne look, the maid was gone- 
Hid from me in the fores' leaves, 

Sudden as when, in all her charms 
Of full-blown light, some cloud receive* 

The Moon into his dusky aims. 

T is not in words lo tell the power, 
The des|>otisni that, from that t.our, 
Passion held o'er me. Day and night 

I sought around each neighbouring spot; 
And. in the chase of this sweet light, 

My tisk, and heaven, and all forgot; — 
All, but the one, sole, haunting dream 
Of her I saw in that bright stream. 

Nor was it long, ere by her side 

I found myself, who'le happv days. 
Listening to words, whose music vied 

With our own F.den's seraph lays. 
When seiaph lays are warm'd by love, 
Bu\ wanting that, far, far a* 
And looking into eyes where, b ue 
And beautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shoiie 
A heaven, more worshipp'd th«n my own. 
Oh what, while I could near and see 
Such worJs and 1 to me? 

Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
'T was blessed, while she hreath'd it loo; 
Though dark the flowers, though dim 'he sky, 
Love lent them light, while she was nigh. 
Throughout creation I bu' knew 
Two sepTa'e worlds — the one. that small, 

Belov'd, and consecra't I 
Where Lea was — the 'her, all 

The dull, wide waste, where she was not! 



ten, the Persian word for angel, is derived (says 

lerbelot) from the verb Firischtin, to send. The 

:w term, too, Melak, has the same signification. 



Drle 



But vain my suit, my madness vain ; 
Though gladly, from her eyes to gain 

One" earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that huug 

Furl'd at my back, and o'er the Fire 
In Gehim's» pit iheir fragments flung; 
T was hopeless all — pure and unmov'd 

She stood, as lilies in the light 

Of the hoi n-on but louk more white ;- 
And though she lov'd me, deeply lov'd, 
'1' was uol as mau, as mortal — uo. 
Nothing of earth was in that glow — 
She lov'd me but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant place 
She saw so oft in dreams — that Heaven, 

To wli.cii her p:a\ers at morn were set 
And on w : it even, 

thai »he might go 
Out of this shadowy world below, 

To that free, glorious element '. 

Well I remember by her side 

Sitting at rosy eveu-tide, 

When. — turning to the star, whose brad 

Look'd out, as from a bridal bed, 

At that mute, blushing hour,— she said, 

*' Oh '. that it were my doom 1 1 be 

" The Spirit of yon beauteous star, 
" Dwelling up there in pill 

'• Alone, as all such bright things are;- 
I shine, 

" To light my cen-er il t 
"And ca-t i's fire towatds In 

" Of Him in heaven, the Lternal One ! : 



So innocent the maid, so free 

rial taint in soul and frame, 
Whom 1 was mv c — 

To win 

From nil iia Nipt 
■ 

From d'rpt • 
It was ■ 
A mourniL 
Sofill'd bei 

So fia'd and tr z'n with ;r.t-f, to think 
That angel natures — liat ev'n I, 
Whose love she c^uig to. as the lie 
Between her spirit 

Should fall thus headlong fmm tbe height 
Of all that heaven hath pure and bright ! 

That very night — my hrart had grown 



Impatient of is inward burning 



The term, t >o 
And the I ' 



Between 
Thoui 



near the throne, 






i Tbe name given by the Mahometans to the in- 
fernal regions, over which, they say, tbe angel Tab- | 
bek presides. 

By the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the Koran, 
the commentators undrrsta 



ments < 
ners are tr 
is for sin: 
Chris'ian i :: 
for Jews ; ■ 
• 

Derk A-f.i\ 

of ail religions are Hi 









THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS 



365 



Oft did the potent spell-wnrd, given 

To Envoys hiilier from ihe skies, 
To be pronounced, when back to heaven 

It is their lime or wish to rise, 
Come to my lips that fatal day ; 

And once, t<>0, was so nearly spoken, 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heaven began to play ; — 

When my heart fail'd— the spell was broken — 
The word untinish'd died away, 
And my check'd plumes, ready to soar 
Fell slack and lifeless as before. 
How could 1 leave a world, which she, 
Or lost or won, made all In me ? 
No matter where my wanderings were, 

So there she look'd, breath'd, niov'd about — 
Woe, ruin, dealh, more sweet with ber, 

Than Paradise itself, without! 

But, to return — that very day 

A feast was held, where, full of mirth, 
Came — crowding thick as flowers that play 
In summer winds — the young and gay 

And beautiful of this bright earth. 
And she was there, and mid the young 

And beautiful stood first, alone ; 
Though on her genlle brow still hung 

The shadow 1 that morn had thrown - 
The first, that ever shame or woe 
Had cast upon its vernal snow. 
My heart was madden'd ; — in the flush 

Of the wild revel 1 give way 
To all thai franlic mirth — that rush 

Of despera e gaiety, which they, 
Who never felt how pain's excess 
Can brck nut thus, In ink happiness! 
Sad mimicry of mir h and lite, 
Whose flashes come but from (he strife 
Of inward passions — like Ihe light 
Struck out by clashing swords in fight 

Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane 
And blessing of man's heart and brain — 
That draught of soicery, which brings 
Phantoms of fair, forbidden things — 
Whose drops, l;ke those of laiubows, smile 

Upon the mists that circle mm, 
Bright'ning not only Earth, ihe while, 

But grasping Heaven, too, in their span ! — 
Then first the fatal wine-cup rain d 

Its dews of darkne-s through my lips,* 
Casting whate'er "f light remain'd 

To my 1'ist soul into eclipse ; 
And filling it with such wild dreams, 

Such fantasies and wrong desires, 
As, in the absence of heaven's beams, 

Haunt us for ever — like wild-fires 

That walk this earth, when day retires. 

Now hear Ihe rest ; — our banquet done, 
I sought her in the' accustom d bower, 
Where late we oft, when day was gone, 
And the woild husli'd, had met alone, 
At the same silent, moonligh' hour. 
Her eyes as usual, were uptum'd 
To her lov'd slar, whose lustre buin'd 
Purer than ever on that night ; 
While she, in looking, grew more brigh*, 
As though she bonow'd of its light. 



l I have already mentioned that some of the cir- 
cumstances of this slory were suggested lo me by ihe 
eastern legend of the two angtls. Harut and Marut, 
as given by Mariti, who says thai the author of ■ lie 
Taalim founds upon it the Mahometan prohibition of 
wine.* I have since found that Marni's vt-rsi >n of 
the tale (which differs also irnm tha' of Dr Prideaux, 
in his Life of Mali me .) is taken from the French 
Encyclopedic, in which work, under the head "Arot 
et Marot," Ihe reader will find il. 

* The Bahardanush tells the fable differently. 

HIT" 



There was a virtue in that scene, 

A spell of holiness around, 
Which, had my burning brain not been 

Thus midden'd, would have held me bound, 

As though I Irod celestial ground. 
Ev'n as it was, with soul all flame, 

And lips that binn'd in their own sighs, 
I stood to gaze, ui h awe and shame — 
The memory of Eden came 

Full o'er me when I saw those eyes; 
And tho> too well each glance of mine 

To the pale, shrinking maiden prov'd 
How far, alas, from aught divine, 
Aught worthy of so pure a shrine, 

Was the wild love with which 1 lov'd, 
Yet must she, too, have seen — oh, yes, 

>Tis soothing but to think she saw 
The deep, true, soul-fell tenderness, 

The homage of an Angel's awe 
To her, a mortal, whom pure love 
Then plac'd above him — far above — 
And all that struggle to repress 
A sinful spirii's mad excess, 
Which woik'd witiiin me at that hour, 

When, wiih a voice, where Passion shed 
All the deep sadue?s of her p'twer, 

Her melancholy power — I said, 
" Then be it so ; if back to heaven 

" I niu-t unlov'd, unpiued fly, 
" Wilhout one blest memorial given 

"To soothe ine in that lonely sky; 
"One look, like those the young and fond 

"Give when they 'ie parting— which would be, 
"Ev'n in remembrance far beyond 

" All heaven h nh left of bliss for me ! 

"Oh, but to see that head recline 

" A minu'e on this trembling arm, 
"And thoss mild eyes lock up lo mine, 

" Without a dread, a thought of harm ! 
" To mee', but once, the thrilling touch 

"Of lips loo purely find lo fear me — 
"Or, if that boon be "all fno much, 

" Ev'n thus to bring their fragrance nea- me ! 
" Nay, shrink not so — a look — a word — 

"Give them but kindly, and 1 fly ; 
"Already, see, my plumes have stin'd, 

" And tremble for 'heir heme on high. 
•' Thus be our parting — cheek to cheek — 

«' One uiinu e's I .pse will be forgiven, 
"And thou, the next shalt hear me speak 

" i he spell ihat plumes my wing lor heaven !'' 

While thus I spoke, the fearful maid, 
Of me, and of herself afraid, 
Had shunting stood, like nowers beneath 
The scotching of Hie sou h-w ii.d i breath : 
But when I nam d — alas, too well, 

1 now recall, th ugh wilder'd ihen, — 
Instantly, when I nam'd the spell, 

Her brow, her eyes upra e again, 
And, with an eagerness, that spoke 
The sudden ligh' that o'er her broke, 



Unknowing what I did, intlam'd. 
And tost' already on her brow 

I stamp'd one burning kiss, and rramtl 
The mystic woid, till then ne'er told 
To living creatine of earth's mould ! 
Scarce ira- it sa:d, when, quick as thought, 
Her lips from mine, like echo, caught 
The holy sound — her Lands and eyes 
Were instant lit ed to Hie skies, 
And thrice to heaven she spoke it out 

With tb't triumphant look Faith wears, 
When not a cloud ol lear or doubt, 

A vapour from this vale of ears, 

Between her and her God appears! 

Tha' very moment her whole frame 
All bright and glorified became, 





366 THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 




And at her back I saw unclose 


One minute did he look, and then — 




Two wings, magnificent as those 


As though he felt some deadly pain 




That sparkle around Aila's Throne, 


From its sweet light through'heirt ajd brain- 




Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose 


Shrunk back, and never look'd again. 




Above me, in the niuon-beam shone 






With a pure light, which — from is hue, 
Unknown upon his earth — I knew 










Was light from Eden, glistening through 
Most holy vision ! ne'er before 

Did aught so radiant — since the day 
When Eblis. in his downfall, bore 


Who was the Second Spirit ; be 

With the proud front at d r. lercing glance — 




Who seem'd, when viewing heaven's expanse, 




The third of Hie bright stars away — 
Rise, in eaih's beauty, la repair 
1 hat loss of light and glory there 1 


As though his far-sen' eye could see 
On, on into the' Immens'. v 
Behind the veils of that blue sky, 
Where Aila's grandest secrets lie ?— 




But did I bmelv view her flight ? 


His wings, the while, though day was gone, 
Flashing wrh many a various hue 

Of light they from themselves alone, 
Instinct «'ith Eden's brightness, drew. 

'T was Rubi — once auimg the prime 

And llower of those bright creatures, nam'd 

Spiri'sof Knowledge, 1 who o'er Time 




Did not /, too. proclaim out thrice 
The powerful words that were, that night, 




Oh ev'n for heaven too much delight ! — 




Again to bring us, eyes to eye-, 
And soul In s"ul, in Paradise ? 




I did — 1 >poke it o'er and o'er — 
I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain ; 


And Space and Thought an empire clairu'd, 
Secoi d al-ne to Him, whose ligh 




For me the spell had power no more. 


Was, ev'n to theirs as day to night ; 
T» ixt whom and Ihem was dis^a> ce far 




There seem'd around me some dark chain 




Which still, as 1 essiyM to soar, 

Baffled, alas, each wild endeavour: 


And wide, as would the journey be 
To teach from any island star 




Dead lay my wings, as they have lain 
Since thai sad hour, and will rennin — 


The vague shores of Infinity ! 




So wills the' offended God — for ever I 


T was Rubi, in whose mournful eye 




It was to yonder star I trae'd 


Slept the dim light of days gone by ; 
Whose voice, tb ugh swee', fell on the ear 




Her journey up the' illumin'd waste- 


Like echoes, in s> me silent place, 
When first awak'd for manv a year ; 




That isle in the blue firmament, 




To which so oft her fai.cy went 


And when he snui'd, if o'er his face 




In wishes and in dreams before, 


Smile ever stone, 'I w as like the grace 




And which was now — such. Purity, 
Thy blest reward — cdain'd to be 


Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, 
'I he sunny li'e. the glory gone. 




Her home of light for evermore! 


Ev'n o'er his pride, though still the same, 
A i ftemng shade Irotn sorrow came ; 




Once — or did 1 but fancy so t — 




Ev'n in her flight to that fair sphere, 


And th ugh at times his spirit knew 




Mid all her spit if, new-felt glow, 


The kindling of disdain and ire, 




A pitying |no« she turn'd below 


Short was the fitful gla e they threw — 
Like the last 1 ashes, tierce but few, 




On htm who stood in darkness here; 




Him whom, perhaps, if vain reeret 
Can dwell in htaien, -he pities yet ; 


Seen through some noble pile on fire ! 




And oft, when looking to this dim 


Such was the Angel, who now broke 
The silence that had c me o'er all, 




Aid distant world, remembers bim. 






When he, the Spin' tha' last mi ke, 




But soon that pa-sing dream was gone ; 


CI s'J 'he sail history of his fall; 




Farther and farther iff she shone, 


And. while a aoed lustre, flown 




Till les-en'd to a point, as small 


F< r ni iny a dai, relum'd his cheek — 




As are those specks that yonder burn, — 


Beautiful, as in days of old , 




Those vivid drops of light, thai 1 II 


And not those elri.p ent lips alone 




The last from Day's exh'U- ed urn. 


Bui every fraluie seem'd to speak — 




And when at length she merg'd, afar, 


Thus his eventful s;uiy told : — 




Into her own immortal star. 






And when at length my straining sight 










Had caught her wing's lis - f.iding'ny, 






That minute from my soul the light 
Of heave, and love both pass'daway; 


SECOND ANGEL'S STORT. 








And 1 foigot my home, my birth, 


" You both remember well the day, 




Profan'd my spirit, sunk my brow, 


When unto Ede 's new-made bowers, 




And revell'd in gross joys of earth, 


Alia conv 'k'd the bright array 




Till 1 becime — what I am now :" 


Of his supreme angelic powers, 
To witne-s Ihe one wonder ye», 




The Spirit bow'd his head in shame ; 


Beyond ma'., angel, stir, or -un, 




A shame, that of itself would tell — 


He oust achieve, ere he 




Were there not ev'n those breaks of flame, 


His seal upon the world as done — 




Celestial, through his clouded frame — 


To see ha list perfecti n ri e. 




How grand the height from which he fell ! 


That crnwnine of crt-atr. 




That h 'ly Shame, which ne'er forgets 


When mid 'he ■ r-hip a' d surprise 




The' unbienchd renown it ns'd n> wear; 


Of circ 




Whose blu-h remain-, when Vir'ue sets, 


First opiL'J i . irth ; 




To show her sunshine has beeu there. 












i The Kerul imi. as the Mussulmans call them, are 




Once only, while the tale he told, 


often j lined Indiscriminately wi h 'he A-rafil or Sera- 




Were his eyes lifted to beh'ld 


phim, under one c | which 




That happy stainless star, where she 


all -pin's, who appr.«ch near the throne o: Alia are 




Dwelt in her bower of purity ! 


designated. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



367 



And from their lids a thrill was sent, 
That throueh each living spirit went 
Like first light through the firmament ! 

C.n you forget how gradual stole 
The fre--h awaken'd breath of siul 
Throughout her perfect forui —which seem'd 
To gro.v tran-parent, as there beam'd 
That dawn of Mind wi bin, and caught 
New loveliness from each new thought? 
Slow as o'er summer seas "e trace 

The progrets i>f 'he noon ide air, 
Dimpling its bright and silent face 
Each minute into some new grace, 

A: d varying liea\en's refections 'here — 
Or, like the light of evening, stealing 

i'er some f t ir lemple. which all day 
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing 

Its seve a] beauties, ray by ray, 
Till it shines ou , a thing t > "bless, 
All full of light and loveliness. 

Can you forget her blu h, when round 
Throu»h Eden's lone, enchaued ground 
She look d, and saw, the sea — the skics- 

And heard the rush of many a wing, 

On high behests then vanishing ; 
And -aw the last few angel eye-, 
Still lingering— mine amine the rest,— 
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest ? 

From that miraculous hour, the fate 

Of this new, glorious Being dwelt 
Fur ever, with a spell-like weight, 
Upon my spirit — early, lute. 

Whate'er 1 did, or dream'd, or felt, . 
The thought of what mieht yet befall 
Tha 1 matchless crea ure mix'd with all. — 
Nor she aline, but her whole race 

Through ages yet to come — whate'er 

Of feminine, and fond. and fair, 
Should spring fr m tha' pure mind and face, 

All wak'd my soul's in'ensest care ; 
The.r forms, souls, feelings, -till to me 
Creation's strangest mystery ! 

It was my doom — ev'n from the first, 
When witnessing the prim. I burst 
Of Nature's won lers, I saw rise 
Tho-e blight creations in the skies, — 
Those worlds instinct with life and light, 
Which .Man, remoe, tut sees by nigbt,— 
It was my d.-om still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the lima 
Held all niv soul, enchain'd, enchanted, 
And left me not a thought, a dream, 
A word, but ou that only theme 1 

The wish to know — that endless thirst, 

Which e\'n by quenching is awak'd, 
And which bec-nies oi blest orcu-st, 

As is the fount whereat 't is slak'd — 
Still urgd me onward, with desiie 
Iisaiiae, to explore, inquire — 
Win e'er 'he wondrous things might be, 
That wak'd each new idolatry — 

Their cause, aim. source, w'hei.ct-ever sprung- 
Their inmost powers as though for me 

Existence ou that kuowUdge hung. 

Oh what a vision were the s'ars, 

When first I saw them burn on high, 

Rolling along, 1 kc living cars 
Of light, for gods to journey by ! » 



They were my hea t's first passion— day* 
And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
Have f hung floaine. till each sense 
Seem'd fulfof their bright influence. 
Inn cent joy ! alas, how much 

Of misery had 1 shunu'd below, 
Couid 1 have still hvd blest with such; 

Nor, prr ud and restless, burn'd to know 

The knowledge that brings guilt and woe. 
Of 'en— so much 1 lo^'d to irace 
The secrets of this s'arry race — 
Have I at morn and evening run 
Al< ng the lines of radiance spun 
Like webs, Letweeu them and the sun, 
Untwisting all the tangled ties 
Of light into their different dyes — 
Then fleetly n ina'd 1 otl", in q'uest 
Of th se, the farthest, loneliest, 
Thai watch, like winking sen inels,^ 
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells; 
And there, wih noiseless plume, pursued 
Their tiack thrOLgh that giand solitude, 
Asking intently all and e..ch 

Whit soul within thei' radiance dwelt, 
And wishing their sweet light were speech, 

That they might tell me all they felt. 



Nay, oft, so passiona'e my cha.<e 
Of these resplendent hei>s of space, 
Oft did I follow — lest a ray 

Should 'scape me in the larthest night — 
Some pilgrim Comet, ou his way 

To visit distant shrines of light, 
And well remember how I sung 

Exul'ingly, when on my sight 
New worlds of s ars, all fiesh and young, 
As if jus' born of darkness, sprung! 

Such was my pure ambition then, 

My sinless transport, night and morn; 
Ere yet thij newer world of men. 

And that most fair of stars was born 
Which I, in fatal hour, saw use 
Am ng the (lowers of paradise ! 
Thenceforth my nature all was chang'd, 

My heart, soul, senses turn'd below ; 
And lie, w ho but so lately raug'd 

Von wonderful expanse, where glow 
Worlds upon worlds,— yet found his mind 
Ev'n in that luminous range confiu'd, — 
Now blest the humblest, meanest sod 
Of the dark earth where Woman trod ! 
In vain my former idols glis eu'd 

From their far thrones; in vain these ears 
To the once-thrillii g mu-ic listeu'd, 

That hymn d aronud my favourite spheres — 
To earth, in earth each thought was given, 

1 hat in thi- half-lost soul h«d bir:h ; 
Like snme high mount, who-e he.id 's in heaven, 

While its yvlule shadow rests on earth ! 



• u C'est un fait indubitable que la plupart des an- 
eiens philosopbes, soit Chaldeens, soil Grec-, noi.s out 
donne les astres comme animes, et out soutenu que les 



aslres, qui nous eclairent n'e'oient que, ou les chars, 
ou n.cii.e les i avies des Intelligences qui les condui- 
soient. Pour les Chars, cela se li' partout; on n'a 
qu'o.vnr 1-line. S'. Clement, Sec fcc. — MrniQire His- 
toriqut. sur Ic SaiiUme, pr M. Founnont. 

A belief that the s ars are either spiri's or the vehi- 
e'es of spirit-, w s common to all the religions and 
heresies of the IJas'. Kircher Ira- given he names 
and s'ati >ns of he -even arcljancels who were bv the 
Cabala of the Jews distr.b.leJ through the i hr.e'ts. 

* According to the cosmogony of the ancient Per- 
sians, there were four stars set a- sentinels in the four 
quartets of Ihe heavens, to wa'ch i ve the o'lier fixed 
stars, and supei intend the planets in their curse. 

I I he name- 01 these four sentinel stars ..re, ace rding 
to ihe Boundesh, Taschter, for the e.ist ; Salevis, lor 

; the west ; Veuaud, for the south ; and H-tftorang, for 

I the north. 



368 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Nor was il Love, ev'n yet, that thrall'd 

My spirit in his burning ties; 
And less, still less could il be call'd 

Thai grosser flame, round w hich Love flies 

Nearer and nearer, till he dies — 
No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd 

At all God's works my dazzled seme; 
The same rapt wonder, only fill d 

Willi passion, more profound, intense, — 
A vehement, but wandering fire, 
Which, though nor love, i.or yet desire,— 
Though through all womankind it took 

Its range, as lawless lightnings run, 
Yet wanted but a touch, a look, 

To fix it burning upon One. 



Then, too, the ever-re-tless zeal, 

The' insatiate cariosity 
To know how shapes, so fair, must feel — 
To look, but once, beneath the seal 

Of so much loveliness, and see 
What souls belong'd to such bright eyes — 

Whether, as s o. -beams find their way 
Into the gem that hidden lies, 

Those looks could inwa'd turn their ray, 
And in ke the soul as bright as they : 
All this impelled my anxious chase, 

And still the more I -aw and knew 
Of Woman's fond, weak, cor quenng race, 

The' intenser still my wonder grew. 

I had beheld their First, their Eve, 

Bom in that splendid Paradise, 
Which sprung there solely to receive 

The fi st light of her waking eyes. 
I had seen purest angels lean 

In worship o'er her from above ; 
And man — oh, yes. had envying seen 

Proud man po'sess'd of all her love. 

1 saw their happiness, so brief, 

So exquisite.— her erior, too, 
That easy trust, that prompt belief 

In what the warm heart wishes true ; 
That failh in words, when kindly said, 
By which the whole fond sex is led — 
Mingled wilh — what I durst not blame, 

tor '1 is my own — that zeal to know, 
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe ; 
Which, though from heaven all pure it cime, 
Yet stain d, ini-us'J, brought sin and shame 

On her, on me, on all below ! 



I had seen this ; had seen Man, arni'd. 

As his soul is, with s rength and sense, 
By her first words to ruin cliaru.'d ; 

His vaunted reason's c. I J defence, 
Like an ice-barrier in the ray 
Of melting summer, smil'd away. 
Nay, stranger \et. spi'e >| all this — 

Though by her counsels taught to err, 

Though driv'n fioin Paradise for her, 
(And with her — that, at least, was bliss,) 
Had I not heard him, ere ii 

The threshold of lhat eaithly heaven, 
Which by her wildering smile' he lost — 

So quickly was the wrong forgiven ! — 

Had I not heard him, as he pres' 
The frail, fond 'reinbler to a breast 
Which she had doom'd to sin and s'rife. 
Call her —ev'n then— his Life ! his Life ! 1 



i Chavah, cr, as it is in Arabic. Havah (the name 
by which Adam called the woman after their trans- 
gression), means "Life." 



Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, 

That ruin d Man to Woman gave, 
Ev'n in his ou'ca-t hour, when curst 
By her fond witchery, with that worst 

And earl. est boon of love, the grave ! 
She, who brought dea h into the world, 

1 here stood before him, with ihe light 

Of their lost Paradise still bright 
Upon those sunny locks, that curi'd 
Diwn her white shoulders to her feet — 
So beautiful in form, so sweet 
In heart aid voice, as to redeem 

The loss, the dea'h of all things dear, 
Except herself — and make it seem 

Life, endless Life, while she was near ! 
Could I help wondering at a creature, 

Thus circled round with spells so strong- 
One, to whose every thought, word, feature, 

In joy and woe. through right and wrong, 
Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave, 
To bless or ruin, curse or save ? 

Nor did the marvel cease with her — 

New Eves in all her daughters came, 
As strong to charm, as »eak lo err, 

As sure of man through prai-e and blame, 

Wha'e'er they brought him, pride or shame, 
He still the' uureaoning wonhifiper, 

And they, throughout all time, the same 

Ench mtresses of soul and frame. 
Into »ho-e hands, from first to last, 

This worid with all its destinies, 
Devotedly by heaven seems cast, 

To save or ruin, as they please ! 
Oh, 'tis not tn be told how h rig, 

How restlessly I sigb'd to find 
Some erne, from out that witching throng, 

Some abstract of the form and mind 
Of the whole matchless sex, from which, 

In my own arms beheld. ; 
I in ght leim all the poweis to ui'ch, 

To warm, and (if my fate uoble-t 

Wnuld have it) ruin, of the rot ! 
Into whose inward soul and sense 

I might desceud, as doth the bee 
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence 

Rifle, in all its purity. 
The prime, the quintessence, the whole 
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul ! 

At length, my burning wish, my prayer — 
(For such — oh what will tongues not dare, 
When hearts go wrong ? — this lip preferrM)— 
At lenglh my ominous ptayer was heard — 
But whether heard in heaven or hell. 
Listen — and thou wilt know too well. 

There was a maid, of all who move 

Like visions o'er this oib, mo>t fit 
To be a bright young angrl's 1 >ve, 

Herself so hngi . 
The pride, too, i f her s'ep. as light 

Along the' unconscious earth she went, 
Seem'd that of one, bom »ith a right 

To walk some hrav'i.l.er element, 
And tread in places wheie her leet 
A star at every step should meet. 
'T »as not alone that lovt 

By which the »il ler'd sense is cangbt — 
Of lips, whose very breath enuld I 

Of playful blu-hes. that seem'd nought 

But lutiiin usescipes of I 
Of eves tha\ u beu by anger stirr'd, 
Were fire itself, but. a! a 

Of tenderness, all s.;f: became 
As though they cculd, like the sun's bird, 

Dissolve a«ay in their own flame — 
Of form, as pliant as the shoots 

Of a young tree, in vernal flower ; 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



369 



Tet round and glowing as the fruits. 

That drop from it in summer's h mr; — 
T was not alone this loveliness 

That falls 10 loveliest w omen's share, 

Though, even here, her f^rm could spare 
From itsowu beauty's nch excess 

Enough to make ev"n tliem more fair — 
Bu' 't was the Mind, outshining clear 
Through her whole frame — the soul, still near, 
To light e.nch charm, vet independent 

Of u hat it lighted, as the sun 
Thai shines on (ioivers, would be resplendent 

Were there no flowers to shine upon — 
T "as this, all this, in one comb.n'd — 

The' uiioumber'd looks and arts that form 
The glory of young w.. man-kind. 

Taken, in their perfection, w.rra, 

Ere time had cl.ill'd a single charm, 
And slamp'd with such a seal of Miud, 

As gne lo beauties, hat might be 
Too sensual else, too unrefin*d, 

The impress of Oivmi y ! 

'T was this — a anion, which the band 

Of Nature kepi for her alone, 
Of every thing most playlul, bland, 
Voluptuous, spiri ual, gr.md, 

In angel-natures aid her own — 
Oh this it was tha' dre-'. me nigh 
One, who seeni'd kin to heaven as I, 
A bright twin -sister fiom on high — 
One, in whose love, 1 fell, weie given 

The mix'd deligh's of eilher sphere, 
All that the spirit seeks in heaven, 

And all the senses burn for here. 

Had we — but hold — bear every part 

Of our sad tale — spite of ibe pain 
Remembrance gives. when the find dart 

Is stirrd thus in the wound again — 
Hear every step, so full of bliss, 

And >et so ruinous, that led 
Down to the las', d <rk precipice, 

Where perish'd both — the fall'n, the dead 1 

From the first hour she caught my sight, 
I never left her — d ly and night 
Hovering unseen aroimd her "ay, 

And 'mid her loneliest mu-ings near, 
I so n could track each though' that lay, 

Gleaming wilhin her heart, as clear 

As pebbles within brooks appear; 
And there, among 'he countless things 

Th it keep young hearts for ever glowing, 
Vague wishes, fond imaginings, 

Lo\e-d earns, as yet no object knowing — 
Light, winged hopes, tha' erne when bid, 

And rainbow j ys that end in weepij g; 
And pa-si ns, among puie though's hid, 

Like serpen's under now'res sleeping: 
'Mongali these feelings — fell where'er 
Young heart- are beating — I saw thtre 
Proud thoughts, aspirings high — beyond 
Whate'er ye: dwelt in s>ul so fond — 
Glimp-es of glory, far away 

Into ihe blight, vague future given ; 
And fancies, free and grand, whose play, 

Like that of eaglets, is near heaven ! 
With this, too— what a >oul and heart 
To fall benea'h the tempter's art : — 
A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er 
Enshrin'd itself in form so fair. 
Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve, 

Wi:h every frur of Eden blest, 
Save one alone — rather han leave 

That one uureach'd, lost all the rest. 

It was in dreams that first I stole 

With gentle mastery o'er her mind — 



The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds 
Each sh d wy shape itie Fancy builds — 
T was then, by that soft light, I brought 

Vague, glimmering visions to her view} — 
Catches of radiance, lost when caught, 
Brigh labyrinths, that led to nought. 

And vistas, wi'h n" pathway through ; — 
Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone, 

Then clos'd, dssolvd. and left no trace — 
All that, in short, could tempt Hope on, 

But give her wing no res ing-place; 
Myself the while, wi'h brow."as yet, 
Pure as the young moon's coronet, 
Through every dieam still in her sight, 

The' enchau:er of each mocking scene, 
Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, 
Who said, ''Behold yon world of light," 

Then sudden diopt a veil between I 

At length, when I perceiv'd each thought, 
Waking or sleepi; g, fix d on nought 

But these illusive scenes, and me — 
The phaniom, who thus came and went, 
In half revealments, only meant 

To madden cuiiosity — 
When by such various arts I found 
Her fancy to i's Dimes! woui d, 
One night — 't was in a holy spot, 
Which she for pray'i had chos'u — a grot 
Of pure-t maible, built below 
Her garden beds, through which a glow 
From lamps invisible then stole, 

Brightly pervading all Ihe place — 
Like that mysterious light ihe s-ul. 

Itself unseen, sheds through the face. 
There, at her altar while she knelt, 
And all that woman ever felt, 

When God and man both claim'd her sighs — 
Every warm thought, that ever dwelt, 

Like summer clouds. 'twixt earth and skies, 

Too pure to fall, too gross to rise. 

Spoke in her ges'ures, tones, and eyes — 
Then, as the mystic light's soft ray 
Grew softer still, as Iho' its ray 
Was breath'd from ber, I heard her say : — 

" Oh idol of my dreams ! whate'er 
" Thv nature be — human, divine, 

"Or but half heav'nly — still to ■> fair, 
" Too heavenly to be ever mine ! 

" Wonderful Spiri', who dost make 
"Slumber so lovely, that it seems 

"No longer life to live awake, 
"Since heaven itself descends in dreams, 

" Why do I ever lose thee ? why 

" When on thy realms and thee I gaze 

"Still drop- tha; veil, which 1 could die, 
'• Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ? 

" Long ere such miracles as thou 

"And thine came o'er my thouehls, a thirst 
u For light was in this soul, which now 

" Thy looks have into passion nurs'd. 

" There 's nothing bright above, below, 
" In sky — earth — ocean, that Ihis breast 

*' Doth not intensely burn to know, 
"And thee, thee,' thee, o'er .ill the rest ! 



'Then come, oh Spirit, from behind 
" The c .rtair.s of thy radiant home, 

' If thou would'st be as angel shrin'd, 
'■ Or lov'd and clasp'd as mortal, come! 



370 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS 



" Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, 
"That I may, waking, know and see; 

w Or waft me hence to thy own sphere, 
"Tby heaven, or — ay, even that with (keel 

" Demon or God, who hold'st the book 

" Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, 

"Give me, with thee, but one bright look 
" Into its leaves, and lei me die ! 

"By those ethereal wings, whose way 
" Lies through an element, so fraught 

" With living Mind, that, as they play, 
" Theii every movement is a thought 8 

" By tlwt bright, wreathed hair, between 
" Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind 

"Of Paradise so la'e hath been, 
" And left its fragrant soul behind ! 



" By those impassion'd eyes, that melt 
" Their light into the inmost heart; 

•'Like sunset in the waters, felt 
♦•As molten tire throngh every part — 

" I do implore thee, oh most bright 

"And worshi| p'd Spirit, sbioe but o'er 

"My waking, wondering eyes 'bis night, 
'• "This one blest night — 1 ask do more V* 

Exhausted, breathless, as she said 
These burning words, her languid bead 
Upon the altar's steps she cast. 
As if that brain-throb were is last — 

Till, s'arled by the breathing, nigh, 
Of lips, that echoed back ber sigh, 
Sudden her brow again she rai-.'d ; 

And there, just lighted on ibe shrine, 
Beheld me — not as 1 had blaz'd 

Around her, full of light divine, 
In her late dreams, but soften'd down 
Into more mortal grace ; — my crown 
Of flowers, too radiant for this world, 

Lefr hanging on yon starry steep ; 
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd, 

When Peace hath put their pnmp to sleep; 

Or like autumnal clouds, 'hat keep 
Their lightnings sheatb'd, rather than mar 
The dawning hour of some young star; 
And nothing left, but what beseem d 

The' accessible, though glorious mate 
Of mortal woman — whose eyes beam'd 

Back upon bers, as psasionate; 
Wh. se ready heart brought (lame for flame, 
Wh.se r-in, whose madnes was the same; 
And whose soul lost, in that one hour, 

For her and for her love — oh m< re 
Of heaven's light than ev'n the power 

Of heav'n itself could now restore ! 

And ye', that hour!'' 

The Spirit here 

Stopp'd in his uiterance, as if words 
Gave way beneath the wild career 

Of his then rushing thoughts— like chords, 
Midway in s>me enthusiast's song, 
Breaking beneath a touch tios'rong; 
While the clench'd ha..d upon the brow 
Told how remembrance tbrobb'd there now ! 
But soon t was o'er — 'hat cisual blaze 
From the sink hie of o her davs-- 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 

Had been too fierce 'o be relum'd, 
Soon pass'd away, nd >(,e vcu h, turning 

To bis bright "listeners, tnu* retin.'u : - 



" Days, months etaps'd, and, though what moat 

On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all — 
Te' — was I happy ? God, thou know'st, 
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast, 

What happiness is theirs, who fall ! 
T was bitterest anguish — made more keen 
Ev'u by the love, the bliss, be'ween 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell 

In agonizing cioss-light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 

In purgatory i catch of heaven ! 
The only feeling that 'o me 

Seem'd joy — or rather my sole rest 
From aching misery— was to see 

My young, proud", bloomiDg Lilis blest. 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul — whom yet its thirst 
Fervidly panted after still. 

And found the charm fresh as at first — 
To see her happy — to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play'd 
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd, 

On her, my Moon, whose light 1 made, 

And whose son) worshipp'd ev'n my shade — 
This was, 1 own, enjoyment— this 
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature ! — proud, 

Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs 
In woman's heart, nor would have bow'd 

That beautiful young brow of hers 
To aught beneath the First above, 
So high she deem'd ber Cherub's love ! 

Then, too, that passion, hourly growing 

Stronger and stronger — to which even 
Her love, at times, gave way —of knowing 

Every thing strange in earth and heaven; 
Not only ail that, full reveal'd, 

The' eternal Alia loves to show, 
But all that He hatb wisely seal'd 

In darkness, for man not to know — 
Ev'n 'his desire, ala«, iil-starr'd 

And fatal as it was, I sought 
To feed each minute, and unbarr'd 

Such realms of wonder on her thought, 
As ne'er, till then, had let their light 
Escape on any mortal's sight ! 
In the deep earth — beneath the sea — 

Through caves of fire— through wilds of air- 
Wherever sleeping Mystery 

Had spread her curtain, we were there — 
L r ve still beside u-, a- we went, 
At h me in each new element, 

And sure of worship every where! 

Then first was Nature taught to lay 
The wealth of all her kingdoms down 

At woman's worshipp'd feet, and say, 
"Bright creatu'e, this is all thine own:" 

Then first were diamonds, fr m the night,? 

Of earth's deep centre brought to light, 



» Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf— a sort of 
wall or jari ion w h ch. according to the "th chapter 
of the Koian, separa'es hell from paradise, and where 
they, who have n>t merits -uff.c e:it to gain them im- 
mediate admittance into heaven, are so| 
stand for a certain period, illernatrly tantalised and 
toimented by the sights that are ou ei'her side pre- 
sented to them. 

Manes, who borrowed in many instances from 'be 
Pl.itouists, placed his purgatories, or places of purifi- 
cation, in the Sun and Moon. — Btausobrt, liv. in. 
chip. S. 

s '■ Quelques gnomes drsireux de devenir immor- 

nt voulo gagi.rr ie> l-Oonra graces des r.ns 

filres, et leur av. ien't a|>porte des pierreries dont ils 

sont gardiens natural* : et ces autcurs onl cru, s»ap- 

p yans sat le livre d'Euoch Dial cu etdu. que rVtoieat i 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS, 



371 



And made to grace the conquering way 
Of proud young beauty with their ray. 
Then, toe, the pearl from out its shell 

Unsight y, in the sunless sea, 
(As 't were a spirit, fore'd 10 dwell 

In form unlovely) was set free, 
And round the neck of woman threw 
A light ii lent and borrow 'd too. 
for never did this maid — whate'er 

The 1 ambition of the hour — forget 
Her sex's pride in being fair; 
Nor that adi rnmen', tasteful, rare, 
Which makes the mighty magnet, set 
In Woman's form, more mighty yet. 
Nor was there aught wilhi.i the range 

Of my swift wiDg in sea or air, 
Of beai.tiful, or grand, or sTange, 
Thai, quickly as her wish could change, 

1 did not seek, with such foi.d care, 
That when 1 've seen her look above 

At some bright star admiringly, 
I 've said, " Nay, look not there, my lov«,» 

Alas, I cannot give it thee 1" 

But not alone the wonders found 
Through Nature's realm — the" unveil'd, ma 
ter al, 

Visible glories, that abound, 

Through all her vast, enchanted ground- 
nut whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal, 

Dwells far away from human gense, 

Wrapp'd in its own intelligence — 

The mystery of that Fountain-head, 
From which all vi'al spirit runs, 

All breath of Life, where'er 't is spread 
Through men or angels, flowers or suns — 

The workings - f the' Almighty Mind, 

When first o'er Chaos he desiin'd 

The outlines of this world ; and through 
That depth of darkness — like the bow, 

CalTd out of raiu-cluuds, hue by hue* — 
Saw the giand, gradual picture grow; — 

The covenant with human kind 

By Alia made 3 — the chains of Fate 

He found himself and them hath twin'd, 
Till his high task he consummate; — 
Till good from evil, love from hale, 

Shall be work'd out through sin and pain, 

And Fate shall loose her iron chain, 

And all be free, be bright again ! 

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries. 

And some, ev'n more obscure, profound, 
And wildering to the mind thin these, 

Which — far as woman's thought could sound, 



des pieges que les anges amoureux," &c. &c. — Cotnte 
de Gabalis. 

As the fiction of the loves of angels with women 
gave birth to the fanciful world of sylphs and gnomes, 
so we owe to it also the invention of those beautiful 
Genii and Peris, which embellish so much the my 
thology of the East; for in the fabulous histoiies of 
Caioumarath, of Thamurath, &c, these spiritual < 
tures are always represented as the descendants of 
Seth. and called the Bani Algiann, or children of 
Giann. 

t I am aware 'hat this happy saying of Lord Albe 
marle's loses much of its grace aud playfulness, by- 
being put into the mouth c f any but a human lover. 

a According to Whilehurst's theory, the mention of 
rainbows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism: 
as he say-, "There wa.« no rain before the flood, and 
consequently no rainbow, which accounts for the 
novelty of this sight after the Ueluge." 

3 For the terms of this compact, of which the 
angels were suppled to be witnesses, see the chapter 
of the Koran, entitled Al Araf, and the article 
"Adam" in O'Herhelot. 



Or a fall'n, ou'law'd spirit reach — 
She dar'd to learn, and 1 to teach. 
Till — fiH'd with such unearthly lore, 

And mingling the pure light it brings 
With much that fancy had, before, 

Shed in false, tinted glimmerings — 
Th^ enthusiast giil spoke out, as one 

Inspii'd, among her own dark race, 
Who from their ancient shrines would run, 
Leaving their h ly rites undone, 

To gaze upon her holier f.tce. 
And, th ugh but wild the things she spoke, 
Tet, mid that play of error's sm >ke 

Into fair shapes by fancy curl'd, 
Some gleams of pure religion broke — 
Glimpses, that have not yet awoke, 

But startled the still dreaming world ! 
Oh, many a truth, remote, sublime. 

Which Heav'n would f<om the minds of men 
Have kept conceal'd, till its own time, 

Stole out in these reveaiments then — 
Revealments dim, that have fore-run, 
By ages, the great, Sealing One : * 
Like that imperfect dawn, or light* 

Escaping from the zodiac's signs, 
Which makes the doubtful east half bright, 

Before the real morning shines ! 

Thus did some moons of bliss go by — 

Of bliss to her, who saw but' love 
And knowledge throughout earth and skyj 
To whose enamour'd soul and eve, 
I seem'd — as is the sun on high' — 

The light of all below, above, 
The spirit of sea, and land, aud air, 
Whose influence, felt everywhere, 
Spread from its centre, her own heart, 
F.v'n to the world's ex'reme-t part ; 
While th'ough that wotld her reinless mind 

Had now career'd so f is - and far, 
That earth itself seem'd left behind, 
And her proud fancy, uncoi fin'd, 

Already saw Heaven's gates ajar ! 

Happy en'hiisiast! still, oh, still 
Spite of my own heart's mortal chill, 
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow, 

Which looks at once before and back, 
Beholds the yes erday, the morrow, 

And sees both comfortless, both black- 
Spite of all this, I could have still 
In her delight forgot all ill ; 
Or, if pain would not be forgot, 
At least have borne and murmur'd not. 
When thought- of an od'ended heaven, 

Of sinfulness, which I — ev'n I, 
While down its steep mo-t headlong driven — 
Well knew could never be forgiven, 

Came o'er me wi-h an agony 
Beyond all reach f mortal w ve — 
A torture kept for those who know, 
Know every thing, and — worst of all — 
Know and love Virtue while they fall! 
E\ 'n then, her presence had the power 

To soothe, to warm — nay, ev'n to bless — 
If ever bliss could graft its flower 

On s-em so full of bitterness — 
Ev'n then her glorious smile to me 

Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm ; 
Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea, 

Brightening the storm it cannot calm. 

Oft, too, when that disheartening fear, 
Which ail who love, beneath you sky, 

* In acknowledging the authority of the great Pro 
phets who bad preceded him, Mahomet repre-ented 
his own mission as the final "Seal,'' or consummation 
of them all. 

» The Zodiacal Light 



372 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS, 



Fee', when thev gaze on whit is dear — 

The dreadful t|o ght tha' i' must die! 
That desolating thought, which comes 
Into men's happiest hours and homes; 
Whose meiai.ch Iv boding flings 
Dca'h's shadow o'er tt.e b? ghtest things, 
Sicklies the infant's bl >om, and spreads 
Tlie grave be e iih young lovers' beads I 
This f ar, so sad ' all — to me 

Mas' lull of sadnt-s;, fr irn Ihe thought 
Tha I must itill ;ive o:.,3 when she 
Would, like tie snnw that on ihe sea 

1'eli ye^ erday, in vain be sought ; 
That heaven to me lliis final seal 

Of a 1 earth's sorrow would deny, 
And 1 eermlly must feel 

The death-pang, without power to die! 
Ev'n this, her fond endearm en's — fond 
As ever cherish'd the swee' b nd 
Twin heart aid heart — could charm awayj 
Bef .ie her look no crujs wo.li slay, 
Or, if they did, 'heir gioom was gone, 
Tbeir darkness pul a glory on ! 

But 't is not, '( is not for the wrong, 
The guilty, lo be happy loi.g ; 
And si e. <oo, now, hal sunk wi'bin 
The shadow of h^r tempter's sin, 
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence 
Tusnaxh the fated victim thence! 

Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in your hearts, weep it for me. 

T was on the evening of a day, 
Which we in love hid dreamt away; 
In that same garden, "here — the pride 
Of seraph splei dour laid aside, 
And those wings furl d. whose open light 
For mortal taze were else too bright — 
I first h>d stood hefore I er sight, 
And found m;self — oh, re 

Which ev'u in pain I ne'er f >rget — 
WorshippM as < nlv God sh u.ld be. 

And lov'd as never man was yet! 
In that -ame garden were ■ 

Thoughtfully side by side reclining, 
Her eves turn'd upward, and her brow 

With it- own Silent fincies shining. 
It was an evening bright and s'ill 

As ever bh.sh'd on wave or bower, 
Smiling from heaven, as if i. 

Could happen in *o sweet an hour. 
Yet, I remember, both grew sd 

In looking al tli il light — ev'n she 
Of heart so fresh, and brow- so glaJ, 

Felt the still ho..r's solemnity. 
And thought she saw, in that repose, 

The death hour rot alone of ligh\ 
But of Ids whole fair word — the close 

Of all things beautiful and bright — 
The last, grand -un-e\ in whose ray 
Naiure herself died calm away 1 

At length, as though some livelier thought 

Had suddenly her'fancy a 

She turn'd upon me her dark eyes, 

Dilated into that full shape 
They took in joy, re; roach, sur: rise, 

As t were to let more soul escape, 
Aud, playfully as t>n my 
Her whi'e band rested, 'smil'd and said : — 



* Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the 
Mahometan doctors, that all souls, not only of men 
' and of animals, living either on land or in the sea, but 
| of the angels also, must necessarily tas'e of death. 



1 1 bad, last night, a dream of thee, 
" Resemb'ing those divine ones, given, 

' Like preludes to sweet uiins'relsy, 
" Before thou cam'st, thyself, from heaven. 

' The same rich wreath was on thy brow, 
" D 'Zzlit.g as if of s arlight made ; 

' And these w jj gs, lying darkly now, 
" Like meteors round thee nash'd and play'd. 

< Thou stood'st, all bright, as in those dreams, 

" As if just waf ed from above ; 
'Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams 

'■ A creature to adore and love. 



" Sudden I felt thee draw me near 

M To thy pure heart, where fondly plactt, 

•'I seem'd wiihin the atmosphere 
" Of that exhaling light embrac'd ; 

"And felt, me'hnught. the ethereal flame 
" Pass from tby purer soul to mine; 

"Till — oh, too blissful — I became, 
«' Like thee, all spirit, all divine! 

"Say, why did dream so blest come o'er me, 

I wake, 'tis fade. 

" When will my Cherub shine before me 

" Thus radiant, as ill heaven he shone? 

■ When shall I, waking, be ailowM 
"To gaze upon those perfect charms, 

" And clasp thee once, without a cloud, 
"A chill of earth, within these arms? 

" Oh what a pride to say, this, this 

" Is my own At gel —all divine, 
"And pure, and dazzling as be is, 

" And fresh from heaven— he's mine, he's mis* I 

" Think'st thou, were Litis in thy place, 

" A creature of yon lof y skies, 
" She would have "bid one" single grace, 

" One glory from her lover's eyes i 

"No. no — then, if thou IotM like me, 

i'. in the blaze 
"Of thy n.ost proud di'.i 
'• Nor think thou 't wound this mortal gaze. 

" Too long and oft I 've look'd upon 

" Those ardent eyes, intense ev'n thus — 

"Too near the stas themselves have gone, 
" To fear aught grand or luminous. 



1 Then doubt me not — oh, who can say 

" But that this d cam may yet come true, 
'And my blest spirit drink thy ray, 
" Till it becomes ail heavenly tin ? 

' Let me this once but feel the flame 
"Of those spread wings, the very pride 

' Will change niv na u e, and -bis'lranie 
" By ti.e mere "touch be deified ." 



Thus spoke the maid, as one, nit osM 

To be by earth or he<v*n re 

As one." v ho knew b^ infj eice o'er 

All crea'ures, whatsoe'er thev were. 
And, though to h-aven s' e c 

At least 'would bring down heaven to 1 

Little did she, a'as, or I — 

.: but half-way yet 
Imintrg'd i 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS, 



373 



Was as the earth whereon we lie, 

O'er half whose disk the sun is set — 
LiMe did we foresee the fate, 

The dreadful — how can it be told? 
Such pain, such anguish to relate 

Is o'er again to feel, behold ! 
But, cbnrg'd as 'I is, my heart must speak 
Its sorrow ou', or it will break ! 
Some dirk misgivings had. I own, 

Pass'd for a moment through my breast — 
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown, 

To one, or both —something unblest 
To happen from this proud request. 
But soon these boding lancies tied ; 

Nor saw I aught that could forbid 
My full revealment, save the dread 

Of that first dnzzle, when, unhid, 
Such light should hurst upon a lid 
Ne'er tried in heaven ; — and ev'n this glare 
She might, by love's own nursing caie, 
Be, like young eagles, taught to bear. 
For well'I knew, the lustre shed 
From cherub wings, when proudliest spread, 
Was, in its na'uie, lambent, puie, 

And innocent as is the lisht 
The glow-worm hangs out to allure 

Her mate to her green bower at nigbt 
Oft had I, in the midair, swept 
Through clouds in which the lightning slept, 
As in its lair, ready to spring, 
Yet wak'd it not — though from my wing 
A thousuid sparks fell gliitering ! 
Oft too when lound me from above 

The feathei'd snow, in all its whiteness, 
Fell, like the m»ultings of heaven's Dove,* — 

So harmle-s, i hough so full of brightness. 
Was my biow's wreath, that it would shake 
From off its flowers each downy flake 
As delicate, unmelted, fair, 
And cool as they had ligh:ed there. 

Nay ev'n with Lilis — had I not 

Around her sleep all radiant beam'd, 
Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot 

To kiss her eye-lids, as she dream'd ? 
And yet, at mom, from that repose, 

Had she not wak'd. unscath'd aid bright, 
As doth the pure, unconscious rose, 

Though by the fire-fly kiss'd all night? 

Thus having — as, alas, deceiv'd 
By my sin's blindness, 1 believ'd — 
No cause for dread, and those dark eyei 

Now fix'd upon me, eagerly 
As though the' unlocking of the skies 

Then waited but a sign from me — 
How could I pause? how ev'n let fall 

A word, a whisper that could stir 
In her proud heart a doubt, ihat all 

I brought from heaven belong'd to her? 

Slow from her side I rose, while she 
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly, 



i The D^ve, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as 
his Familiar, and was frequently seen to whisper into 
his ear, was, if I recalled right, one of that select 
number of animals (including also the ant of Solomon, 
the dog of the Seven Sleepers, &c.) which were 
thought by the Prophet worthy of admission into 
Paradise. 

" The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was 
saved (when he hid himself in a cive in Mourn Shur) 
by his pursueis finding the mouth of the c ive covered 
by a spider's web, and a nest built by two pigeons at 
the entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which 
made them think no one could have entered it. In 
comequence of this, tlity say, Mahomet enjoined his 
followers to look upon pige >us as sicred, and never to 
kill a spider.''— Modern Universal History, vol. i. 

32 



But not with fear — all hope, and pride, 

She waited for the awful boon, 
Like priestesses, at evemide, 

Watching the rise of the full moon, 
Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, 
'T will madden them to look upon J 

Of all my glories, the bright crown, 

Which, when I last from heaven came down, 

Was left behind me, in yon star 

That shines from out those clouds afar,— 

W'here, relic sad, 't is lieasur'd yet, 

The downfall'n ange.'s coronet! — 

Of all my glories, this alone 

Was wanting: — but the' illumin'd brow, 

The sun-bright l< cks, the eyes that now 

Had love's spell added lo iheir own, 

And pour'd a light till then unknown ; — 

The' unfolded wings, that, in their play, 
Shed sparkles bright as Alias throne; 

All 1 could bring of heaven's array, 

01 tha- rich pmuply of charms 
A Cherub moves in, on the day 
Of his best pomp, 1 now put on ; 
And, proud that in her eyes I shone 

Thus glorious, glided to her arm- ; 
Which still (Uiough, at a sight so splendid, 

Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 
Sunk on hei breast J were wide extended 

To clasp the form she durst not see! a 
Great Heav'n! how could thy vengeance light 
So bitterly on one so b ight ? 
How could the hand, that gave such charms, 
Blast them again, in love's own arms? 
Scarce hid 1 louch'd her shrinking frame, 

When— oh, most horrible! — 1 felt 
That every spark of that pure flune — 

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt — 
Was now, by my transgression, turii'd 
Into gross, ear lily fire, which burn'd, 
Burn'd all it louch d. as fast .is eye 

Could follow he fierce, ravening flashes : 
Till there — oh, God, I still ask why 
Such doom was heis ':— 1 saw her lie 

Black'uing within my arms to ashes ! 
That brow, a glory but to see — 

Those lips, whose iouch was what the first 
Fresh cup of immortality 

Is to a new-made angel's thirst ! 
Those clasping arms, within «hose round — 
My bean's horizon — the whole bound 
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found! 
Which, ev'n in this dread moment, fond 

As when they first were round me cast, 
Loos'd not in dea'h the fatal bond, 

But, burning, held me to the last! 
All, all. thai, but that morn, had seem'd 
As if Love's self there brealh'd and beam'd, 
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay, 
Withering in agony away ; 
And mine, i h, misery ! mine the p ame, 
From which this desolation came ; — 
I, the curst spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that love. mess! 



'T was n.addening !— but now hear even worse- 
Had de.ith, death only, been the cuise 
I brought upon her — had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in tht- dust — a; d did the spirit 
No part of that fell curse inherit, 
'T were not so dreadful — hut, come near — 
Too shocking 't is lor earth >o heir — 



* •' Mohammed (says Sale), though a prophet, was 
not able to bear the sight of Gibriel, when he ap- 
peared in his proper form, much less would others be 
able to support it." 



374 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Jest when her eyes, in fading, took 
Their las , keen, ajoniz'd farewell, 
And look'd in mine with — oh, that look ! 
Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell 
Thou may"st ;o human souls a-sign, 
The memory of that look is mine 1 — 

In her last struggle, on my brow 

Her ashy lips a kiss imprest, 
So withering:— I feel it bow — 

'T was lite — hut fire, ev'n more unblest 
Than was my own, and like that flame, 
The angels shudder but to name, 
Hell's everlasting element! 

Deep, deep it piere'd into my brain, 
Madd'niig and torturing us it went ; 

And here — mark here, the brand, the stain 
It left upon my front — burnt in 
By tha' last kiss of love and sin — 
A brand, which all the pomp and pride 
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide! 

But is it thus, dread Providence — 

Can it, indeed, be tin s, tha' she, 
Who, (but for one proud, fid ( Hence.) 

Had hoiour'd heaven itself, should be 
Now doom'd — I cannot sp>ak it — no, 
Merciful Alia! tis not so— 
Never could lips divine have said 
The fiat of a fa'e so dread. 
And yet. that l< ok — so deeply fraught 

With mote than angvi h. wiih despair — 
That new, fierce fire, "resembling nought 

In he 'veu or earth — this scorch I bear ! — 
Oh — for the first time that these knees 

Have bent before thee s nee my fall, 
Great Power, if ever thy decrees 

Thou couldV for prayer like mine recall, 
Pardon that spirit, and on me, 

On me, who t 'Ught her p-ide to err, 
Shed out each drop of agony 

Thy burning phial k' cps'for her ! 
See, too, whe e low beside me kneel 

Two other outcasts, who, though gooe 
And h*t themselves, yet d ire o feel 

And pray for that poor mort 1 one. 
Alas, too well, too well they know 
The pain, the peni ence, the woe 
That Passion brii gs upon the best, 
The vt ise-i, and the loveliest. — 
Oh, who is to be sav'd, if such 

Bright, erring so ,1s a>e not forgiven ; 
So loth they wander, and so much 

Their verv wanderings lean t w'rds heaven! 
Afain, I c v, Just Power, tr nsfer 

Thai cre'ture's sufferings all lo me- 

Mine, mine the euilt, the torment be, 
To save one minute's pain to her, 

Let mine last all eternity !" 

He paus'd. and to the earth bent down 

His hrobbmg heal ; while t iey, who felt 
Th a agony as "t were ti <■ r o,» b, 

Those angel youths, beside him knelt, 
And, in the night's still silence theie 
While mourufull) eacii wandeing air 
Flay'd in those plumes, lhat neve, more 
To their lost home m heav'n must soar, 
Breath'd inward v ihe voiceless praier, 
Unheard by all but Mercy"- ear — 
And which, if Mercy did not hear. 
Ob, God would not be what this bright 

And glorious universe of His. 
This world of beau v. s •■ di.ess, light 
i love proclaims He is! 



Not long thev knelt, when, from a wood 
That ciowu'd that airy solitude, 



They beard a low, uncertain sound, 
As from a lu'e, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round 
The new-born fancy, wiih fond tone, 
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its cwn! 
Till soon a voice, that mach'd as well 

That gentle instrument, as suits 
The sea-air to an ocean-shell, 

(So kin its spirit to the lute's), 
Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain, 
Interpreting its joy, lis pain, 

And lenJing Ihe light wines of words 
To many a thought, that else had lain 

Untiedg'd and mute among the chords. 

All started at the sound — but chief 

The third young Angel, in whose face, 
Though faded like the others, grief 

Had left a gentler, holier trace; 
As if, ev'n yet, through pain and ill, 
Hope had not fled him — as if still 
Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup, 

Unmelted at the bo torn lay, 
To shine again, when, all drunk up, 

The bi lerness sh uld i ass away. 
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes 
There shone more pleasure ban surprise, 
Turn to the wood, from whence that sound 

Of soli ary sweetness br ke ; 
Then, listening, look delighted round 

To his bright peers, while thus it spoke :- 
"Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 

" M] angel-lord, come pray with mej 
" In vain to-night my lip hath strove 
" To send one h h prayer above — 
41 The knee may bend, Ihe lip may move, 

" But pray I cannot, witbnaj thee ! 
" I 've fed the altar in my bower 

" Wi h droppmgs from the incen«e tree; 
•' I've shel'er'J it from wind and shower, 
" But dim it turns 'he livelong hour, 
" As if, 1 ke me. it bad no power 

" Of life or lustre, without thee ! 



"A boat at midnight sent alone 

" To drift upon th_- moonless sea, 
"A lute, wh >se leading chord is gone, 
" A wounded bird, that hath but one 
" Imperfect w ii.g to soar up n, 

"Are like what lam, without tnee ! 



" Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide, 

'•In life ordea'h. thyself from me; 
"Rut when again, in sonny pnie, 
"Thou walkM through Eden, let me glide, 
"A prostrate shadow, by th> side — 
"Ob happier tbus than without tbee '." 



The sing had ceas'd, when, from the wood 

Which, sweepiug do" ; 
Reach'd the lone -pot whereon they stood — 

Thee sud lenrj shone o . 
From a clear lamp, which as it'blaz'd 
Across the brow of one. w ho rais'd 
Its flame aiott (as if to -brow 
The light upon tha' e oup I 
Display M two eyes, spark ling bv'ween 
The du-ky leases, s ich \s are seen 
By fanc\ only, in those faces, 

That haunt a poet's walk at even, 
Looking fr»m out their lealy places 

Cpor: : iven. 

T was I rough! 

O'er all tier fei'ures a' the thouiht 

Of beinj seen thus. litr. 
Bv anv but the e? 

"HaJ scarcely for an ins ant shone 

Th ough the dark leaves, when she wat gt 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



375 



Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead 
Suddenly shines, and, tie we've said, 
" Behold, how beautiful '." — 't is fled. 

Yet, ere she went, the words, " I come, 
" I come, my Nama," reach'd her ear 
In that kind voice, familiar, dear, 

Which tells of confidence, of home, — 
Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, 

Tiil they grow one, — of faith sincere, 

And all thai Love most loves to hear; 

A music, breathing of the past, 
The present and the time to he, 

Where Hope and Memory, to the last, 
Lengthen out life's true harmony 1 

Nor long did he, whom call so kind 
Siimmou'd away, remain behind; 
Nor did there need much time to tell 

What they — alas, more fall'n than he 
From happiness and heaven — knew well, 

His gentler love's short history! 

Thus did it run — not as he told 

The tale himself, but as 't is grav'd 
Upon the tablets that, of old, 

By Seth i were from the deluge sav'd, 
All written over with sublime 

And saddening legends of the' unblest, 
But glorious Spirits r.f that lime, 

And this young Angel's 'inong the rest. 



THIRD ANGEL'S STOBY. 

Among the Spirits, of pure flame, 

'1 hat in the' eternal heav'ns abide — 
Circles of light, that from the same 
Unclouded centre sweeping wide, 
Carry its beams on every side — 
Like spheres of air that waft around 
The undulations of rich sound — 
Till the far-circling radiance be 
Diffus'd into infinity ! 
First and immediate near the Throne 
Of Alia,* as if most his own, 
The Seraphs s'and a — this burning sign 
Trac'd on their banner, " Love Divine '." 



i Seth is a favourite personage among the Orientals; 
and acts a conspicuous part in many of their most ex- 
travagant romances. The Syrians pretended to have 
a Testament of ihis Patriarch in their pnsses-ion, in 
which was explained the whole theology of angels, 
their different orders, &c. &c. The Curds, too (as 
Hyde mentions in his Appendix) have a book, which 
contains all the i ites of their religion, and which they 
call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth. 

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are sup- 
posed to have preserved these memorials of antedilu- 
vian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in Chaldaean fable 
to have deposited in Siparis the city of the Sun, tbn;e 
monuments of science which he had saved out of ihe 
waters of a deluge.— See Jablonski's learned remarks 
upon these columns or tablets of Seth, which he sup- 
poses to be the same with the pillars of Mercury', or 
Ihe Egyptian Thoth.— Pantheon. Egypt, lib. v. cap. 5. 

2 The Mussulmans, says D'Herbelot. apply the gene- 
ral name, Mocarreboun," to all those Spirits ''qui ap- 
prochent le plus pies le Trone." Of this number are 
Mikail and Gebiail. 

3 The Seraphim, or Spiris of Divine Love. 
There appears to be, among writer;, on the East, as 

well as among the Orientals themselves, cou-iderable 
indecision with regard to the respcc ive claims of 
Seraphim and Cherubim to the highest rank in the 
celestial hierarchy. The derivation which Hyde as- 
signs to the woid Cherub seems to determine the pre- 



Their rank, their honours, far above 
Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given, 

Though knowing all ; — so much doth Love 
Trauscend all knowledge, ev'n hi heaven! 

'Mong these was Zaraph once — and none 

E'er felt affection's holy fire, 
Or yearn'd towards the' Eternal One, 

With half such longing, deep desire. 
Love was to his impassion'd soul 

Not, as with others, a mere part 
Of its existence, but the whole — 

The very life-breath of his heart ! 
Oft, when from Alla's lifted brow 

A lustre came, too bright to bear, 
And all the seraph ranks would bow, 

To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare 
To look upon the' effulgence there — 
This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze 

(Such pride he in adoring took), 
And rather lo-e, in that one gaze, 

The power of looking, than not look! 
Then too, when a> gel voicts sung 
The mercy of the.r God, and strung 
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet, 

That moment, watch 'd for by all eyes, 
When some repentant sinner's feet 

First touch'd the threshold of the skies, 
Oh then how clearly did ihe voice 
Of Zaraph above all rejoice ! 
Love was in every bu yant tone — 

Such love, as only could belong 
To the blest angels, and alone 

Could, ev'n from angels, bring such song 

Alas, that it should e'er have been 

In heav'n as 'I is too often here, 
Where nothing fond or bright is seen, 

But it hath pain and peril near ; — 
Where right and wrong so close resemble, 

That what we take for virtue's thrill 
b often the first downward tremble 

Of the heart's balance unto ill ; 
Where Love ha'h not a shrine so pure, 

So holy, but the serpent, Sin, 
In moments, ev'n the most secure, 

Beuealh his altar may glide in ! 

So was it with that Angel — such 

The charm, that slop'd his fall along, 
From good to ill, from loving much, 

Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. — 
Ev'n so that am'rous Spirit, bound 
By beauty's spell, where'er 't was found, 
From the bright things above the moon 

Down to earth's beaming eyes descended, 
Till love for the Creator soon 

In passion for the creature ended. 

T was first at twilight, on the shore 
Of the smooth sea, he heard Ihe lute 

And voice of her he lov'd s'eal o'er 
The silver waters, that lay mute, 



cedence in favour of that order of spirits : — '• Cheru- 
bim, i.e. Propinqui Ar geli.qui sc. Deo proprius quam 
alii accedunt ; nam Ckarab est i. q. Karab, appropin- 
quare." (P. 26S.) Al Beidawi, too one of the com- 
mentators of the Koran, on that pa-sage, " the angels, 
who bear Ihe Throne, and those who stand about it," 
(chap, xl ) says, "These are the Cherubim, the high- 
est order of angels. - * On the other hand, we have seen, 
in a preceding note, that the Syrians place the sphere 
in which the Seraphs dwell at the very summit of all 
the celestial systems; and even, among Mahometans, 
the woid j»zazil and Mocarreboun (which mean the 
spirits that stand nearest to the throne of Alia) are in- 
discriminately applied to both Seraphim and Cheru- 
bim. 



376 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



As lof.i, by ev'n a breach, to stay 
The pilgrimage of hat tweet lay ; 
Whose echoes still went on and on, 
Till lost among he light that shone 
Far off, beyond the ocean s brim — 

There, where the rich cascade of day 
Had, o'er the' horizon's golden rim, 

luto Elysium roll'd away ! 
Of God she snj, and of the mild 

Anendnt Mercy, thai beside 
His awful ihrone lor ever smii'd, 

Ready, wi h her while hand, to euide 
His bii s of vengeance to their pre) — 
That she iniuht quench them on the way I 
Of Fe.ce — ol that A Ooii g Love, 
Upon who-e slar, shining above 
This twilight world of h ■ pe and fear, 

The weeping eyes of Faith are tix'd 
So fond, thai with her every ear 

The light of >hai love-star is niix'd — 
AH 'his she sung, and >uch a soul 

Of p.ety wa- in that song, 
That the charm'd Angel, as it stole 

Tenderly to his ear, along 
Those lulling waters "here he 1 y, 
Watching the daylight"* dving ray. 
Thought 'i was a voice from out the wave, 
An echo, that tome ea-uympli gave 
To Eden"s dis ant harmony, 
Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea! 

Quickly, however, to its source. 
Tracking that music's melting course, 
He saw, upon the golden -and 
Of the sea-shore a maiden stand, 
Before whose feet tie' expiring wave* 

Flung their la t ottering with a sigh — 
As, in i tie Las', ex haul ed -laves 

Lay down the fai-brnughl gilt, and die — 
And, while her lute hung by her, husb'd, 

As if unequal to 'he tide 
Of song, thai Irom b.-r lips still gush'd, 

She rais'd, like one beatified, 
Those eyes, a ho e light seem'd rather given 

To be ador'd than to adoie — 
Such eyes, as may have look'd from heaven, 

But ne'er were rais'd to it before ! 

Oh, Love, Religion, Music » — all 

That 's lef of Eden upon earth — 
The only blrs-ii gs, since the fall 
Of our weak souls, that still recall 

A trace of their high, glorious birth — 
How kindred are the dreams you bring! 

How Love, Ih ugh unto eanh so prone, 
Delights to take Religion's wing, 

When time or grief hath stain'd his own I 
How near to Love's beguiling brink, 

Too oft, entranc'J Re!igi"ii lies! 
While Muse. Music is 'lie link 

They Lvth st.lt hold by >o the skies, 
The language cf their n five sphere, 
Which they had else forgotten here. 

How then culd Zaraph fail to feel 
That moment's witcheries ? — one. so fair, 

Breathing out music, that might steal 
Heaven from itself, and rap! in prayer 
That seraphs might be proud to share! 

Oh, he did feel i , all ho well — 

With warmth, that far too dearly cost — 

Nor knew he, when at last he fell," 

To which attraction, to which spell, 

Love, Music, or Devoti in, most 

His soul in that sweet hour was lost 



» ''Les Esyptiens di-en' q>:e la Musique est Sctur 
dt la Religion." — fuyugts de Pylhazcrt, torn. i. p. 
42i 



Sweet was 'he brur, though dearly won, 

And pure, as aught of earth could be, 
For then fiist did the glorious sun 

Before religion's altar see 
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie 
Self-pledg'd, in love to live and die. 
Blest union ! by that Angel wove, 

And worthy from such hands to come; 
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love, 
When fall'n or exil'd from above, 

In this dark world can hud a home. 

And, though the Spirit had trai sgress'd, 
Had, from his station 'mong the blest 
Won down by woman's smiie, ahow'd 

Terrestrial passion to bieathe o'er 
The mirror of hi- heart, and cl ud 

God's image, there so bright before — 
Yet never did that Power look down 

On error with a brow so mild; 
Never did Justice w ea a frown. 

Through which so gently Mercy smii'd. 
For humble was Iheir love — with awe 

And trembling like tome treasure kept, 
That was not iheirs by bnlj law — 
Whose beauty with remorse Ibey saw, 

And o'er whose pieciou-ness tlity wept 
Humility, that row, su eel root, 
From which all heavenly virtues sbrot, 
Was in the hears o; both — but most 

In Nau.a's heart, by whom alone 
Those c: arms, I r which a heaven was lost, 

Seem'd ali unvalued and i.nkiiowu; 
And when her Seraph's eyes she ciught, 

And hid hers glowing ou hi- bieas , 
Ev'n bliss was humbled by the th 

" What claim have 1 :o be so t .. 

Still less co:. Id maid, so meek, have nurs'd 
Desire of knowledge — thai vain thirst, 
With which the sex ha:h all been curs ? d, 
From luckless Eve in her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 
The secre s of he angels : 1 no — 

T o I ve as her own Seraph lov'd, 
With Faith, the same through bliss and woe- 
Faith, that, were ev'n its light rcaaovM, 
Could, like the dial, nVd remain. 
And wait till it shone out again ; — 
With Patience that, thouih often bowtt 

B> the i l -. anew ; 

And Hope liar, ev'n from Evil's cloud, 

Sees sunny God half breakir g through! 
This deep, rvh iug 1 
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore — 
1 his Faith, more sure than aught beside, 

- le joy. ami iin. n, pride 
Of her fond heart — the' u. reasoning scope 

Of all i s views, above. 1 1 
So true she felt it 'hat to hope, 

To trust, is happier than to know. 

And thus in humbleness thev tmd, 
Aba-li'J, bM pure before thl 
Nor e'er did ear'!, behold 

So meekly beautiful as 
When, wi'h the altar's holy light 

Full on their t pray, 

Hand within hand, 
Two links of love, awhile untied 
From the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the lag 
Two fallen Splendors, 3 from that tree, 



«>ara. 

» An atiu-ion to the Sephimths or Splendors of the 
Jewish Cabbala, repre eneJ as a tree, of which God 
is 'he cmwn or sun. nut. 

The Sephiroths are 'he higher orders of emanative 
being in the stange and ii.couii r. he..;. tie svs em of 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS 



377 



Which buds with such eternally » 
Shaken In e.rth. jet keeping all 
Their light and freshness iu the fall. 

Their only punishment, (as wrong, 

However sw eet, must bear >ts brand), 
Their only doom was this — Ilia!, long 

As tlic jreen earth and ocean stand, 
They both shall wander here — ihe same, 
Throughout all time, ill heart and frame — 
Still looking to that goal sublime, 

Whose light remote, but sure, they see; 
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, 

Whose home is in Eternity 1 
Subject, the while, to all the s rife, 
True Love ei. couriers in this life — 
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain; 

The chill, that turns his waruiesi sighs 

To earthly vapour, ere they lise; 
The doubt he feeds on, and ihe pain 

That in his very sweetness lies: — 
Still worse, the' illusions that betray 

His footsteps to their shining brink; 
That tempt him, on his desert way 

Through the bleak world, to bend and drink, 
Where nothing meets his lip-, alas, — 
But he again must sighing p >ss 
On to that far-off home of peace, 
In which alone his thirst will cease. 

All this they bear, but, not the less, 
Have momenta rich in happiness — 
Blest meetings, after many a day 
Of widowhood past far away, 



the Jewish Cabbala. They are called by various 
names, Pi'jr, Beau y, &c. &c. ; and their influences 
are supposed to act through certain canals, which 
communicate with each other. 

' The reader may judge of the rationality of this 
Jewish system by the following explanation of part 
of the machinery : — " Les cananx qui sortenl de la 
Misericorde et de la Force, et qui vont aboutir a la 
Beaute, sont charges d'un grand nombre d'Anges. II 
y en a trente-cinq sur le canal de la Misenc rde, qui 
reconipensent el qui c> uronnent la vertu des Saints, " 
4c. &c — For a concise account of the Cabalistic 
Philosophy, see Enfield's very useful compendium of 
Brucker. 

"On les represente quelquefois sous la figure d'un 
arbre .... l'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de I'arbre 
Sephirotique ou des Splendeurs divms, est I'lnuDi." — 
VUisloirt du Juifs, liv. ii. 11. 



When the lov'd face again is seen 
Close, close, with not a tear between — 
Conhdings frank, without control, 
Pour'd mutually from soul to soul; 
As free from any fear or doubt 

As is that light from chili or stain, 
The sun into the s'ars sheds out, 

To be by them shed back again ! — 
That happy minglemeut of hearts. 

Where, changdas chymic compounds are, 
Each with it» own existence pans, 

To find a new one, happier far ! 
Such aie their joys — and. crowning ill, 

That blessed hope of the bright hour, 
When, nappy and no more to tall, 

Their spirits -hall, with freshen'd power, 
Rise up rewarded for their trust 

In Him, from whom all goodness springs, 
And, shaking off earth's s< iling dust 

From their emancipa ed wings, 
Wander for ever through those skies 
Of radiance, where Love never dies ! 

In what lone region of the earth 

These 1 ilgiims now may roam or dwell, 
God and the Angels, who look forth 

To wa'ch their steps, alone can tell. 
But should we, in our wandcrii gs. 

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants 
But the adornment of bright wing-, 

To look like heaven's inhabitants — 
Who shine w here'er Iht-y tread, and yet 

Are humble iu their earthly lot, 
As is the way-side violet. 

That shines unseen, and were il not 

For its sweet breath would be forgot — 
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one, 

Whose voices utter the same w ills — 
Answering, as Echo doth some tone 

Of fairy music 'mong the bills, 
So like itself, we seek :u vain 
Which is the echo, which the strain — 
Whose piety is love, whose love. 

Though close as 't were their souls' embrace, 
Is not of earth, but from above — 

Like two fair mirrors, face to face, 
Whose light, from one to the' other thrown, 
Is heaven'- rthec'ion, not their ow n — 
Should we e'er meet with aughl so pure, 
So perfect here, we may te sure 

'T is Zar ph and his bride we see; 
And call young loreis lound, to view 
The pi grim pair, as they j.uisue 

Their pathway tuw'nls eternity. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



SCEPTICISM. 

Ere Psyche drank the cup, that shed 

Immortal Life into her soul, 
Some evil spirit pour'd, 'tis said, 

One drop of Doubt into the bowl — 

Which, mingling darkly with the stream, 
To Psyche's lips — she knew not why — 

Made ev'n that blessed nec : ar seem 
As though its sweetness soon would die. 

Oft, in the very arms of Love, 

A chill came o'er her heart — a fear 

That Dea h might, even yet, remove 
Her spirit from that happy sphere. 

32~* 



" Those sunny ringlets," she exclaim*d, 
Twining them tLund her snowy fingers} 

•' Tl at lorehe.d, where a light, unnam'd, 
" Unknown on earth, for ever lingers; 

"Those lips, through which I feel the breath 
" tlf Heav'n itself, whene'er they sever — 

"Say. are they mine, beyond all death, 
"My own, hereafter, and for ever' 



1 Smile not — I know that starry brow, 
'•Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine, 

1 Will always shine, as they do BOW — 
"But shall /live to see them shine?" 






378 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



In vain did Love say, " Turn thine eyes 
" On all that sparkles round thee here — 

" Thou 'i> now in heaven, where nothing dies, 
" And in these arms — what canst thou fear V 

In vain — the fatal drop, that stole 

Into that cup's immortal treasure, 
Had lodg'd its bitter near her soul, 
And gave a tinge to every pleasure. 

And, though there ne'er was transport giveu 
Like Psyche's with that radiant boy, 

Hers is the only face in heaven, 
'I hat wears a cloud amid its joy. 



A JOKE VERSIFIED. 

1 Come, come," said Tom's father, " at your time of 

lire, 

" There 's no longer excuse for thus playing the 

rake — 

' It is lime you should think, boy, of taking a wife"— 

" Why, so it is, father— whose wife shall I take?" 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood 

By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky, 
Is <hat remembrance, which ihe wise and good 

Leave iii Ihe hearts that love them, when they die. 
So pure, so precious shall the memory be, 
Bequeathed, in d) ing, to our souls by thee — 
So shall the love we bore thee, cheiish'd warm 

Within our souls through grief, and pain, and 
strife, 
Be, like Elisha's cruise, a holy charm. 

Wherewith to "heal the waters" of this life! 



TO JAMES CORRT, ESQ. 

ON HIS MAKING ME A. PRESENT OP A 
WINE STRAINER. 

Brighton, June, 1S2S. 
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt? — 
Resembles much friend E wart's i wine, 
When J.rst the rosy drops come out, 
How beautiful, how clear they shine! 

And thus awhile they keep their tint, 
bo free from even a shade with some, 

That they would smile. d>d you but hint, 
Thai darker drops would ever come. 

But soon the ruby tide runs short, 

Each minute makes Ihe 'sad truth plainer, 

Till life, like old and crusty port, 

When near its close, requires a strainer. 

This friendship can alone confer, 
Alone can tench the dnips to pass, 

If not as bright as once they were. 
At least unclouded, through the glass. 

Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine, 

Of which Ihis heart were fonder, vainer, 

Thin thus, if life grow like old urine, 
To have thy friendship for its strainer. 



A wine-merchan' 



FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. 

Here lies Factotum Ned at last; 

Long as he breath'd the vital air, 
Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd, 

In which Ned hadn't some small share. 

Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out, 
Whatever statesmen did or said, 

If not exactly brought abou', 
'T was all, at least, conlriv'd by Ned. 

With Nap, if Russia went to war, 
'T was owing, under Proviience, 

To certain hints Ned gave the Czar — 
(Vide his pamphlet — price, sixpence.) 

If France was beat at Waterloo — 

As all but Frenchmen think she was — 

To Ned, as Wellington well knew, 
Was owing half that day's applause. 

Then for his news — no envoy's bag 
E'er pass'd so many secrets through it j 

Scarcely a telegraph could wag 
Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. 

Such tales he had of foreign plots, 

With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in! 

From Russia, chefs r.nd oft in 1 .s. 
From Poland, owskis by the dozen. 



When George, alarm'd for England's creed, 
Turn'd ou' the last Whig ministry, 

And men askM — who ad» is'd the deed ? 
Ned modestly confess 'd 't was he. 

For though, by some unlucky miss, 
He had not downright seen ihe King, 

He sent such hin's through Viscount This, 
To Marquis That, as clench'd the thing. 

The same it was in science, ar'«. 

The Drama, Books, MS. and printed — 

Kean learn'd from Ned his cleveres parts. 
And Scott's last woik Ly bim was hinted. 

Childe Haro'd in the proofs he lead. 
And, here and there, infus'd s>me soul int — 

Nay, Davys Lamp, till seen by Nrd, 
Had — odd e-j'-mgh — an awkward hole in *U 

T was thus, all-doing and all-knowing. 
Wit, state-man, b'xer, chymist, singer, 

Whatever was the best pye going. 
In that Ned — trust bim — had bis finger. 

******* 



WHAT SHALL I SING THEE? 

TO . 

What shall I sing tbee? Shall I tell 
Of 'hat bright hour, remember'd well 
As tho' it shone but ie-terday, 
When, loitering idly in the ray 
Of a spring sun, I heard o'er-head, 
My name as by some spir 
And, lo. kins up, taw two bright eyes 

Above me fr. m i casement shine. 
Dazzling my mind wi U such surprise 

As they, who sail beyond the Line, 
Feel when new stars above 'firm rise ; — 
And it was 'hine ihe voice that spoke. 

Like Ariel's, in the mid-.i 
And thine the eye, whose lustre bruke — 

Never to be forgot again ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 379 




What shall I sing thee? Shall I weave 


There stood Quadrille with cat-like face 




A sods of that sweet summer-eve, 


(The beao-ideal of French beauty), 




(Summer, of which the sunniest part 


A band-box thing, all art and lace 




Was that we, each, had in ihe heart,) 


Down from her noee-tip to her sboe-tye. 




When thou and I, and one like thee, 






lu life and beauty, to the sound 


Her flounces, fresh from Victorine — 




Of our own bieathleiS minstrelsy, 
Danc'd till the sunlight faded round, 


From Hifpclyle. her rouge and hair — 
Her poetry, from Lamartint — 
Her morals, from — the Lord knows where. 




Ourselves ihe whole ideal Ball, 




Lights, music, company, and ail! 






Oh, 'I is not in the languid strain 
Of lute like mii.e, whose day is past, 

To all up ev'u a dream agAin 
Of the iresh light those momenta cast. 


And, when she danc'd — so slidingly, 
So near the ground she plied her art, 

Tou 'd swe ir her moiher-earth and she 
Had made a compact ne'er to part. 






Her face too, all the while, seda'e, 
No signs of life or motion showing, 




COUNTRY DANCE AND QUADRILLE. 


Like a bright penduWs dial plite — 
So still, you 'd hardly think 't was going. 




One night the nymph calld Counry Dance — 






(Whom folk-., of lae, l.ave used so ill, 


Full fronting her stood Country Dance — 




Prelerriiig a coi^uet e Ironi Fr.ince, 


A fresh, fiank nymph, whom you would knoir 




That mincing thing, itamitiit Quadrille) — 


For English, at a single glance — 
English all o'er, from top to toe. 




Having been chased from London diwn 






To that meat humble haunt of all 


A little gauche, 1 is f iir to own, 




She used to gr.ice — a Country Town — 
Went smiiing to the New-Year's Ball. 


And r.ther given to skips and bounces; 




Endangering thereby many a gown. 






And playing, oft, the dev'l with flounces. 




" Here, here, at leas'," she cried, " though driv'n 






" From London's gay and shining tracks — 


Unlike Marmellc — who would prefer 




" Though, like a Peri cast from heaven, 


(As morally a lesser ill) 




" 1 've lost, for eier lost, Almack's — 


A thousand flaws of clnrac'er, 
To one vile rumple of a frill. 




"Though not a London Miss alive 






" Would now for her acquaintance own me; 


No rouge did she of A'bion wear ; 




"And spinsteis, ev'n, of forty-five, 


Let her but run that two-heat race 




" Upon their honours ne'er have known me ; 


She calls a Set, not Dian e'er 
Came rosier from the woodland chase. 




1 " Here, here, at least, I triumph still. 






'• A:, i — spite of some few dandy Lancers, 
" Who vainly try to ;ire<ch Qu drille — 


Such was the nymph, whose soul had int 
Such anger now — whose e\es of blue 




"See nought but true-blue Country Dancers. 


(Eves of that bright, victorious tint, 




" Here still I reign, and. fresh in charms, 


Which English maids call " Waterloo") — 




'■ My throne, like Magna Charta, raise 
" 'Along sturdy, free-born legs and arms, 
" That scorn the threaten d chaine Jnglaise." 


Like summer ligh'ning*, in the du-k 

Of a warm evening Hashing 1 
While — to the tune of -Money Musk," » 




T was thus she said as 'mid the din 


Which struck up now — she proudly spoke — 




Of loo men and the town sedan, 






She ligh ed at the King's Head Inn, 


" Heard you that strain — that joyous strain ? 




And up the Hairs triumphant ran. 


" ' T was such as England lov'd to hear, 
" Ere thou, and all r hy frippery train, 




The Squires and their Squiresses all, 


" Corrupted both her foot and ear — 




With young Squirians, just come out, 






And ii, y Lord's d.iugh'ers from Ihe Hall, 


"Ere Wal z, that rake from foreign lands, 




(Quadrillers, in their hears, no doubt,) — 


"Fresuni'd. in sight of all beholders, 
"To lay his rude, ficeu'ious hands 




All these, as light she tripp'd up stair--, 


'•On virtuous English backs and shoulders — 




Were in the cloak-room seen assembling- 






When, lark ! some new, outlandish airs. 


" E-e times and mnnls both grew bad. 
'And, yet uufleee'd by funding blockheads, 




From the First Fiddle, set her trembling. 






" H-ppy John Bull not only had. 




She stops — she listens — cu?i it be? 


" But danc'd to, 'Money m both pockets.' 




Alas, in vain her e>rs would 'scape it- 






It it "Di tanti paipili" 


"Alas, the change! — Oh, L— d — r, 




As plain as English bow can scrape it. 


'• Where is the land could 'scape disas'ers, 
" With such a Foreign Secie a>y, 




"Courage!" however — in she goes, 


"Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters? 




With her Lest, sweeping country grace; 
When, ah too true, her worst of foes. 
Quadrille, theie meets her, face to face. 






'•Woe to ye. men of ships and shops! 
'• Rulers' of day-b oks aid of waves ! 




Oh for the lvre, or violin, 


" Quadrill'd. on one side, in'o fops, 
"And drill'd, on t'other, into slaves ! 




Or kit of that g-«y Muse, Terpsichore, 
To ting the rage these nymphs were in, 










Their looks and language, airs and trickery. 


* An old English Country Dance. 





380 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



" Fe, too, ye lovely victims, seen, 
" Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition, 

*» With elbows, a la. crapaudinc, 
" And teet, in — God knows what position ; 

"Hemm'd in by watchful chaperons, 

" Inspectors of your airs and graces, 
" Who intercept all wbisper'd tones, 

" Aud read your telegraphic faces ; 

"Unable with the youth ador'd, 
" In tha' g:im cordon < f Mammas, 

"To intei change one tender »ord, 
"Though whispei'd but in queue de<haU. 

"Ah did you know how bles' we rang'd, 
" Ere v'ile Quidrille Usurp'd the riddle — 

"What lo-'ks in sttliug were exchang'd, 
" What lender words in down the middle; 

" How nnny a couple, like the wind, 
" VVliich nothing n its course conrols, 

»' Left time and c, apeoi.s far behind, 
" And give a loose to legs and souls ; 

" How matrimony throve — ere stopp'd 
" By this coid. silent, f Mot-coquetting — 

" H w charmingly one's partner popp'd 
" The' important question iu pouuelte-ing. 

" While now, al » no fly advances — 
" No marriatce hints — all goes on badly — 

'"Twixt Paron Mai bus aid French Dances, 
" We, g.ils, are at a discount sadiy. 

"Sir William Scott (now Baron Sto^ell) 
" Declaies not halt so much is made 

" By Licences — and he must know well — 
" Since viie Quadnlliug spoil'd the trade." 

She ceas'd — tears fell from every Miss — 
She now had toucb'd the true pathetic: — 

One such authentic fact >s this, 
Is worth whole \o.uuies theoretic. 

Instant the cry was " Country Dance !* 
And the maid siw, with bnghieuing face, 

The S ewaid of the night advauce, 
And lead her to her birthright place. 

The fiddle-, which awhile had ceas'd, 
Now tuu'd again their summous siveet, 

And, for one happy night, at least, 
Old England's triumph was complete. 



GAZEL. 

Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh; 

Already, in the' unopen'd flowers 
That sleep around us, Fauci's eye 

Can see the blush of future bowers; 
And joy it brings to thee and me, 
My own beloved Maauu 1 

The s'reamlet frozen on its way, 
To feed the marble Founds of Kings, 

Now, lo sei.'d by '.he vernal ray, 
Upon is path exultms springs — 

As doth 'his b un.iii.g heart to thee, 

My ever blissful Maami ! 

Such bright hours were not made to stay j 
Enough if they awhile remain, 

Like Iretn's bowers, that fade away. 
From time to time, and come again. 

And life shall all one Ireni be 

For us, my gentle Maami. 



O haste, for this impatient heart. 
Is like the rose in Yemen's vale, 

That rends its inmost leaves apart 
With passion for the nightingale; 

So languishes this soul fur tbee, 

My bright and blushing Maam' 1 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH ATKIN- 
SON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN. 

If ever "life was prosperously cast, 

If ever life was like Hie ItngthenM flow 

Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 

' 1 was his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below. 

The sunny temper, bright where all is strife, 
The simple heart above all worldly wiles j 

Light wit that plays along the calm of life, 
And stirs its languid sunace into smiles; 

Pure charity, that comes not in a shower, 
Sudden and hud oppressing what it feeds, 

But, like the dew, with gradual silent power, 
Fell iu the bloom it leaves along the meads; 

The happy grateful spirit, that improves 
And brightens every gilt by fortune given; 

That, wander where it will with those it loves, 
Makes every place a home, and home a heaven : 

All these were his.— Ob, thou who read'st this stone, 
When for tbjself, thy children, to the sky 

Tbou humbly prayest, ask this boon aloue, 
That ye like him may live, like him may die ! 



GENIUS AND CRITICISM. 
Scripiit quidem lata, sed seqnitnr. 



Of old, the Sultan Genius reign'd, 
As Mature meant, supreme, alone; 

With miud uncheckd, and hands uncbain'J, 
His views, his conquests were his own. 

But power like bis, that digs its grave 
With its own sceptre, could not last; 

So Genius' self became the slave 
Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd. 

As Jove, who forg'd the chain of Fate, 
Wa.-, ever after, doom'd to wear it; 

His nods, his struggles all too late — 
" Qui temel jusstt, temper jarcL" 

To check young Genius' prrud career, 
The slaves who now his ti.roue invaded, 

Made Criticism his prime Vizir, 
And from that hour bis glories faded. 

Tied down in Legislations school, 

Afraid of even his own an 
His very victories were by rule. 

And he was great but by permission. 

His most heroic deeds — the same. 
That dazzled, when spontaneous actions — 

Now, done by la' 1 auie, 

And shorn of all their first attractions. 

If he but stirr'd to take the air, 

ln«*ant, the Viz ; 
" Good I. - ■ can't go there 

" Bless me, your Highness can't do that." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



381 



If, loving pomp, he chose to buy 

Kich jewels for his diadem, 
" The taste was bad, the price was high 

" A tiower were simpler than a geni.* 

To please them if he took to flowers - 
" What trifling, whai unmeaning things 1 

"Fit for a woman's toilet hours, 
" But not at all the style for Kings." 

If, fond of his domestic sphere, 

He play'd no more the rambling comet — 
•' A dull, good sort of man, 't was clear, 

"But, as lor great or brave, far from it." 

Did he then look o'er distant oceans, 

For realms more worthy to enthrone him ? — 

"Saint Anstulle, what wi'ld notions! 
" Serve a ' ne exeat regno' on him." 

At length, their last and worst to do, 

They round him plac'd a guard of watchmen, 

Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue 

Turn'd up with yellow— chiefly Scotchmen; 

To dog his footsteps all about, 

Like those iu Lougwood's prison grounds, 
Who at Napoleon's heels rode out, 

For fear the Conqueror should break bounds. 

Oh, for some Champion of his power, 

Some Ultra spirit, to set free, 
As erst in Sliakspeare's sovereign hour, 

The thunders of his Hoyalty ! — 

To vindicale his ancient line. 

The tirst, the true, the only one, 
Of Right eternal and divine, 

That rules beneath the blessed sua. 



TO LADY J*R**Y, 

ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE SOMETHING 

IN HER ALBUM. 

Written at Middleton. 
Oh, albums, albums, how I dread 

Your everlasting scrap and scrawl ! 
How often wish that from the dead, 
Old Omar would pop forth his head, 
And make a bonfire of you all ! 

So might I 'scape the spinster band, 

The blushless blues, who, day and night, 
Like duns in doorways, lake their stand, 
To waylay bards, with book iu hand, 
Crying for ever, " Write, sir, write !" 

So might I shun the shame and pain, 
That o'er me at this instant come, 

When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain, 

Knocks at the portal of my brain, 
And gets, for answer, " Not at borne 1" 
November, 1S2S. 



TO THE SAME, 
ON LOOKING THROUGH HER ALBUM. 

No wonder bards, both high and low, 
From Byron down to * * * * • and me, 

Should seek the fame, which all bestow 
On him whose task is praising thee. 

Let but the theme be J * r * * y's eyes, 

At once all errors are forgiven ; 
As ev'n old S:ernhold still we prize, 

Because, though dull, he sings of " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The following trifles, having enjoyed, in their cir- 
culation through the newspapers, all the celebrity 
and length of lile to which they were entitled, would 
have been suffered to pass quietly into oblivion wiih- 
out pretending lo any further distinction, had they not 
already been published, in a collective form, both in 
London and r'aris, and, in each case, been mixed up 
with a number of other productions, to which, what- 
ever may be Hieir merit, the author of the following 
pages has no claim. A natural desire to separate his 
own propeily. worthless as it is, from that of o hers, 
is, he begs to say, the chief motive of the publication 
of this volume. 



TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. 

Effare cauaam nominia, 



Nomen dedere, an iiumen hoc 

Secuta morum regula. Autoniui 



Sir Hudson Lowe. Sir Hudson Low, 
(By name, and ah ! by nature so) 

As thou art fond of persecu'ions. 
Perhaps thou 'st read, or heard repeated, 
How Captain Gulliver was trealed, 

When thrown among the Lilliputians. 



They tied him down — these little men did- 
And having valiantly ascended 

Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance, 
They did so strut ! — upon my soul, 
It must have been extremely droll 

To see their pigmy pride's exuberance ! 

And how the doughty mannikins 
Amus'd themselves with sticking pins 

And needles in the great man's breeches: 
And how some very little things, 
That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings 

Got up, and worried him with speeches. 

Alas, alas ! that it should happen 

To mighty men to be caught napping! — 

Though different, too, these per ecu! ions; 
For Gulliver, l/tcie, took the nap. 
While, here, the Nap., oh, sad mishap, 

Is taken by the Lilliputians 1 



AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK 
AND GOVERNMENT. 



Is all then forgo'ten ? those amorous pranks 

You and I, inouryoinh.my dearGovernment,playMj 



382 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



When you call'd me the fondest, the truest of Banks, 
And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made ! 

When left to ourselves, unmolested and free, 
To do all that a dashing young couple should do, 

A law against paying was laid upon me, 

But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you. 

And is it then van ish'd ?— that "hour (as Othello 
So happily calls it) of Love and Direction ?" ' 

And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow, 
Grow good in our old age, and cut the couuexion ? 

GOVERNMENT. 

Even so, my belov'd Mrs. Bank, it must be ; 

This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing: 
We've both had our swing, but 1 plainly foresee 

'1 here must soon be a stop to our bill-iug and cooing. 

Propagation in reason — a small child or two — 
Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to; 

The issue of some folks is mod'rate and few — 
But our a, my dear corporate Bank, there 's no end to! 

So — hard though it be on a pair, who've already 
Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and pence; 

And, in spile of thai pink of prosperity, Freddy,* 
So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense — 

The day is at hand, my Papyria * Venus, 

When— high as we once us'd to cairy our capers— 

Those soft billet-doux we 're now passing between us, 
Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutls in curl-papers : 

And when — if we still must continue our love, 
(After all that has pass dj— our amour, it is clear, 

Like that which Miss Uanae manag'd with Jove, 
Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear 1 
February, 1S26. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN AND 
A ONE POUND NOTE. 



Said a Sovereign to a Note, 

In the pneket of my coat, 
Where they met in a neat purse of leather, 

" How happens it, I p'ithee, 

" That, though I 'in wedded with thee, 
" Fair Found, we can never live together t 

" Like your sex, fond of change, 

" With Silver fan can range, 
" And of lots of young sixpences be mother; 

" While with me — upon my word, 

" Not my Lady and my Lord 
" Of W— slui— th see so little of each other !" 

The indignant Note replied 
(Lying crumpled by bis side), 
" Shame, shame, it is yourself thst roam, Sir — 



i "An hour 

Of love, of worldly matter and direction." 
3 It appears, however, that Ovid was a fiiend to the 
resumption of payment in r-pecie: — 

" finem, specie caeleste rewmla, 

Luctibus imposuit, vcniique saluiifer urbi." 

Mel. 1. 15. T. 743. 
3 Honourable Frederick R— b— ns— n. 
* So called, to distinguish her from the " Aurea"' or 
GoUin Venus. 



" One cannot look askance, 
" But, whip ! you 're ott to France, 
" Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. 

"Your scampering began 

"From the moment Parson Van, 
"Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter ; 

" ' For better or for worse' 

" Is the usual marriage curse, 
" But ours is all ' worse' and no ' better.' 

" In vain are laws pass'd, 

"There's nothing holds you fast, 
«' Tho' you knou, sweet Sovereign, I adore yin — 

" At the smallest him in life, 

"You forsake your lawful wife, 
"As other Sovereigns did before you. 

"I flirt with Silver, true — 

" But « hat can ladies do, 
" When disowu'd by their na ural protectors? 

'• And as to falsehood, s;uH ! 

'• I shall soon be false enough, 
" When 1 get among those wicked Bank Directors." 

The Sovereign, smiling on her, 

Now swore, upon his honour, 
To be henceforth domestic and loyal ; 

But, within an hour or two, 

Why — Isold him to a Jew, 
And he 's now at No. 10, Palais Royal. 



AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. 
"Quem das finem, Rex inagne, laborum 7" — Vir/iL 
1S26. 
How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all 
Toe Peers of the realm about cheapening their 
corn,* 
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 
T is hardly worth while being very high born ? 

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life. 
On a question, my Lord, there 's so much to abhor 
in? 

A question — like asking one, " How is your wife?"— 
At once so c nfjunded domestic mi foreign. 

As to wearers, no matter how poorly they feast ; 

But Peers, and such animals, led up for show, 
(Like ihe »ell-phy;ick'd elephant, laely decr-as'd,) 

Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you 
know. 

You might see, my dear Baron, how bor'd and dis- 
trcst 
Were Ibeir high noble hearts by your 
tale. 
When the force of the agony wrung ev'n a jest 
From the frugal Scotch »it of my Lord * ' 



Bright Peer! to whom Nature and Berwickshire gave 
A humour, endow'd with effects so provoking. 

That, when the whole House looks unusually grave. 
You may always conclude that Lord iJ-d-d-le's 
joking! 



* See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, 
March I, 1S26. when Lord King was severely re- 
proved by several of he noi le Fet-rs, for making so 
many speeches against the Corn Laws. 

s This noble earl said, that "when he heard the 
petition came from ladies' boot and shoemakers, he 
thought it inusi t>e sgaiusl the 'corns' which tfjey iu- 
liicled ou the fair - 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Atti then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth — 
T'ot to kuow the vast d inference Providence doom* 

Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high birth, 
Twill those who hue A£ir-loouis, and those 
who 've but looms ! 

"To talk now of starving !" — as great Ath— 1 
said i — 
(And the nobles all cheer'd, and the bishops all 
wonder'd,) 
" When, some years ago, he and others had fed 
Of these same hungry devils about fifteen hun- 
dred !" 

It follows from hence — and the Duke's very words 
Should be published wherever poor rogues 01 this 
craft are — 

That weavers, o?ice rescued from starving by Lords, 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever alter. 

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians 
Made '• Bread ai.d the Circus 7 ' a cure for each 

But not so the plan of our noble physicians, 
"No Breid and the Tread-mill's the regimen 
now. 

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your prose 
As I shall my poetry — neither convinces ; 

And all we have spoken and written but shows 
When yon tread on a nobleman's corn,* how he 
winces. 



THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 

"Now what we ask, is become of this Sinking Fond — 
these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which 
were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the 
amount of four hundred thousand pound* annually J 
Where, indeed, is the Sinking Fund itself? — The 
Timu. 

Take your bell, take your bell, 

Good Crier, and tell 
To the Bulls and the Bears, till their ears are stunn'd, 

That, lest or stolen, 

Or fall'n through a hole in 
The Treasury floor, is the Sinking Fund I 

O yes ! yes ! 

Ca'u any body guess 
What the deuce hns become of this Treasury wonder? 

It has Pitt's name on 't, 

All brass, in the front, 
And R— b— ns— u's, sera w I'd with a goose-quill, 
under. 



Folks well knew what 

Would soou be its lot. 
When Frederick and Jenky set hob-nobbing,* 

And said to each o her, 

" Suj pose, dear brother, 
" We make this funny old Fund worth robbing." 



We are come, alas ! 
To a very pretty pass - 



» The Duke of Alhol said, that " at a former pe- 
riod, when these weaver were in great distress, the 
landed interest of Perth had supported 1300 of them. 
It was a poor reiurn for th^e very men n>w to peti- 
tion agaii.st the persons who had fed them." 

» An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord 
L.'sjoke. 

3 In IS24, when the Sinking Fund was raised by 
the imposition of new taxes to the sum of five mil- 
lions. 



Eight Hundred Millions of score, to pay 

With but Five in the till, 

To discharge the bill, 
And even that Five, too, whipp'd away I 

Stop thief! stop thief! — 

From the Sub to the Chief, 
These Gemmm of Fiuance are plundering cattle — 

Call the watch — call Brougham, 

Tell Joseph Hume, 
That best of Charleys, to spring his rattle. 

Whoever will bring 

This aforesaid thing 
To the well-known House of Bobinson and Jenkin, 

Shall be paid, with thanks, 

In the notes of banks. 
Whose Funds have all learu'd " the Art of Sinking." 

yes ! O yes ! 

Can any body guess 
What the dev I his become of this Treasury wonder ? 

It has Pitt's name ou 't, 

All brass, in the front, 
And R— b— ns— u's, scrawl'd with a goose-quill, 
under. 



ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 
BY SIR TH — M — S L— THBR — E. 

" Legiferae Cereri Phoeboque." Virril. 

Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we know, 
(Among other odd whims of those comical bodies,) 

Adorn'd with somniferous poppies, to show 
Thou wert always a true Country-gentleman's 
Goddess. 

Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, before thee, 

An eloquent 'Squire, who most humbly beseeches, 
Great Queen of Mark-lane (if the thing doesn't bore 
thee), 
Thou 'it read o'er the last of his — neuer-last 
speeches. 

Ah ! Ceres, thou know't not the slander and scorn 
Now heap'd upon England's "Squirearchy, so 
boasted ; 

Improving on Hunt,* 't is no longer the Corn, 

T is the grower! of Corn that are now, alas ! roasted. 

In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us — 
Reviewers, economists — fellows, no d.iubt, 

That you, my dear Ceres, ai.d Venus, and Bacchus, 
And Gods of high fashion kuow little about. 

There's B— nlh— m, whose English is all his own 
making,— 
Who thinks just as little of settling a nation 
As he would of smok.ng his pipe, or of taking 

(What he, himself, calls) bis •' post-prandial vibra- 
tion." * 

There are two Mr. M lis, too, whom those that 

love reading 
Through all that 's unreadable, call very clever ; — 

And, whereas M 11 Senior makes war on good 

bleeding, 
M II Junior makes war on all breeding what- 
ever! 



* A sort of " breakfast-powder," composed of roast- 
ed corn, was about this time intr< duced by Mr. Hunt, 
as a substitu'e for coffee. 

5 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his after-din- 
ner walk. 



3S4 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



In short, my dear Goddess. Old England 's divided 
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages ; — 

With w/iic/i of these classes we, landlords, have sided 
Thou 'It tind iu iny Speech, if thou 'It read a few- 
pages. 

For therein I 've prov'd, to my own satisfaction, 
And that of all 'squires I 've the honour of meeting, 

That 't is the most senseless and foul-mouth'd detrac- 
tion 
To say that poor people are foDd of cheap eating. 

On the contrary, such the " chaste notions" » of food 
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, 

They would scorn any law, be it ever so good, 

That would make" thee, dear Goddess", less dear 
than thou art : 



(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the play. 2 ) 
Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and 
Starvation ! 

Long life to the Minister!— no matter who, 

Or how dull he may he, if w ilh dignified spirit, he 

Keeps the p rts shut— and the people's mouths, too— 
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's prosperity 

And, as for myself, who 
To hale the whole ere 
from us, 
Had England but One to stand by thee, Dear Corn, 
That last, honest Uui-Corn * would be Sir 
Th— m— s ! 



A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER THE 
RECESS. 

Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo. 

And now— cross-buns and pancakes o'er — 
Hail, L"rds and Gentlemen, once more! 

Thrice hail and weenie Houses Twain! 
The shoit eclipse of April-Day 
Having (God grant il ! p .ss'd away, 

Collective Wisdom, shine again! 

Come, Ayes and Noes, through thick and thin,— 
With Faddy H— lores lor whipper-in, — 

W bat e'er the job, prepar'd to back it; 
Tome, vo'ers of Supplies— 1 es'owen 
Of jackets upon irumpet-bloweis. 

At eighty mortal pounds the jacket! « 

Come — free, at leng h, from Join'-Stock cares — 
Ye Senator- 

Wh'se dreams of preni uni knew no boundary ; 
So fond of aujlit like Company. 
That y u would e\en have takr'n tea 

(Had you been ask'd; with Mr. Goundrv.S 



i A phrase in one of Sir T— m— s's last speeches. 

* Great efforts were, at that time, making for the 
exclusion of foreign silk. 

3 " Road to Ruin." 

* This is meant not so much for a pun, as in allu- 
sion to the naiural history of the Unicorn, which is 
supposed to be something between the Bos and the 
Asians, and, as Rees's C>cl pajdia a-sures us, has a 
particular liking for every thing "chaste." 

* An i'em of expense w h;ch Mr. Hume in vain en- 
deavoured to ge' rid of: — trumpeters, it appears, like 
the men of All-Souls, must be 'bene cestui.' 

* The gentleman, la'ely before the public, who 
kept his /oinf-Stock Tea Cumpany all to himself, 

Te solo adoro." 



Come, matchless country-gentlemen; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas — wisest then, 

When creeds and corn-laws are debated; 
Come, rival ev'u the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 

A Squire is traiuubstantiatcd. 

Come, L — derd— e, and tell the world, 
That — surely as thy scratch is curl'd, 

As never scratch was cun'd before — 
Cheap eating does more harm than good, 
And working-people, spoil'd bv food, 

The less they eat, will work'the more. 

Come, G— lb— rn, with thy glib defence 
(Which thou 'dst have made for Peter's Pence) 

Of Church-Rates, worthy of a halter; 
Two pipes of |*rt (old port, 't was said 
By h nest N'eumort ') bought and paid 

By Papists for the Orange Altar ! 8 

Come, H— rt— n, with thy plan, so merry, 
For peopling C-uada fioni Kerry — 

Not so much rendering Ireland quiet, 
As grafting on the dull Canadians 
That liveliest of earth's contagions, 

The tuW-pock of Hiberaiau riot 1 

Come all, in short, ye vrood'rous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again ; 

Though short your absence, all deplore it — 
Oh, come and show, w hale'er men say, 
That you can, after April-Day, 

Be just as — sapient as btjore it. 



MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK. 
MONDAY, MARCH 13, ]826. 

The Budget— quite charming and witty— no hearing, 
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were 
in i ; — 

Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't cheenng, 
That all its gay audiiors ivere, every minute. 

What, itill more prosperity '. — mercy upon us, 
'• This boy 'It be the dea h of me"— oft as, already, 

Such smooth BuJeeteers have genteelly ui done us. 
For Ruin made easy there 's uo one like Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much grave apprehension expt-es<'d by the Peers. 

Les— calling to life the old Peachums and Lock- 
itts — 
The large stock of gold we're to have in three years. 

Should all find its way into highwaymen's pock- 



WF.DNESDAY. 

Little doing — for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art 
T> 'he seven-o'-clnck joys of full mti.y a table — 

When the ilcmleii all meet, to nuke much of that 
part, 
With which thev so rashlv fell ou', in the Fable. 



i Sir John Newport. 

8 This charge of two pipes of port fir the racra- 
mental wine is a | t 'he sort of r» cs 
levied upon heir Catholic fellow -parishio-ers by the 
Irish Ftcttrstauts. 

-The thin>t that from the »oul doth rise 
Dolb ask a drink 

9 "Another object iou to a metallic currency was, 
that it produced a gieaei number of highway robbe- 
ries."— Debate in the Lardt. 



c 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



385 



i It appear'd, though, to-night, that — as church-ward- 
ens, yearly. 
Eat up a small baby — those cormorant sinners, 
The Bankrupt Commissioners, bolt very nearly 
A mod'rate-siz'd bankrupt, tout cliaud, for their 
dinners!' 

Ifcta bene — a rumour today, in the City, 

"Mr. R—L— us— n just has Yesign'd"— what a pity 1 

The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing. 

When they he.ird of the fate of poor Cock Robin; 

While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretiy, 

A uiurmuring Stock-dove breath d her ditty: — 

Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long 

And as sweet as a prospeious C< ck could crow ; 
But his note was small, and the gcld-f\bch's song 

Was a pitch loo high for Robin to go. 

Who 'II make his shroud ? 

" I," said the Bank, " though he play'd me a prank, 
" While I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll'd in 't, 

" Wiih many a pound I'll paper him round, 

"Like a plump rouleau — without the gold int." 



ALL IN THE FAMILY WAY. 

A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD. 
SONG IN THE CHARACTER OF BRITANNIA. 

" The Public Debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and 
resolves itself into a Family Account."— Sir Robert 
Peeft Letter. 

Tone — My banks are all furnieh'd with beet. 

My banks are all furnish 'd with mgs, 

So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em J 
I've torn up my old money-bags, 

Having Jittle or uought to put in 'em. 
My tradesmen are smashing by dozens, 

But ihis is all nothing, they say ; 
For bankrupt, since Adam, are cousins, — 

So, it 's all in the family way. 

My Debt not a penny takes fr^m me, 

As sages t he matter explain ,— 
Bob owe. it to Tom, and then Tommy 

Just owes it to Bob back a^am. 
Since all have thu- taken to owing, 

There's nobody left that can pay; 
And Ihis is the way to keep going, — 

All quite in the family way. 

My senators vote away millions, 

To put in Prosperity's budget ; 
And though it were billions or trillions, 

The generous rogues wouldn't grudge it. 
T is all but a family hop, 

'T was Pitt began dancing the hay; 
Hands round ! — why the deuce should we stop ? 

T is all in the family way. 

My labourers used to eat mutton. 

As any greai man of the Sta'e does 
And no>v the poor devils are put on 

Small rations of tea and potatoes. 
But cheer up, J.hn, Sawney, and Paddy, 

The King is your father, they say; 
So, ey'n if you starve for your Daddy, 

T is all in the family way. 



* Mr. Abercromby's statement of the enormous 
r ern bills of the Commissioners of Bankrupts. 



33 



My rich manufacturers tumble, 

My pcor ones have nothing to chew; 
And, ev'n if themselves do not grumble, 

Their stomzchs undoubtedly do. 
But coolly to fast enjamille, 

Is as good for the soul as to pray ; 
And famine itself is genteel, 

When one starves in a family way. 

I have found out a secret for Freddy, 

A secret for next Budget day ; 
Though, pei haps, he may know it already, 

As he, too, 's a sage in his way. 
When next for the Treasury scene he 

Announces " the Devil to Pay," 
Let him write on ihe bills, '• A'ota bene, 

'"Tis all in the family way." 



BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE ELECTION. 

" I authorized my Committee to take the step which they 
did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the 
understanding that whichever of the lie o thuuld prove 
le be the weakest, should give wuv to the other."— Ex- ! 
Iracl from Mr. W. J. D—tei't Letter lu . 

B — kes is weak, and G— lb — n too, 

No one e'er the fact denied ; — 
Which is '• weakesV of the two, 

Cambtiige can alone decide. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say, 

G-lb— n of the Pope afraid is, 

B— kes, as much afraiJ as he; 
Never yet did two old ladies 

On this point so well agree. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different mode pursues, 
Each the same conclusion reaches ; 

B — kes is fiolish in Reviews, 
G — lb — u, foolish in his speeches. 

Choose between them. Cambridge, pray, 

Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Each a different foe d"th damn, 

When his own affairs have gone ill ; 

B — kes he damneth Buckingham, 
G— lb— .11 dan.ueth Dan Coin. ell. 

Choose between them, Cambi id;e. pray, 

Which ii weakest, Cambridge, say. 

Once, we know, a horse's neigh 

Fix'd the' election to a throile ; 
So, whichever tiist shall bray, 

Choose him, Cambridge, lor thy own. 
Choose him, choose him by his bray, 
Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 
June, 1826. 



MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 

"Sir,— Havine just heard of the wonderful resurreclor. 
oT Mr. Rc^cr Dodsworlh from nuder an ata.lant.ke, 
where he had remained, bien frappe, it seemi, for the 
last 166 years, I hasten to impart to you a few reflex 
tions on the subject. — Your*,, etc. 

Laudator Ttmporit Acti. 

What a lucky turn-up! just as Eld— n's with- 
drawing, 

To find thus a gentleman, froz'n in the year 
Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wan s lhawing, 

To serve for owr times quite as well is the Peer ;— 



386 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom alone 
Of our Ancestors, such as 't is found on our shelves, 

But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and full-grown, 
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves ! 

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him safe home — 

Let him learn nothing uselul or new on the way ; 

With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him 

come, 

And our Tories will hail him with "Hear!" aud 

"Hurra:" 

What a G' d-send to tht m '. — a good, obsolete man, 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a 
reader ; — 
Oh, thaw Mr Dodsworlh as fast as you can, 
Aud the L — nsd— les and H— rtf— rds shall choose 
han for leader. 

Yes, Sleeper of Ages, thou shult be their chosen ; 

And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men, 
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen, 

i*> alter'd, thou liardly will know it again. 

And Eld — n will weep o'er each sad innovation 
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he 

Has been also laid up in a long congelation. 
And is only now thawing, dear Koger, like thee. 



COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DESPATCH. 

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO 
DIABOLO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO 
HIS SATANIC MAJESTY. 

St. James'. Street, July 1, 1828. 
Great Sir, having just had the good luck to catch 

An official young Demon, preparing to go, 
Heady booted and spuri'd, wi h a Ll.ick-leg despatch 
From the Hell here, at Cr — ckf— rd's, (b our Hell, 
below — 

I write these few lines to your Highness Sa'anic, 
To say that, first having oley'd your directions. 

And done all the mischief I could in '■ the Panic," 
My next special care was to help the £>i 



Well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul, 
When ev'ry good Christian tormented his brother, 

ADd caur'd, in thy realm, such a savins of coal. 
From all coming down, ready grill'd by each other ; 

Rememb'ring, besides, how it pain'd thee to part 
Wit, 1 ) the Old Peual Code — that cAe/nfosuore of 
Law, 
la whi:h (.though to own it too modest thou art) 
We could plainly perceive the tine touch of thy 
claw ; 

I thought, as we ne'er can those good limes revive, 
(Though I.ld— n, with help from your Highness, 
WOuld try. 

T would still keep a taste for Hell's music alive, 
Could we gel up a tbunJ'nng No-Popery cry ; — 

That yell which, when chorus'd by laics and clerics, 
So like is to ours, in its spirit and lone. 

That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, 
To think that Religion should make it her own. 

So, having sent down for the' original notes 
', Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty* choir, 
j With a lew piuts of lava, to gargle the throats 

Of my self and some ohcrs, who sing it "with 



Con fuoco— at 



Thought I, " if the Marseilles Hymn could com- 
mand 
"Such audience, though yell'd by a Sam-cuictU 
crew, 
" What wonders shall toe do, who've men in our 
band, 
" That not odIj* wear breeches, but petticoats too.™ 

Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, yonr 
Highness, 
I 'm fore'd to confess — be the cause what it will, 
Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shy- 
ness, — 
Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill. 

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key, 
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; 

And certain base \oices, that look'd for a fee 
At the York music-meeting, now think it precari- 
ous. 

Even some of our Reverends might have been 
warmer, — 

Though one or two capi'al roarers we've had ; 
Doctor Wise 2 is, f ,r ms'ance. a c arming performer, 

And Huntingdon Malerley's yell was not bad ! 

Altogether however, the thing was not hearty ; — 
Even Eld— n allons we got on but so so; 

And when next we attempt a No-Popery parv, 
We mutt, please your Highness, recruit from 
below. 

But, hark, the young Rlack-leg is cracking his whip— 
Excuse me,' Great Sir — there's no time to to 
civil ; — 
The next opportunity shan't be let slip, 
But, till then, 

I m, in haste, your most dutiful 

Devil. 
July, 1S26. 



THE MILLENNIUM. 

SfGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE 
REV. MR. IRVING "ON PROPHECY." 

A Millennium at band! — I'm delighted to bear 
it — 

As matters, both public and priva'e, now go. 
With multitudes round us all liming, or near it, 

A good, rich Milieuuium will come a-jmfc*. 

Only Ibink, Master Fred, what delight to heboid, 
lustead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, 

A bran-new Jera-alem, bu.it all of gold, 
Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the 
flags — 

A City, w here wine and cheap corn s shall abound — 

A celestial Cocai'giie, on whose buttery shelves 
We may swear the best things of this norld will be 
found. 
As your faints seldom fiil to take care of then- 
'selves! 

Thanks, revere! d expounder of rap'ures Elysian, * 

w ithio reach 
Of two opposite worlds, bj 
Can cast, at the same lime, a sly lo k at c ch ;— 



- This reverend gentleman distinguished himself 
at the Reading election. 

s '• A measure of wheat for a penny, and three 
measures of larie\ : 

* See the oration of this reverend gentleman, when 
he describes the connubial j ys of Paradise, aud paints 
the angels hovering round "each La; , v fair." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



387 



Thanks, thanks for the hope thou affordest that we 
May, ev'n in our own times, a Jubilee shaie, 

Which so long has been promis'd by prophets like 
thee, 
And so of'sn postpon'd, we began to despair. 

There was Whiston,i who learnedly took Prince 
Eugene 
For Ihe man who must bring the Millennium 
about ; 
There's Faber, whose pious productions have been 
All belied, ere his book's tirsl ediuon was out; — 

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., 
Who discours'd on the subject with signal tclat, 

And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see 
A Millennium break out in the town of Ar- 
Diagh ! 4 

There was also — but why should I burden my lay 
With your Brotheises, Soulhcoles, and Dames less 
deserving, 
When all past Millenniums henceforth must give 
way 
To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv— ng. 

Go on, mighty man, — doom them all to the shelf — 
And when next thou with Prophecy troubles! thy 
sconce, 
Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself 
Art the Beast (Chapter iv.) that sees nine ways at 
once. 



THE THREE DOCTORS. 

Doctoribus laetaraur tribus. 

1S2C 
Though many great Doctors there be, 

There are three that all Doctors out-top, 
Doctor Eady, that famous M. 1)., 
Doctor S— (h— y, and dear Doctor Slop.* 

The purger — the proser — the bard — 

All quacks in a different style ; 
Doctor S — th— y writes books by the yard, 

Doctor Eady writes pull's by the mile : « 

Doctor Slop, in no meri! outdone 

By his scribbling or physicking brother, 

Can dose us w ith stuff like the one, 
Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other. 

Doctor Eady good companv keeps 

Wih 'No Popery" scribes, on the walls; 
Doctor S — th— y as gloriously sleeps 

With " No Popery" scribes, on the stalls. 

Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 
Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, 

Tha', if Eady should Uke the mad line, 
He'll be sure of a patient in Slop. 



l When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the 
Essay in which he at emp ed to connect hi> victories 
over the Turks w\ h Revelation, the Prince is said io 
have replied, that " he was not aware he had ever had 
the honour of being known to St. John." 

a Mr. Dobbs was a member of the Irish Parliament, 
and, on all other subjects but Ihe Millennium, a very 
sensible person : he chose Armagh as the scene of his 
Millennium, on account of the name Armageddon, 
mentioned in Revelation. 

a The editor of the Morning Herald, so nick- 
lamed. 

« Alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in 
chalk, on all the walls round the metropolis. 



Seven millions of Papists, no less, 

Doctor S— th— y atiacks, like a Turk ; * 

Doctor Eadi, less bold 1 confess, 
Attacks but his maid-of-all-work.s 

Doctor S— th— y, for his grand attack, 
Both a laureate and pensioner is ; 

While poor Doctor Eady, alack, 
Has been had up to Bow-street, for his! 

And truly, the law does so blunder, 

That, though little blood has been spilt, he 

May probably suffer as, under 

The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. 

So much for the merits sublime 

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) 
Of the ihree grea est lights of our time, 

Doctor Eady, and S— th— y, and Slop! 

Should you ask me, to which of the three 
Great Doctors the pret'rence should fall, 

As a mailer of course, 1 agree 
Doctor Eady must go to the wall. 

But as S— th— y with laureh is crown'd, 
And Slop with a wig and a tail is, 

Let Eady's bright temples be bound 

With a swingeing " Corona Muralis ."» * 



EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. 

Lament, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, 

Put mourning round thy page. Debrett, 

For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd 
A Viscount to a Marquis yet. 

Beside him place the God of Wit, 

Before him Beai.ty's rosiest girls, 
Apollo for a star he 'd quit, 

And Love's own sister for an Earl's. 

Did niggard fate no peers afford, 

He look, of couise, io peers' relations; 

And, rather lhan not sporl a Lord, 
Pul up with ev'n the last creations. 

Ev'n Irish names, could he but tag 'em 

With "Lord"and " Duke," were sweet to call; 
And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyragsum 
Was betler than no Lord a all. 

Heav'n grant him now some noble nook, 

For, lest his soul ! he 'd rather be 
Genteelly d<mn'd beside a Duke, 

'lhan sav'd in vulgar company. 



* This seraphic Doctor, in the preface to his last 
work (yindicix Eccltsise Jlnglicanz), is pleased to 
anathematize not only all Catholics, but all advocates 
of Catholics: —"They have for their immediate 
allies (he says) every taction that is banded against 
the Stale, every demagogue, every irreligious and se- 
ditious journalist, every open and every insidious 
enemy to Monarchy and' to Christianity .» 

6 See the late accounts in the newspapers of Ihe 
appearance of this gentleman at one ol the Police- 
offices, in consequence of an alleged assault ou his 
"maid-of-all-work." 

i A crown granted as a reward among the Romans 
to per-ons who performed any extraordinary exploits 
upon walls, such as scaling' them, battering ihem, 
&c— No doubt, writing upon them, to the extent Dr. 
Eady does, would equally establish a claim to the 



388 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



ODE TO A HAT. 

"altum 

Aedifical caput." Juvenal. 

1.826. 

Haii, reverend Hal ! — sublime 'mid all 
The minor felts that round Ihee grovel ; — 

Thou, that the Gods " a Delia" call, 

While meaner mortals call thee " shovel." 



When on thy shape (like pyramid, 

Cut horizontally in two) ' 
I raptur'd gaze, what dreams, unbid, 

Of stalls and mitres bless my view 

That brim of brims, so sleekly good — 
Not flapp'd, like dull Wesleyan.-', down, 

But looking (as all churchmen's should) 
Devoutly upward — toWrds the crown. 

Gods ! when I gaze upon that brim, 

So redolent of Church all over, 
Whit swarms of Tithes, in vision dim,— 
Some pig-tail'd, some like cherubim, 

With ducklings" wings — around it hover! 
Tenths of all dead and living things, 
That Nature into being brings, 
From calves and corn It chitterlings. 

Say, holy Hat, that hasl, of cocks. 
The very cock most orthodox, 
To toAicA, of all the well-fer! throng 
Of Zion,* joy 'st thou to belong ? 
Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lees's — no — 

For hats grow like the heads thai wear 'em ; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 

Particularly harum-scarum. 
Who know 5 but thou may's! deck the pate 
Of that fam'd Doctor Ad— mth— te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland,) 
Who chang'd so quick from blue to ycllovo 

And would from yellow back to blut, 
And back again, convenient tellow, 

If 't were his interest so to do. 

Or, haply, smartest of triangles, 

Thou art the hat of Doctor ()w— n j 
The hat thai, to bis vestry wrangles, 

That venerable priest doth go in,— 
And, theo and (here, amid the stare 
Of all St. Olave's, takes the cbair, 
And quotes, with phiz right orthodor, 

The' example of his reverend brother*, 
To prove that priests all fleece their flocks, 

And he must fleece as well as others. 

Blest Hat ! (whoe'er thy lord may be) 
Thus low I take ort' mine to thee, 
The homage of a layman's castor, 
To the spruce delta of hn pastor. 
Oh mav'st thou be, as thou pioceedest, 

Still smarter ock'd. still bn.sh'd the brighter, 
Till, bow ing all the way, thou leadest 

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre ! 



NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 



Dear Cor, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, 

i When Parliaaienl 's up, ever lake in a paper, 



» So described by a Reverend Historian of the 
Churcn : — "A Delta hat, like the horizontal section 
of a pyramid.' 1 — Grant"* History of the English 
Church. 

o Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church 
Establishment of Ireland " the little Ziou." 



| But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends 
| As you chance to pick up from political friends — 
i Being one of this well-iuforni'd class, 1 sit down 
I To transmit you the last newest news that's in town. 

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things couldDt look 
better — 

His Lordship (who promises now lo fight faster) 
Has just taken Khodes, and despatch'd off a letter 

To Daniel O'Connell, 10 make him Grand Master; 
Engaging lo change the old name, if he can, 
From (he Knights of St. John to the Knights of St. 

Dan;— 
Or, if Dan should prefer (as a still better whim) 
Being made the Colossus, 'tis all one to him. 

From Russia the last accounts are that the Czar — 

Most gen'ious and kir^, as all sovereigns are, 

And whose first p:mcely act (as you know, I sup- 
pose) 

Was to give away all bis late brother's old 
clothe- 3 _ 

Is now busy collecting, with brotherlv care. 

The la'e Emperor's nightcaps, and thinks of be- 
stowing 

One nightcap apiece (if he has them to spare) 
On ail the dij!:neuish'd old ladies now going. 

(While 1 write, ail arrival from Riga— the 'Bro- 
thers'— 

Having nightcaps on board for Lord Eld— n and 
others.) 

Last advices from India — Sir Archy, f is thought, 
Was near catching a Tartar (the first ever caught 
In N. Lai. 21.) — and his Highness Burmese, 
Being very hard pressM to shell out the rupees, 
And not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant 
To pawn his august Golden Foot « for the payment. 
(How lucky for monarchs, that thus, when they 

chooee, 
Can establish a rtmning account with the Jews!) 
The security 1-eing w hat Rothschild calls u gool," 
A loan will' be shortly, of course, set on /oof ; 
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co. 
With three oilier great pawnbroker : each takes a 

toe, 
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us leg-bail, 
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail. 

This is all for the present — what vile pens and 

paper 
Tours truly, dear Cousin — best love to Miss Draper. 
September, 1S26. 



A VISION 



BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL. 

"Up!" said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray 

One hasty orison, n hirl'J me away 

To a Limbo. Ii ii g — I wist i.'t where — 

Above or below, in earth or air; 

For it glimmer'd o'er with a doubtful light, 

One couldn't say whether t was Jay or night; 

And 't was cro-'t by many a rr.ary track. 

Due didn't know how lo ge- on O' I 

And I felt like a < 

(With it- 

When the Spirit Ii t 

"Thou'rt now in 



t A dis'ribu'lon was- male of the Emperor Alexan- 
der's military wardrobe by Ins succ: 

« This polenla'e styles himself the Monarch of the 
Golden Fool. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



389 



Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms 

Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms ; 

(Like boltled-up babes, that grace the room 

Of that wor by knight, .Sir Everard Home)— 

All of them, things half-kill'd in rearing; 

Some were lame— some wanted hearing ; 

Some had through half a century run, 

Though they hadn't a leg to sand upon. 

Others, more merry, as just beginning:, 

Around on a point of law were spinning; 

Or balanc'd aloft, 'twixt Bill and Answer, 

Lead at each end, like a light-rope dancer. 

Some were so cross, ihat nothing could please 'em ;— 

borne gulp'd down affidavits to eise 'em ; — 

All were in motion, yet never a one, 

Let it move as it might, could ever move on. 

" These," said the Spiri', " you plainly see, 

"Are what they call suits in Chancery !" 

I heard a loud screaming of old and young, 

Like a chorus by fifty Velutiis sung; 

Or an Irish Dump ("the words by Moore") 

At an amateur concert scream'd in score ; — 

So harsh on my ear that wailing fell 

Of the wre'ches who in this Limbo dwell I 

It seem'd like the dismal symphony 

Of the shapes .Eneas in hell did see ; 

Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarou- cook 

Cut otf, and left the frogs in the brook, 

To cry all night, till life's last dregs, 

"Give us our legs! — give us our legs!" 

Touch'd wih the sad and sorrowful scene, 

I ask'd what all ibis yell might mean. 

When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee, 

'• ' T is the cry of ihe Suitois in Chancery ! 

1 look'd, and I saw a wizard rise.i 

With a wig like a clnud before men's eyes. 

In his aged hand lie held a wand. 

Wherewith he beckou'd his embryo band, 

And they mnv'd and mov'd as he wav'd it o'er, 

But they i ever got on one inch the more. 

And still they kep' limping to and fro, 

Like Anels rour.d old Prospero — 

Saving, " Dear Master, let us go." 

But still old Prospero answer'd " No." 

And I heard, the while, that wizard elf 

Mutlei ing, muttering spells to himself, 

While o'er as many old papers he turn'd, 

As Hume e er nmv'd for, or Omar burn'd. 

He talk'd of his virtue — '- though some, less nice, 

(He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his Vice"— 

And he said, " I think"—" I doubt'' — " I hope," 

Call'd God to wit ess, and d >mn'd the Pope ; 

Wih many more sleigh's of tongue and hand 

I couldn'i, fur the goal of me, urider.-tand. 

Amaz'd and pos'd, I uas jus about 

To ask his name, when the screams without, 

The merciless clack of the imps within, 

And that conjuror's mutterings made such a din, 

That, s'an led, I woke — leap'd up in my bed — 

Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled, 

And bless'd my stars, right pleas'd to see, 

That I wasn't, as )et, in Chancery. 



THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN OF 
IRELAND. 

1826. 
To the People of England, the humble Petition 

Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen showing — 
That sad, very sad, is our presem condition ; — 
Our jobbing all gone, and our noble selves going;— 

That, forming one-seventh, within a few fractions, 
Of Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, 



The Lord Chancellor Eld- 



We hold it the basest of all base transaction* 
To keep us from murd'ring the other six parts; — 

That, as to laws made for the good of the many, 
We humbly suggest there is nothing less true; 

As all human laws (and our own, mote than any) 
Are made by and for a particular few ; — 

That much it delights ev'ry true Orange brother, 
To see you, in England, si.ch ardour evince, 

In discussing which sect nv>st tormented the other, 
And burn'd with iiio>t gusto, some hundred years 
since; 

That we love to behold, while old England grows 
faint, 

Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh coming to blows, 
To decide whether Dunstan. that strong bodied Saint, 

Ever truly and really pull'd the Dev'I's nose; 

Whether t' other Saint, Dominic, burnt the Dev'I's 
paw — 
Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mo- 
ther 2 — 
And many such points, from which Southey can draw 
Conclusions most apt for our ha'ing each" other. 

That 't is very well known this devout Irish nation 
Has now, for some ages, gone happily on, 

Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, 
One party in Trans and the other in Con; 3 

That we, vour petitioning Cons, have, in right 
Of the said monosyllable, ravag'd the lands, 

And embezzled the goods, and annoy 'd, day and night, 
Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for 
Trans; — 

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such sages, 
For keeping us still in the same state of mind ; 

Pretty much as the world us'd to be in those ages, 
When still smaller syllables madden'd niaukind ; — 

When the words ex and per* serv'd as well, to annoy 
One's neighbours and Mends with, as con and trans 
now ; 
And Christians, like S— lh— y, who stickled for of. 
Cut the throats of all Cbris:ians who stickled for 
ou.s 

That, relying on England, whose kindness already 
So often has help'd us to play this game o'er, 

We have go' our red coats and our carabines ready, 
And wait but the word to show sport, as before. 

That, as to the expense— the few millions, or so, 
Which for all such diversions John Bull has to 
pay — 
»T is, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know, 
That to Orangemen's pockets 'I will all find its way. 
For which your petitioners ever will pray, 

&c. &c. &c &c. &c 



3 To such important discussions as these the greater 
part of Dr. Southey s Vindicix Ecclesia Anglicans, is 
devoted. 

3 Consubstantia'inn — the true Reformed belief; at 
leas , the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of 
Melancthon also. 

« When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at 
the time this dispute between "ex" and -per" was 
going on, he found the lurks, we are told, " laughing 
at the Christians for being divided by two such insig- 
nificant particles." 

* The Arian controversy —Before that time, says 
Hooker, "in order to be a sound believing Christian, 
men were not cmious what syllables or particles of 
speech they used." 



33* 



n*9( 



390 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



COTTON AND CORN. 
A DIALOGUE. 

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day, 

As they met and exchanrd a salute — 

(Squire Corn in his cairiage so gay, 
Four Cotton, half laiiiish'd, ou foot): 

"Great Squire, if it i>n't uncivil 
'■ To hint at starvation bef re you, 

" Look down on a poor hung'y devil, 
"And give him some bre^d, 1 implore you!" 

Quoth Corn then, in answer to C "ton, 
Perceiving he meant to make free — 

" Low fellow, you ve surely forgotten 
"The distauce between you aud me! 

" To expect thai we Teers of high birth, 
"-liould waste our illustrious acres, 

"For no other purpose on earth 

" Thiu to fatten curst calico-makers ! — 

" That Bishops to bobbins should bend — 
•'Should st. op from their Bench's sublimity, 

" Great dealer- in lawn, to befriend 
"Such couteuipible dealers in dimity! 

" No — vile Manufacture ! ne'er harbour 
" A h >pe to be fed at our board- , — 

"RaseoUspringof Aikwnglit the b.wber, 
" What claim canst thou have upon Lords? 

" No — thanks to the taxes and debt, 
"Aud the triumph ot paper o'ei guineas, 

"Our race uf L»nlJemiii)>, as yet, 

"May defy your wtiole rabble of Jcnnyl!" 

So saying — whi|>, crack, and away 

Went Com in his chaise through the throng, 

So headlong, 1 heard ilicni .ill say, 
"Squire Corn would be duurii, before long." 



THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT 
B— TT-- RW— RTH. 

« A Christian of the beat edition." Rabtlati. 

Canonize him ! — yea, verily, we 'II canonize him ; 

Though Cant is his hobby, and meddling his bliss, 
Though sases may pi'y. and wits mai despise him, 

He'll ne'er make a bit the worse Saint lor all this. 

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet spread 

'I he dominion of Humbug o'er 1 .nd and o'er sea, 

Descend on our B— It— rw- rlh's biblical head, 
Tunce-Ureal, Bibliopolisl, Saint, aud M. P. 

Come, shade of Joanna, come down fmni thy sphere. 

And bring li tie Shiloh — if t isn't too far- 
Such a sight w ill to B— it— rw— rth's h >som be dear, 
His c nceptions and thine being much on a par. 

Nor blush. Saint Joanna, once more to behold 
A world thou hast honour'd by cheating so many ; 

Thou 'It find still among us oi e Per>onage old. 

Who also by tricks aud the Seals' makes a penny. 

Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother Lee !» 
Thy smiles to beatified B— tt— rw— rlh deign j 



Two 'Mights of the Gentiles" .re hou, Anne, and he, 
One hallowing Fleet Street, and t'other Toad 

Lane 13 

The Heathen, we know, made their Gods out of 
wood, 

And Saints may be fram'd of as handy materials;— 
Old women and B— tt— rw— rths make just as good 

As any the Pope ever book , d as Ehereals. 

Stand forth, Man of Bibles ! — not Mahomet's pigeon, I 
When, perch'd en the Koran, he dropp'd there, 
they say, 

Strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion 
Such glory as B— tt— rw— rth sheds every day. 

Great Galen of souls, with what vigour he crams 
Down Erins idolatrous throats, till they crack 
again, 
Bolus on bolus, good man ! — and ihen damns 
Both their 5'om ichs and souls, if they dare cast 
them back again. 

How well might his shop — as a type representing 
The creed of himself and his sanctified clan — 

On its couner exhil'it " the Art of Tormenting." 
Bound neatly, and letlei'd " Whole Duty of Man !" 

Canonize him ! — by Judas, we will canonize him j 
For Cant is hi* hobby, and twaddling his bliss ; 

And, though wise men may pity and wits may de- 
spise him, 
He'll make but the better sAop-sainl for all this. 

Call qockly t gether the whole 'ribe of Canters, 
Conv Ke all ihe terivut Tag-rag of the nation ; 

Bring Shakers and Si.ufHers and Jumpers and Ranters, 
To witness their B — tt— rw— rth's Canonization ! 

Yea, humbly I 've ventur'd his merits to paint, 
Yea. feebly have tried all his glf s io p 'I iv ; 

Aud they foim a •um-tn al far making a Saint. 
That the Devil's own Advocate c«uld not gainsay. 

Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Raners all roar, 
While B— It— rw — r h's spirit, upraU'd from yocr 
eyes, 

Like a kite made of foolscap, in elory shall s-ar. 
With a long tail of rubbish behiiKlj to the skies ! 



AN INCANTATION. 



SING BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. 



Come with me, and we will blow 

les, nnt; ; 
BubLLs, bright as ever Hope 
Drew from fancy — oi from soap; 
Bright a- e'er the Sou'h Sea sent 
From its fr 'thy element! 
Come with me, and we will blow 
Lett of bubbles, as w e go. 
Mix the lather, Juhmiv W— Iks, 
Thou, who rliym'st so well to bilks; * 



» A great part of Ihe income of J>anna Southcort 
arose from the Seals of the Lord's protection which 
she sold to her followers. 

4 Mrs. Anne Lee, the "chosen vessel" of the 



Shaken, and u Mother of all the children of regene- 
ration." 

3 Toad Lane, in Manchester, v. herr Mother Lee 
was born, lu her " Address to Y uug RelierrrV »t* 
sajs, that "it is a matter of no importance with hem 
from whence the means of their deliverance come, 
whether from a stable in Be hlebem, or from Toad 
Lane, Manchester. " 

* Strong indications of character may be 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



391 



M'X the lather — who can be 
Fitter for such task lhan thee, 
Great M.P. for Sudsbury ! 
Now tt e frn'by charm is ripe, 
Puffins Peter,'' b-ing thy |i|>e.— 
Thou, whom anc.ent Coventry 
Once so dearly lov'd, that she 
Knew not « hich to her wa- sweeter, 
Peeping Tom or Puffing Pe er; — 
Puff' the bubbles high in air, 
Puff thy best to keep them there. 

Bnvo, bravo. Peter M— re! 

Now the rainbow humbi gs"2 soar, 

G'ittering all wi li tolden hues. 

Such as haunt Hie dreams of Jews;- 

Some, r flee ins: mi es that lie 

Under Chilis glowing sky, 

Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 

Cloistei'd in the sou hern deep; 

Other-, as if lent a >ay 

F>om tiie streaming Milky Way, 

Glis euing o'er wi h cud* ai.d whey 

F on, 'he c iwsof Ald.rney. 

Now >s tl e moment — who shall first 

Catch the ! ubb'es, ere they burst ? 

Run, ye Squires, ye Viscount-, run, 

Br-gd— 11. T-ynh— m, P— Im— t— n; — 

John W— Iks junior ru s beside ye ! 

Take the good the knaves provide ye !' 

See, with up'urn'd e\e- and hands. 

Where the SAoremaii,« Br— gd— n, stands, 

Gaping for the froth t" fall 

Down Ins gullet — lye and all. 

See '. 

But, hark, my time is not — 
Now, like sime greit water-spout, 
Scaiter'd by the cannon's thunder, 
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder! 

[Here the stage darkens — a discordant crash is 
heard from the orchestra -the broken bubbles descend 
in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the tuads 
of the Dramatis Personx, and the scene drops, leav- 
ing the bubble-hunters all in the suds.] 



A DREAM OF TURTLE. 

BY SIR W. CURTIS. 

18 

•T was evening time, in I he twilight sweet 
I sail'd along, when — whom should I meet 
But a Turtle journeying o'er the sea, 
"On the service of his Majesty." s 



traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, 
when he wrote 

"Sir Edward Sutton, 
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton." 

* The Member, during a long period, for Coventry. 
1 An humble imitation of one of mir moden poe's, 

who, in a pnem against War. after describing ihe 
splendid habiliments of Ihe soldier, thus apostrophizes 
him— ' Ihou rainbow ruffian !" 
3 <' Lovely Thais si's beside thee; 

Take the good the Gods provide thee." 

* So cal'ed by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the 
eh, in the word "Chairman. 1 ' 

* We are told th*t the passport of this grand diplo- 
matic Turtle (sent by the Secretiry for Foreign Affaiis 
to a certain noble envoy) described him as "on his 
majesty's service." 

dapibuB suprerai 

Grata lestudo Jovis. 



When spving him first through twilight dim, 
1 didn't know what to make of him ; 
But said to myself, as slow he plied 
His fins, and roll'd from side to side 
Coiceitedly o'er the watery path — 
«< >T is my Loid of St— w— II taking a ba'.ta, 
" And I hear him now, among the fishes, 
" Quoting Valel and Burgersdicius I" 

But, no — 'lira', indeed, a Turtle, wide 

And plump as ever these eyes descried j 

A Turtle, juicy as ever \et 

Glu'd up the lips of a Baronet ! 

And much did it grieve my soul to see 

That an animal of such dignity. 

Like an absentee abroad should roam, 

When he ought to stay and be ate at home. 

But now "a change came o'er my dream," 

Like Ihe magic lantern's shifting slider; — 
I look'd, and saw, by the evening beam, 

On Ihe back of that Turtle sat a rider — 
an eye so nieri y, 
reign Secretary.6 
Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile, 
Like Waterloo on his cr codile ; 1 
Cracking such jokes, at every motion, 

As ma ie the turtle squeak with glee, 
And own they gave him a lively notion 

Of what his/ore'd-meat balls would be. 

So on the Sec. in his glory went, 

Over that briny element, 

Waving hi- hand as he tO"k farewell, 

With graceful air, and bidding me tell 

Inquiring fiieuds that the Turtle and he 

Were gone on a foreign embassy — 

To soften the heart of a Diploriiate, 

Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 

And to let admiring Lurope see, 

That calipash and calipee 

Are the English foruis of Diplomacy. 



THE DONEY AND HIS PANNIERS. 



"fessns jam sudat asellus, 



'Faroe illi; vestrum delicium eat i 



Virgil. 



A donky, whose talent for burdens was wond'rous, 
So much that you 'd swear he rejoje'd in a load, 

One day had 'o jog under panniers so pond'rous, 
That — down the poor Donky fell smack on the 
road ! 

His owners and drivers slond round in amaze — 
What ! Neddy, the patient, ihe prosperous Neddy, 

So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways, 
For every description of job-work so ready ! 

One driver (whom Ned might have " hail'd" as a 
'•brother'' ») 

Had just been proclaiming his Donky's renown 
For vigour, for spirit, for one thins or other — 

When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donky came down ! 

But, how to upraise him ? — one shouts, V other 
whistles, 
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all, 



6 Mr. Canning. 

1 Wanderings in South America. " It was Ihe [ 
first and last time (says Mr. Waterton) I was ever on ; 
a crocodile's back." 
j 8 Alluding to an earlv poem of Mr. Coleridge's,. * 
addressed to an Ass, and beginning, "I bail thee, j 
brother !" 



392 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Declared that an " over-production of thistles — » 
(Here Ned gave a stare) — wn the cause of bii 
fell." 

Another wise Solomon cries, as be passes — 

"There, let h in alone, and the fit will soon cease; 

"The beast has been righting with other jack-asses, 
'• And this is bis mode of ■ transition to peace.' " 

Some lo-ik'd at his hoofs, and, with learned grimaces, 

Pron unc'd that loo long without shoes be bad 

gone — 

" Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal 

basis 

(The wise-acres said), "and he's sure to jog on." 

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, 
l.ay ui dcr his | anniers, scarce able to groan ; 

And — what was still dolelulier — lending aa ear 
To advisers, whose ears were a match for bis own. 

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far 
As to see ohers' folly, roer'd out, as he pass'd — 

" Quick — off w tb the panniers, all dolls as ye are. 
'•Or >our prosperous Neddy will soon kick bis 

last :" 
October, 1626. 



ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 



Great Sultan, bow wise are thy stale compositions ! 

And »h, above all, 1 admire that 1» 
Id which th u command's!, that all sJit politicians 

Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea. 



Tis bit fortune to know a lean Benthamite spin- 
ster— 
A maid who her fai'h in old Jeremy puts; 
Who lalks, with a lisp, of "the last new West- 
miiuler," 
And hopes you're delighted with "Mill upon 
Gluts;" 

Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun-blank is, 
How charming his Articles 'gainst the Nobility ;— 

And assures you that even a gentleman's rank is>, 
In JeremyH school, of no sort of utility. 

To see her, ye God;, a new Number peru-ing— 
Art. I. — ■ On the Setdlti variations," by PI— e ; * 

Jrt. 2.— By her fav'rite Fun-blank * — " so amusing ! 
'- Dear man ! be makes Poetry quite a Law case." 

Art. 3. — "Upon Fallacies .* Jeremv's own — 
(Chief Fallacy being, his bope to bud readers);— 

Art 4. — " Cpoa Honesty," author unknown ; — 
Art. 5. — tbv the young Mr. M ) -Hints to 



Oh, Sultan, oh. Sultan, though oft for (be bag 

And the bowstring, like thee, 1 am tempted to 
call — 



Tboogh drowning 's too good for each blue-stnckiag 
bag, 
I would bag this she Benthamite first of them all ! 

And, lest she should ever again lift her head 
From the watery bo'tom, ber clack to renew — 

As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, 
I would hang round ber neck ber own darling 
Review. 



i A certain country eenlleman having said in the ' 
House, -that we must re urn at last to the food of 
our ancestors,"' somebody asked Mr. T. "what food 
the gentleman meant /"' — " Thistles, I suppose," an- 
swered Mr. T. 

* A celebrated political tailor. 

* This pains-taking gentleman has been at the 
trouble of counting, vntb the assistance of Cocker, the 
Bomber of metaphors in Moore's " Life of Sheridan," 
and has f.mnd tbem to amount, as nearly as possible, 
to 2233 — and some fractions. 



CORN AND CATHOLICS. 



Cuiui torn 7 Hetrti Auctoriu 

What ! still those two infernal questions, 
That with our meals, our slumbers mix — 

That spoil our tcm|iers. and digestions— 
Eternal Corn ami Catholics ! 

Gods ! were there ever two such bores ? 

No'bing else talk'd of night or morn — 
Nothing m doors, or out of doers, 

Rut endless Catholics and Corn! 

Never was such a btace of pests — 

While Miuisteis, still worse than either, 

Skili'd but in feathering Iheil 
Plague us witb both, and set tie neither. 

So addled in my cranium meet 
F.pery and Corn, that Ut I doubt, 

Wi.eti.er. this year, 1 was bonded Wheat, 
Or bonded Papists, they let ouL 



nailyo*. 
tbey caa take sip; 

assail you — 



Bert, landlords, ken, 
Arm'd with all 

Prices and Tests at o 
From D-.nici these. 



And when yon sleep, witb bead still torn 
Between the two, tbeir shapes you mix, 

Till sometimes Ca bolics seem Corn — 
Then Corn again seems Catholics. 

Now, Dantsic "heat before yon foals — 

Now, Jesuits fioru California — 
Now Ceres, link'd w ah I itus Oat*. 

Comes dancing 'brough the "Porta Corneas," 

Oft, loo, the Corn grows animate, 
And a whole cr>p of heads appears, 

Like Papists, bearding Church sod Stae — 
Themselves, together by the ears 1 

In short, these torments never cease ; 

And ift I wish m>scif transferr'd osT 
To tome far, lonely land of peace, 

Where Corn or Papists ne'er w ere beard of. 

Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole ; 

For — if my fa'e is to be chosen 
T» ix' bores and icebergs— on my soul, 

I 'd rather, of the two, be frozen 1 



A CASE OF LIBEL. 

« The greater ibe truth, the worse Use lifceL" 

A certain Sprite, who dwells below, 

(*F were a libel, perhaps, to mealioa where,) 

« Author of the late Report on Foreign Cora. 

* Ibe H<m Ga'e. hr. u;h nhich the joe i 
nosed all true dreams (such as '.hose of la* Popish 
FuM, ic ) to pass. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



393 



Came up incog., some years ago, 
To try, for a change, the London air. 

So well Ue look'd, and dress'd, and talk'd, 
And hid bis tail and horns so handy, 

You'd hardly have known him as he walk'd, 
From C e, or any other Dandy. 

(His horns, it seems, are made t' unscrew ; 

So, he has but to take them out of the socket, 
And — just as some hue husbands do — 

Conveniently clap them into his pocket.) 

In short, he look'd extremely natty, 

And ev'n coutnv'd — to his own great wonder- 
By dint of sundry scents from Gatlie, 
To keep the sulphurous hogo under. 

And so my gentleman hooPd about, 

Unknot u to all but a chosen few 
At White's and Crockfotd's. where, no doubt, 

He had many post-obits falling due. 

Alike a gamester and a wit, 

At night he was seen with Crockford's crew, 
At mom with learned dames would sit — 

So pass'd bis time twill black and blue. 

Some wish'd to make him an M. P., 
But, finding W— Iks was also one, he 

Swore, in a rage, " he 'd be d — d, if he 
" Would ever sit in one house with Johnny." 

At length, as secrets travel fast, 

And devils, whether he or she, 
Are sure to be found out at last. 

The affair got wind most rapidly. 

The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs 
Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers — 

Miss Fatou's soon as Beelzebub's — 

Fir'd oti' a squib in the morning papers: 

" We warn good men to keep aloof 
" From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 

" VVith a fire-proof wig. and a cloven hoof 
" Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking out." 

Now,— the Devil being a gentleman, 

Who piques himself on well-bred dealings,— 

You may guess, when o'er these lines he ran, 
How much they hurt and shock'd his feelings. 

Away he posts to a Man of Law, 
And 't would make you laugh could you have 
seen 'em, 
As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, 
And 't was " bail, good fellow, well met," be- 
tween 'em. 

Straight an indictment was preferr'd — 
Aud much the Devil enjoy'd the jest, 

When, asking about the Bench, he heard 
That, of all the Judges, his own was BtstA 

In vain Defendant proffer'd proof 

That Plaintiff's self was the Father of Evil — 
Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the hoof, 

And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil. 

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 
And readers of virtuous Sunday papers) 

Found for the Plaintiff — on hearint; which 
Tbe Devil gave one of his loftiest capers. 



A celebrated Judge, so named. 



For oh, 't was nuts to the Father of Lies 
(As this wily fiend is nam'd in the Bible) 

To find it settled by laws so wise, 
That the greater tbe truth, the worse the libel ! 



LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted — Authors of all-work, to job for the sea- 
son, 

No matter which party, so faithful to neither; 
Good hacks, who, if pos'd for a rhyme or a reason, 

Can manage, like **#*#*, to do without either. 

If in gaol, all the be'ter for out-o'-door topics ; 

Your gaol is for Travelers a charming retreat ; 
They can take a day's rule for a trip to the Tropics, 

And sail round tbe world, at their ease, in the 
Fleet. 

For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of schools — 
He can study high life in tbe King's Bench eom- 
munily ; 

Aristotle could scarce keep him more within rules, 
And of place he, at least, must adhere to tbe unity. 

Any lady or gentleman, come to an age 
To have good "Reminiscences" (three-score or 
higher), 
Will meet with encouragement — so much far page, 
And the spelling and grammar both fouud by tbe 
buyer. 

No matter with what (heir remembrance is slock 'd, 
So they 'II only remember Ihe quantum desir'd ; — 

Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes, oct., 
Price twenty-four shillings, is all that's requir'd. 



Like Dibdin, may tell of each farcical 
Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis fi 

That gingerbread-cakes always give them the colic. 

Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets on Corn, 
By "Farmers" and "Landholders" — (worthies 
whose lands 
Enclos'd all in bow pots, their attics adorn, 
Or, whose share of the soil may be seen on their 
hands). 

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein, 
Sure of a market ;— should they, too, who pen 
'em. 

Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh 0>S— II — v — n,s 
Something extra allow'd for ihe' additional venom. 

Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance, 
All excellent subjects for turning a penny ; — 

To write upon all is in rtuthor's sole chance 

For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any. 

Nine times out of ten. if his title is good, 

The material within of small consequence is; — 

Let him only write fine, and, if not understood, 
Why — that 's the concern of the reader, not his. 

Nota Bene — in Essay, now printing, to show. 
That Horace (as clearly as words could express it) 



* This lady also favours n«, in her Memoirs, with 
the address of those apothecaries, who have, from 
time to time, given her pills thai ag'eed with her; 
always desiring that the pills should be ordered 
" comme pour elle." 

■ A gentleman, who distinguished himself by his 
evidence before the Irish Commitiees. 



394 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Was for taiine the Fund-holders, ages ago, 
When he nroe thus — •• Quodcunque in Fund it, 



THE IRISH SLAVE. a 



1S27. 



I heard, as I lay. a wailing sound, 

u He is dead — he is de^d,' . I.e rutmur flew; 
And 1 rais'd my chain, and lurn'd uie inuud, 

Andask'J,lli!Oughu,edungcou-wmdow, "Who?" 

I saw my livid tormentors pass ; 

Their <ricf 'I was bliss o hear and see ! 
For, never came j*) la fern. alas. 

Tliat didn't bnug deadly bane !o me. 

Eager 1 look'd through the mist of night, 

And askd. • What i e of nn race ha'h died ? 

"Is it he — thU Doubter of law nnd riiht, 

" Whom nothing but « roug could e'er decide — 

u Who, long as he sees but wealth 'o wi«, 
** Hath nevrr ye' lei a qualm or doubt 

" What suitors for justice he'd keep in, 

"Or what suitors lor fiecdom he 'd shut out — 



" Who, a clog for ever on Truth's advance, 

" Hants round her (like the Old Man ot the Sea 

u Round E>iutnd*s neck 3>. nnr leaies a ch nee 
" Ol shaking him off— is 1 be? ul he? 1 

Ghastly my grim tormentors smil'd. 

And thrus'ii g me back to in) den of woe, 

With a laughter even more tierce and wild 
Thau their funeral howling, ausuer'd '• No." 

But the cry still piere'd my prison-ga'e. 
And again I ask'd, •• Whal seoarge i> gone ? 

"Is it he — thai l _rca\ 

*• Whom Fame unwillingly slimes upon — 

•' Whose name i« one of the' ill-onen'd words 
"They link with hate, on his na'i.e plains; 

"And why ?— 'hey lent him hi-aits a 

" And be, iu return, gave scolls and chains ! 

" Is it he? is it he?" I loud inquir'd. 

When, hark ! - Ihrre s uuded a Roval knell; 

And I kuew what spirit h»d just ejep r'd, 
And, slave as 1 was, my triumph fell. 

He had pledg'd a hate unto me and mine 

He had left to the future nor DM 
But seal'd thai bate with a Niuie Divine, 

And be now was dead, and — I couJdnf rejoice 

He had fann'd afmh the burning trandi 
Of a bigotry waning eld and dim ; 

He had arin'd anew my tortuiers' hands. 
And ihem did i curse — but sigh'd for him. 

For, his was the error of head, not heart ; 

And — oh. how beyond ihe ambush'd foe, 
Who to enmity adds'ihe tiaitor's part, 

And carries a smile, with a curse below! 



If ever a heart made bright amends 
For the fat I fault of an erring head — 

Go. learn Ms fame from the lips'of friends, 
In the orphan's tear be his glory read. 

A Prince without pride, a man without guile. 

To tl.e last unchmsii.g, waisn, sincere. 
For W r h he had evtr a hand and sn.i e, 

And for Miseiy e.er his purse and tear. 

Touch'd to the heart by that solemn toll, 
I calmly sunk in my cbiiis stain. 

While, still as 1 said " Heaven rest his soul !• 
My mates of the dungeon sigh'd " Amen !" 

January, ls2T. 



i According to the common readiof, "quodcunque 
infundis, acescit." 

* Written on the death of the Duke of Yo'k. 

» "You fell, said tbey. in'o the hands of the Old 
Man of the Sea. and are ihe first «ho ever escaped 
strangling by bis malicious tricks." — Slorj 



ODE TO FERDINAND. 

Quit the sword, thou King of men, 
Grasp ihe needle ouce again; 
Mik n» pe'ticoits is far 
Safer sport ihan mak.rg war; 
T"mmn g is a betier thine, 
Than the being tnmm'd, oh King ! 
Grasp the neede bred' with which 
Thoud •rch 



ruble ! 

Not f r lier ■ 

But (or ce'tai" grave old ladies. 

Who now si' iu fcngtawTs cabinet, 

W til u» o be cloih d m labmet, 

Or wtia'ever choice 

Fit for Dowagers in .'dice. 



First, thv care, oh Kine. devote 

To Dame E 

Make i of that silk, whose dye 

• c eye, 
Jus' as it it hardl\ knew 
Whether to be pi'-k or bine. 
Or — material fitter 

IV a ren.nat.t ret 

of Old, 



• ,lways w 

Th.t '5 the - 

Fittest for Dame Eld— d"b flounces. 



. flirt, 
< 'he dirt, 

i 

Goody W— stm — 1— d is in iL 

This i< all I now shall ask. 
He thee, monarch, 'o ib\ 

Then return f r farther orders. 
Oh wU Jte, 

Kings in millinery make! 
Ribands, ear ers and si ch 'Kings, 



Ferdiua'-d his ra k Jen 
By providing petticoats. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



395 



HAT versus WIG. 

1S27. 
•At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eld— n, i 
order ;o guard atainsl the effects of the damp, stood upo 
him bat during the whoie of the ceremony." 

metus omnes el inexoraliile fatum 

Subjecit pedibus, sirepitumque Acheroutig avari. 

Twixt Eld-n's Hat and Eld— n's Wig 

There lately rose an altercation,— 
Each Willi n> own imporlai.ee big, 

disputing which niosi serves the nation. 

Qu 5th Wig, with consequent 1 air, 
'" Pooh ! pooh '. you surely can't design, 

" My wo thy beaver, to compare 
" Your station in the stale with mine, 

u Who meets the learned legal crew f 
" VV'ho fronts the lordly Senate s pride ? 

"The Wig, Hie Wig, my friend — while you 
" Hang dangling on some peg outside. 

» Oh, 't is the Wig, that rules, like Love, 
"Senate and C <urt, with like eclat — 

"And wards below, and lords above, 
" for Law is Wig and Wig is Law ! 1 

" Who tried the long, Long W — It — si — y suit, 
" Which tried one's patience, in return ? 

" Not thou, oil Hat ! — though, cuuld'nt thou do'f, 
•* Of other brant* lhan thine thou 'dsl learn. 

">T was mine our master's toil lo share ; 

" When, like 'Truepenny.' in the play ,3 
«• He, every minute, cried out -Swear," 

"And merrily to s » ear went they ;< — 

' When, lo'h poor VV— 11— si — y to condemn, he 
" With nice discrimination weigh'd, 

" Whether 't was only ' Hell and .lemmy,' 
"Or 'Hell and Tommy' that he play'd. 

"No, no, my worthy beaver, no — 

" Though cheapen'd al Hie cheapest hatter's, 

" And smart enough, as beavers go, 

" Thou ne'er vvert made for public matters." 

Here Wig concluded his oration. 

Looking, as wigs do. wondrous wise; 
While Ihus, full cock'd for declamaion, 

The veteran Hat enrag'u replies: — 

" Ha ! do-t Ihou then so soon forget 
" What thou, what England owes to me? 

"Ungrateful Wig! — wheii will a debt, 
" So deep, so vast, be owed to thee ? 

«' Think of that night, that fearful night, 
'• When, through the s 'earning vault below, 

«' Our master dar'd, in gout's despite, 
" To venture his podagric toe ! 

" Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 

'« When thou had'sl to thy box sueak'd off, 

"Beneath his fee 1 protecting lay, 
"And sav'd him from a mortal cough? 



1 " Love rules the court, Ihe camp, the grove, 
And men below and god- above. 
For Love is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love.— Scott. 
3 "Brim — a naughty woman."— Grose. 
» " Ghost [beneath]. — Swear ! 
"■Hamlet.— Ha, ha! say'st thou so? Art thoi 
there, Tiuepeuny ? Come on." 

• His Lordship's demand for fresh affidavits was 
incessant. 



" Think, if Catarrh had queneh'd that sun, 
" How blank this world had been to tbee ! 

" Wiihout that head to shine upon, 
"Oh, Wig, where would thy glory be? 

" You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope 

" Of Church and state been ravish'd from ye, 

"Oh, think, how Canning and the P>pe 
"Would then hive play'd up 'Hell and Tom- 
my !' 

"At sea, there H but a plank, they say, 

"' l'wixt seamen and annihilation; 
"A Hat. that awful moment, lay 

'"Twixt England and Emancipation ! 

« Oh ! ! I " 

At this " Oh ! ! !" The Times' Reporter 
Was taken poorly, and reiir'd ; 
Which made him cut Hal's rhetoric shorter, 
Thau justice to the case requir'd. 

On his return, he found these shocks 

Of eloquence all ended quite j 
And Wig lay snoring in his b >x, 

And Hat was — hung up for the night. 



THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS. 



A SALMAGUNDIAN HYMN. 

'To Panurge was assigned the Lairdship of Salmagundi, 
which was yt-nrly worth 6,7e>9,l<)fj.7trJ ryals, besides lb« 
revenue of ihe Locuitt and Periwinkles, amouuliuj 
one yer with another to the value of 2,i36,7(J6," ice. 
tic.—Rabelait. 

" Hurra ! hurra !" I heard them say, 
And they checr'd and shouted all the way, 
As the Laird of Salmaguudi went, 
To open in slate his Parliament. 



The Salmagundians once were rich, 

Or thought they were — no malter which — 

For, every yeir, the Revenue 5 

From their Prriu inkle; laiger grew ; 

And 'heir rulers, skill'd in all the trick 

And legerdemain of arithmetic, 

Knew bow to place I, 2, 3, 4, 

5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 
Such various wa\s. behind, before, 
That they made a unit seem a score, 

And prov'd themselves most wealthy men! 
So, on they went, a prosperous crew, 

The people wise, the rulers clever — 
And God help those, like me and jou, 
Who dar'd to doubt (as some now do) 
That the Periwinkle Revenue 

Would ihus go flouri-hiug on for evei. 



•'Hurra! hurra !" I heard Ihem say, 
And Ihey cheer'd and sh uted all the way, 
As the Great Par. urge in glory went 
To open his own dear Parliament. 

But folks at leng'h began to doubt 
Whit all this conjuring was about; 
For, every day, more deep in debt 
They saw their wealthy lulersge' : — 
"Let's look (said Ihey/ the items through 
"And see if what we re t"ld be Hue 
"Of our Periwinkle Revenue." 



* Accented as in Swift's line — 

"Not so a nation's revenues »re i 



396 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



But. lord ! Ihey found there wasn't a tittle 

Of trulb in aught they heard before; 
For, they gain'd by Periwinkles little, 
And lost by Locus s ten limes more! 
These Locusts are a lordly breed 
Some Salmagundians love 10 feed. 
Of all the beasts thai ever were born, 
Your Locus' most deliglns in corn ; 
And, though his body be but small, 
To fatten him 'akes tire dev'l a- d all ! 
" Oh, fie ! oh, fie :" was now the cy, 
As they saw the gaudy show 50 by, 
And the Laird of Salmagundi weut 
To open bis Locust Parliament! 



NEW CREATION OF PEERS. 

BATCH THE FIRST. 

" Hi« "prentice han* 
He tried on man, 
And then be made tbe bases." 

1827. 
'And now,'' quo'h the Minister, (ea-'d nf his panics, 

And ripe for e>ch pastime tbe summer affords,) 
1 Having had our full swing at destroying mechanics, 
"By way of tet-off, let us make a lew Lords. 

•Tis pleasant — while nothing but mercantile frac- 
tures, 
"Some simple, some compound, is dinn'd in our 
ears — 
'To think that, though robb'd of all coarse manufac- 
tures, 
" We still have our fine manufacture of Peers : — 



"Those Gobtlin productions, which Kings take a 
pride 
" In engrossing the whole fabrication and trade of; 
"Choice tapestry things, very grand on one side, 
"But showing, on t'other, what rags they are 
made of." 

The pi in being fix'd raw material was sought, — 
No matter how middling, if Tory the creed be; 

And first, to begin with, Squ.re W , 't was 

though', 
For a Lord was as taw a material as need be. 

Next came, with his penchant for painting and pelf, 
The tasteful Sir Clurles,' so reuown'd, farand near, 

For purchasing pictures, and selling himself — 
And both (is the public »ell know.) veiy dear. 

Beside him Sir John comes, wi'h equal eclat, in ; — 
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for lilies we mea- 
sure ye ; 

Both connoisseur barones, both fond of drawing. 
Sir John, af er nature. Sir Charles, on the 1 



But, bless us '. — behold a new candidate come — 
In his hard he upholds a prescription, new written ; 

He poiseth a pill-b >x 'twixt finger and thumb. 
And he asketh a teat 'moug the Peers of Great 

Britain ! 

"Forbid it," cried Jenky 



ye Viscounts, ye Earls !— 
■■ un nans, now my glories would f - 1 1 disenchanted, 
a If coronets glisten'd with pills stead nf pearls, 
"And the s rawberry-leaves were by rhubarb sup- 



'And young Mas'er H- 
for't, 
" Sweet Doctor, we '11 1 



rd as yet is t co 1 
: a the Peer of thy 1 



" Next >o be ring a coronet on our own brows, 
'• Is 10 bask in i's ligh' from the brows of 

"And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy 

"As o'er V— y F— tz-d 'twill shine through hi* 
mother." * 

Thus ended the First Batch— and Jenky, much tir'd, 
(It be ng no joke to make Lords by tbe heap). 

Took a large diam of ether — Hie same that inspir'd 
His speech 'gainst the Papis s — and pros'd otf to 
sleep. 



SPEECH ON THE UMBRELLAS QUESTION. 

BY LORD ELD — N. 
■ Vos inwnbrellet video." 4- 



My Lords I 'ro accus'l of a trick that, God knows, is 
Tbe last into which, at my agr, I could fa.ll — 

Of leadii g this grate House of'Pcer-, by their noses, 
Wherever I choose, priuces, bishops, and all. 

Mv Lords, on 'he question before us at present, 
No doubt I shall hear, '• T is thai cursed 'Id fellow, 

" That bugbear of all that is lib'ral and p easant, 
" Who won't lei the Lords give the man bis urn* 
brella!" 

God forbid that your Lordships should knuckle to me ; 

1 am ancient — but »ere 1 as old a> King Priam, 
Not much, 1 confess, m yourciedit '1 Mould be. 

To mmd such a twaddling old Trojan as 1 am. 

I own, of our P'otestant laws 1 am jealous, 
And, I me, will always mar, tain, 

That, once having akeu men's rights, or unit 
We ne'er should consent to restoe them again. 

What security have yon, ye Bishops and Peers, 

If thus y-'U give back Mr. Bell'- para| luie. 
That he mayn'i, wi'b rs stick, come about all your 
ears. 
And theu — where would your Protestant periwigs 
be? ^ 

No, heav'n be my judge, were I dying tn-dajr, 
Ere 1 d'opp'd in the grave, like a medlar that * 
mellow, 
" For God's sake" — at that awful moment I 'd sav — 
"For G-d's sake, don't give Mr. Bell hi* um- 
brella." 



["This address," says a ministerial journal, "de- 
livered with anting emphasis and earnestness, occa- 
sioned an ex'raordu ary sensation ID the h« 
thing since the memorable address of the Duke of 
York has produced so remarkable an impression.''] 



- ask it not. ask it not, dear Doc'o' H— If— rd— 
nought but a Peerage can gladdeo tby life, 



« Created Lord F— rob— gh. 



» Among the persons mentioned as likely to be 
raised to the Peerage are tbe mother of Mr. V— t 
F-ti-d, &c 

* A case which interested the public verr much at 
this period. A gentleman, of 'he name of Bell, hav- 
ing left his umbrel a behind him in 'he House of 
Lo'd-, the doorkeepers is'aiding, no d 'ubt on tbe 
privileges of that n< ble b di) rrfu-ed to re- 

him ; an.) tbe above speech, which n.ay be e nsiJered 
as a pendant to tha' of the Lean eJ Earl on the Ca- 
tholic Question, arose ou' of the trans. c ton. 

* From Mr. Canning's 'rans'ation of JekjIS — 

**I »»v, my good Ml ■»•«, 
As yon 've co umbrellas. " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



397 



A PASTORAL BALLAD. 

BY JOHN BULL. 

Dublin, March 12, 1827.— Friday, after ibe arrival of the 
packet bringing tin account of Ihe defeat of toe Catbolic 
Question, iq the House of Commons, orders were sent 
to the Pigeon House to forward 5,000 000 rounds of mus- 
ket-ball cartridge to the different garrisons round the 
country. — F recman'i Journal. 

I have found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that will surely cou'ent her;— 

Sweet pledge of a love so eude<nng! 
Five millions of bullets 1 've sent her 

She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, 
But ill she her wants understood ; — 

Bail cartridges, morning and night. 
Is a dose that will do her more good. 

There is hardly a day of oor lives 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 

How husbands make love to their wives 
Through (be medium of hemp and of phials. 

One thinks, with his mistress or mate 

A good halter is sure to agree — 
That love-knot which, early and la'e, 

i have<tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 

While another, whom Hymen has bless'd 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest, 
With a dose of the best Frussic acid. 

Thus, Erin ! my love do I show — 
Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! 

And, as poison and hemp are too slow, 
Do tby business with bullets instead. 

Should thy fai'h in my medicine be shaken. 
Ask K-d— n. that mildest of saint,; 

He'll tell tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, 
Aloue can remove thy compl.iints ;— 

That, blest as thou art in thy lot, 

Nothing's wanted to make it more pleasant 
But being hang'd, tor ur'd, and sho', 

Much oft'ner than thou art at present. 

Even W— II— t— n's self hath averr'd 
Thou art yet but half sabred and hung, 

And I lov'd him the more when I heard 
Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 

So take the five millions of pills. 
Dear partner, I herewith enclose; 

'T is the cure thai all quacks fur ihy ills, 
From Cromwell to Eld— n, propose. 

And you, ye brave bulle's that go. 
How I wish th t, before you set out, 

The Devil of the Freischu'z could know 
The good work you are going about. 

For he'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, 

Into such supernatural wit, 
That ynu 'd all nf you know, as you sped, 

Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 



A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE.i 

Eegnis »-(ul adenitis. — Virg. 1627. 

To Swanaee— that neat little town, in » h"se bay 
Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver slippers — 



* A small bathing-plai e on the coast of Dorsetshire, 



Lord Baes? took his annual trip t'other day, 
To taste the sea breezes, and chat witl the dipper*. 

There — learn'd as he is in conundrums and laws — 
Quoth he to bis dame (whom he oft plays the wag 
on), 
"Why are chancery sui:ors like bathers?"'— "Be- 
cause 
*' Their tuiti are put off, till — thev haven't a 
rag on," 

Thus on he went chatting — but, lo, while he chits, 
With a face full of wonder around him he looks; 

For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel ha's, 
Who used to flock round him at Swanage like 
rooks. 

" How is this, Lady Bags ? — to this region aquatic 
" Last year they came swarming, to make me their 
bow, 
•' As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of Carnatic, 
"Deans, Rectors, D.D.'s — where the dev'l are 
they now ?" 

"My deaiest Lord Bags!"saith his dame, "can 
you doubt ? 
" I am loth to remind you of things so unpleasant ; 
" But dem'f you perceive, dear, the Church have 
found out 
"That you're one of the people call'd Ex's, at 
present?'' 

" Ah, true —you have hit it — I am, indeed, one 
" Of tho^e ill-fa'ed Ei's (Ins Lordship replies), 

"And, wih tears, I confess — God forgive me the 
pun ! — 
M We X's have proved ourselves not to be Ts." 



W0! WO!3 

Wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it — 
That beautiful Light, which is now on it* way ; 

Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of Belturbet, 
Now brightens sweet Ballinafad with its ray ! 

Oh, F— rnh — m, Saint F— rnh— m, how much do we 
oweihee! 

How form'd to all tastes are thy various employs! 
The old, as a catcher of Catholic?, know thee, 

The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. 

Wo, wo to the man, who such doings would smo- 
ther!— 
On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of Kilgrosgy ! 
Wilh whip in one hand, and with Bible in t'other, 
Like Mungo's tormentor, both " preachee and 
tioggee." 

Come, Sain's from all quarters, and marshal his way; 

Come. L — rt— n, who. scorning prof >ne eruditi .n, 
Popp'J Shakspeare, they say, in the river, one day. 

Though 'l was only old Rowdier "s KeZfuft edition. 

Come, R— den, who doubtest — so mild are thy 
views — 
Whether Bibles or bullett are best for the nation ; 

long a favourite summer resort of the ex-ncbleman in 
question, and till this season, much fiequented also 
by geniemen of the church. 
- * The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 

* Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Ch— st— r 
on the subject of the New Reforma'ion In Ireland, in 
which his Lordship denounced " Wo! Wo! Wo!" 
pret'y abundantly on all those who dared to interfere 
with its progress. 



398 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to choose, 
'Twixt good old Rebellion and new Reformation. 

What more from her Saints can Hibernia require? 

St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful d u;h er, 
Supplied her, 'tis said, with (.erpetoal fire,t 

Aud Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot water. 

Wo, wo to the man. who would check their career, 
Or sop the Millennium, that 's sure to await us, 

Wheu, bless'd with an orthodox crop every year, 
We shall learn to raise Protestants, fas! as pota oes. 

u kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know, 

Had been trying their talent for many a day ; 
Till F— r, h— m, when all had been tried, came lo 
show, 
Like the German flea-catcher, " anoder goot way." 

And nothing's more simple than F— rnh— m's re- I 

ceipt ; — 

"Catch your Catholic, first — soak him well in 

poteen — » i 

" Add salary sauce,3 and the thing is complete. I 

" You may serve up your Pro estant, smoking and 

clean." 

" Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such , 
cookery \ n 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow 4 
Caw angrily out, while (be rest of ibe rcokerv 

Opeu'd their bills, and re-ecbo'd '' Wo ! wo!" 



TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. 

"If, in China or among the natives of Io.Jia, we claimed 
civil advantages which were connected with religion! 
usages, little as we might value those fords in our 
hearts, we should think common de. ency required n« to 
abstain from treating them with offensive contumely; 
and. though unable lo consider them sacred, we would 
not sneer at the name of Fot. or laugh at the imputed 
divinity of Viithnou."— Coxrier, Tuetdaf, Jan. 16. 

1827. 
Come, take my advice, never trouble your cranium, 

When " civil advantages" are to be gain 'd, 
What god or what goddess may help to ob ain you 
'em, 
Hindoo or Chinese, so tbey 're only oblain'd. 

In this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) 
All the good things to good hypocrites fall ; 

And he, who in swallowing creeds is (articular, 
Soon will have nothing to .swallow ai all. 

Oh, place me where Fo (or, as some call him. Fo*) 
Is Ihe god, from whom "civil aJiantages" rlow, 

And \ou 'II find, if there 's any thnist snug to be got, 
1 shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. 

Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, 
Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, 

I own 1 should feel it unchristian and odd 
Not to hud myself also iu Vish/iu\ good 



For, among all the gods that humanely a'tend 
To our wants in this planet, the gods to my wishes 



Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend 
I in the form, so attractive, of loaves and of fishes ! * 

So take my advice — for, if even the devil 

Sb<uld temp men again as an idol to try him, 

»T were best for us Tories, even then, to be civil, 
As nobody doub:s »e should get something by him. 



Monstrnm nulla virtute redenptum. 

Come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle me-ree, 
And tell me what my name may be. 
I am nearly m,e hundred and tbir'y years old, 

And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose ; — 
Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have 
told), 
I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my 
clothes ; 
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, 

That, if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, 
It would lake ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land 

But to measure my bulk fiom the head to the foot. 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my 
stature. 
To cover me nothing but rags will supply; 
And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature, 

About the year 30 iu rags I shall die. 
Meanw hile I stalk hungry and bloated around, 

An objec of inCrest, m st painful, to all; 

In the warehouse, ihe cot aee, the palace I 'ru found, 

Holding cit.zen, |*asant, and king in my ihraJl. 

Then riddle-me ree. oh riddle-me-ree, 

Come, tell me » hat my name may be. 

When the lord of the counting-house bends o'er his 
b ok, 

Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, 
er his shoulders wilh large opher eyeballs I look, 

And down drops he pen from his paralyse paw ! 
When Ihe Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo, 

And expec s through another lociperaid pr-nk it, 
You 'd laugh did y u ?ee, « hen 1 bellow out '■ Boo !» 

How he hides his brave Waterloo bead in the 
blanket. 
Whei mighty Bel-hazzar bn'n.s high in the hall 

His cup, full of gou\ in the Gaul's over'!. - 
Lo, -'Eight Hunr'rtd Millions" I »>ite on the wall, 

And the cup (ah* o tar h and — the gout lo his toe! 
But the joy of my heart is when largely I cr.<m 

My ma» wi h the fruits of the Squirearchy's acres. 
Aid. know in; who ma ie me the thing that I am. 

Like the monster of rnnkeristem. worry n.y makers. 
Then riddlc-mt-ree, come, ridJIe-'me-ree, 
And tell, if thou kuowY, who / may be. 



» The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kil- 
dare. 

» Whiskey. 

8 "We understand that several applicalions have 
lately been made to the Protestant clergymen of this 
town by fellows, inquiring • H'hal are they giving a 
bead for converts ?♦ " — H'exford Pest. 

* Of the rook species— Coroiti frugQegus, i. e. a 
great consumer of corn. 



DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. 
BY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. 

" Vox clamantis in deserto. 

1S27. 
Said Malthus, one day, to a clown 

Lying stre cl.'J t n ihe be.ch. in the sun — 
*• VVhal 's the number of souls in this 
" The number ! Lord bess you, there "s none. 

44 We have nothing but dabs in ihi< place, 
" Of Hum a great p'en y lore are; — 

"Bu< the »ote*,'pleise yur re\*rence and grace, 
4 - Are all t other s'd'e of the bir." 



* Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls htm; '•« pisci 
form god,"— his first Ava ar being in 'be shape of i 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



399 



And so t is in London just now, 
No' a tout In be seen, up or down ; — 

Gf dabs a great glu', I allow, 
But your soles, every one, out of town. 

East or west, nothing wond'ious or new : 
No courtship or scuidal, worth knowing; 

Mis. B , and a Mermaid i or livn, 

Are the only loose fish that are going. 

Ah. where is (hit dear house of Peers, 
Tha', some weeks ago, kept us merry ? 

Where Eld— n. art thou, with thy 'ears? 
And thou, with thy sense, L— d— d— y? 

Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, 
In the dv-s-day-, wi'h thee must be puzzled! — 

It being his task to take care 
That such animals shau't go unmuzzled. 

Thou, too, whose political (nils 

Are so worthy a captain of horse — 

Whose amendments ^ like honest Sir Boyle's) 
Are " amendment} that make mailers worse;"* 

Great Chieftain, who takes! such pains 
To prove — what is granted, nem. con. — 

With how mod'rate a pnrti n of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 

And, thou, too, my R — d — sd— e, ah, where 
Is the peer, with a star at his button, 

Whose quarters could ever compare 

With R — d — sd — e's five quarters of mutton ? * 

Why, why have ye taken your flight, 

Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 
How ill do three farces a night, 

At the Hay market, pay us for ycu ! 

For, what is Bombastes to thee, 

My Ell— nbro'. when thou look'st big? 

Or, where 's the burletla can be 

Like L— d— rd— le's wit, and his wig? 

I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof * could 

(Though Griffin's a comical lad) 
Invent any joke half so good 

As that precious one, " This is too bad '." 

Then come again, come again, Spring ! 

Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train; 
And — of all things the funniest — bring 

These exalted Grimaldis again! 



THE "LIVING DOG" AND "THE DEAD 
LION." 

1828. 
Next week will be publish'd (as '• Lives" are the 
rage) 
The whole Reminiscences, wond'rous and strange, 



Of a small puppy-dog, that liv'd once in the cage 
Of Ihe late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. 

Though the dog is a dog of the kind Ihey call "sad." 
'T is a puppy that much to god breeding pretends; 

And few dogs have such opportunities had 

Of knowing how Lions behave — among friends; 

How thai animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, 

Is all noted down by this Boswell so small ; 
And 'tis plain, from each sentence, Ihe puppy- dog 

thinks 

Thai the Lion was no such great things after all. 

Though he roar'd pretty well — this the puppy 
allows — 
It was all, he says, borrow'd — all second-hand 
roir; 
And he vastly prefers his own little bowwows 
'1 o ihe loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. 

'T is, indeed, as good fun as a Cyme could ask, 
To see how this cocknev-bred setter of rabbits 

Takes gravely the Lord of the Fore>t to task, 
And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. 

Nav, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) 
With s<-ps every day from the Lion's own pan, 

He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, 
And — does all a dog, so diminutive, can. 

However, the book 's a good book, being rich in 

Examples and warning lo lions high-bred, 
How Ihey suffer small mongielly curs in their kit- 
chen. 

Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when 
dead. 

T. PIDCOCK. 
Exeter 'Change. 



> One of the shows of London. 

» More particularly his Grace's celebrated amend 
ment lo the Corn Bill ; for which, and the circum- 
stances connected with it, see Annual Regis'er for 
A. D. 1827. 

* From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish 
House of Commons. 

« The learning his Lordship displayed, on the sub- 
ject of the butcher's "fifth quarter"'of inutton, will 
not speedily be forgotten. 

• The nam de guerre under which Colman has 
| written some of his' best farces. 



ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 

Et tu, Brute! 

182S.« 
What ! Miguel, nof patriotic? oh, fy ! 
After so much good teaching 'i is quite a take-in. 
Sir ;— 
First school'd, as you were, under Metternich's eye, 
And ihen (as young misses say) " fiuish'd" at 
Windsor ! 1 

I ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder; — 
Such feasts as you had. when you made us a call ! 

Three courses each day from his Majesty's larder, — 
And now, lo turn absolute Don, after all ! ! 

Some authors, like Bayes, to the s'yle and the matter 
Of each thing they write suit the way that they 
dine. 

Roast sirloin for Epic broiCd devils for Satire, 

And ho chpotch and trifle for rhymes such as 



That Rulers should feed the same way, I've no 
dnub- ;— 
Great Despots on bouilli serv'd up a la RusseS 



6 At the commencement of this year, the designs of 
D:>n Miguel and his partisans against the constitution 
establi-hed by his brother had begun more openly to 
declaie themselves. 

i Don Miguel had paid a visit to Ihe English court, 
at the close of Ihe year 1827. 
I 8 Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits — a 



400 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Tour small German Princes on frogs and sour crout, j 
And jour Vice-my of Hanover always on goose. 

i Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may be 

fable) 
I A dish lather dear, il, in cooking, they blunder 

Not content with Ihe common hot meal on a table. 
They 're partial (eh, Mig i) to a dish of cold under 
it! i 

No wonder a Don of such appetites found 
Even Windsor's collations plebeianly plain ; 

Where the dishes most high that my Lady sends 
round 
Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup a la Seine. 

Alas ! that a youth with such charming beginnings, 
Should sink, all at cnce, to so sad a conclusion, 

And, what is still wone, throw the losings and win- 
nings 
Of worthies on 'Change into so much confusion ! 



THE LIMBO OF LOST REFUTATIONS. 



" Cio che si perde qui, b si roguna. ' 



The Bulls, in hysterics — the Bears just as bad — 
The few men who have, and the many who 've not 
lick. 

All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, 
Prince Mellernich's pupil, is — not patriotic ! 



THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOVERN- 
MENT OF IRELAND. 

1828. 
Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, 
Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride 
Two stalely steeds— standing, with graceful straddle, 
Like him of Rhodes, with fo<J on either saddle, 
While to soft tunes— some jigs and some andante* — 
He steers around his light-paced Rosiuantes. 

So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant. 

That horseman bold, Lord Angle-ta. at present;— 

Papist and Protestant the coursers twain, 

That lend their necks to his inipar'ial rein. 

And round the ring — each honour'd, as they go, 

Wiih equal pressure from his gracious toe — 

To Ihe old medley lune, half " Patrick's Day" 

And half ** Boyne Water," lake their cantering way, 

While Peel, Ihe showman in the middle, c-acks 

His long-lash'd whip, to cheer the doubtful hacks. 

Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! 

How blest, if nei'her seed would bolt or fart ; — 

If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone. 

And Pupitt's winkers could be still kepi on! 

Bui no, false hopes — noi ev'n the greai Ducrow 

■Twill two such steeds could 'scape an overthrow : 

If solar hacks play'd phaeion a trick, 

What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic? 

If once my Lord his graceful balance loses, 

Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses ; 

If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip 

To Papist'itMi or Protestant's ear-dp — 

That ins ant ends their glorious horsemanship! 

Off boll the sever'd steeds, fir mischief free, 

And down, between them, plumps Lord Anglesea ! 



favourie dish of the Great Frederick of Prussia, and 
which lie |ier.evered in eating even on his death-bed, 
much to the horror of his ph>sicim Zimmerman. 

* This quie' case of murder, wi h all its par icu- 
lars— ihe hiding the body under the dinne-table, ftc. 
tic. — is, no doubt, well known to the reader. 



Know's' thou not him ^ the poet sings, 

Who flew to Ihe moon's serene domain, 
And saw that valley, where all the things, 

That vanish on eirth, are found again — 
The hopes of yr.ulh the resolves of age, 
The vow of he lover, the dream of the sage, 
The golden visions of mining ci is, 

The promises great men s rew about them ; 
And, pack'd in compass small, the wits 

or monarchs, who r.le as well without them! 
Like him, but diviug «i!h wing prolound, 
I have been lo a Limbo under giound, 
Where characters lost On earth, (and cried, 
In vain, like H— rr — s's, far and wide,) 
In heaps, like ye.-terda) 's oris, are thrown 
And there, so worthless and riy-blown. 
That even the imps would not purloin them, 
Lie, till their worthy owners join them. 

Curious it was to see 'his mass 

Of lost and lorn-op repu ations ; — 
Some of them female wares, alas, 

Mislaid al innocent assignations ; 
Some, that had sigh'd their last amen 

From the canting lips of saints that would be; 
And some once ow'n'd by '■ ihe best of men." 

Who had prov'd— no be-ter than tbey should I 
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, 

Once shining lair, now soak'd and black — 
'■ No wonder" (>n imp at my elbow ciied), 

'■ For 1 pick d it out of a butt of sack '." 

Just then a yell was heard o'er head, 

Like a chimney-sweepei^ lofty summons; 
And lo ! a dev'i r;ght a iwuward -ped, 
Bringing, within Ins claws so red, 
Two statesmen's characters, found, be said. 

Last night, on the floor if :he House of 
The which, with black official grin, 
He now to the Chief Imp handed in; — 
Both 'hese articlrs much ihe worse 

For i heir journey down, as y u may suppose; 
But one -o devilish rank — ** Odd's c 

Said Ihe Loid Chief Imp, aid held his nose, 

" Ho, ho !" quoth he, " I know full well 

"From whom these woslay matte s fell;' • 

Then, casting away, with loathful shrug, 

The' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug 

The' Invisible's own dark hand liad n.ix'd), 

His gaze on the oiher3 firm he nVd, 

And trying, though misrhir f laugh'd in bis eye, 

To be moral, because of the ytuxg il 

•' What a pry '" he critd — "so fresh its gloss, 

" So long preserv'd — 't is a publ c 

" This comes of a man, ihe ca-ele-s bockbead, 

u Keeping his character in his p. cket ; 

" And there — without considering whether 

'• There 's room fir 'hai a;d his gains together — 

" Cramming, and cramming, and oamniing away 

"Till — out slips character some fine day ! 

" However" — and here he view'd it round — 

" This article still may pass I 

" Some flaw s. soon patch'd, some s'ains are all 

" The hirm it bis had in its luckless ML 

•* Here, Puck !" — and he cal'd o ore of bis tttm- 

" The owner may have this back again. 



9 Astolpl * 



H-k-»- 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



401 



il 



"Though damag'd for ewr, if us'd with skill, 
••It may serve, iierlians, to trade on still ; 
" Thoueh the gem can never, as ouce, be set, 
« it will do for a Tory Cabinet." 



II VW TO WRITE BY PROXY. 

Qui facit per alium Tacit per se. 

Mjng cur neighbours, ths French, in the good olden 

When Nobiliiy flnfish'd, great Barons and Dukes 
Often set up tor authors in piose and ; n rhyme, 
But ne'er look the trouble to write their own books. 

Poor devils were found to do this for their betters ; — 

And, one day, a Bishop, addressing a Blue, 
Said, "Ma'am, have you lead my new Pastoral Let- 
ter- ?" 
To which the Blue auswer'd — " No, Bishop, have 
you ?" 

The same is now done by our privi'eg'd class ; 

And, to show ynu how simple the process it Deeds, 
If a great Major General i wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus he proceeds : — 

First, scribbling his own stock of notions as well 
As he can, with agrose-qnill that claims him as Am, 

He sefles his neckcloth- takes snuff— rings the bell, 
And yawniugly orders a Subaltern in. 

The Subal'ern comes — sees his General seated, 

In all the self-glory of au'ho'ship swelling ; — 
"There, look," saii'h his Lordship, "my work is 
comple ed,— 
" It wants nothing now but the grammar and spell- 
ing." 

Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dread* 
Awkward bp-aches of syntax a hundred limes more; 

And, though often cnndeimi'd to see breaking of heads. 
He bad ne'er een such breaking of Prisciac's before 

However, the job's sure \opay — 'hat's enough — 
So, to il he sets with h'S tinkering hammer, 

Convinc'd 'hat there never wa-. j b hlf >o lough 
As the mending a great Major-Geueral'i grammar. 

But, lo, a fresh puzzlement s'arts up to view — 
New toil f,,r the Sub.— for the Lord new expense: 

'T is discovert! that mending; his grammar wn'n't do, 
As ibe Suballem also must find him in sense! 

At last — even this is achiev'd by hi- aid ; 

Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and — the story; 
Drums beat — the new Grand March of Iniellect's 
play'd — 

And off struls my Lord, the Historian, in glory ! 



IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF DANTE. 

•Com quel fiato t'li npiriti mati 
Di u.ua, di la. di giu, di au gli mena." Inferno, canto 6. 

I lurn'd my s eps. and lo a shadowy throng 

Of ghosts came flu tennsc mw'rds me — blown along, 

Like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, 

By many a fitful gust that throiish their f rms 

Whistled, as n D rhey came, with wheezy puff, 

And puff d as— though they "d never puff enough. 

"Whence and what are ye ?" pining I inquir'd 
Of these poor ghosts, who, tatterd, tost, and tir'd 



With such eternal puffing, scarce could stand 

On their lean legs while answering my demand. 

" We ouce were authors" — thus the Sprite, who led 

This tag-rag regiment of spectre?, -aid — 

'•Authors of every sex. male, lennle, neuter, 

" VVho, earlv sn.it «ith love of praise and— pewter,* 

"On C— lb— n's shelve- first saw rhe light of day, 

•♦ In S3 putti exhal'd our lives away— 

" Like summer wir dmills, doom'd to dus'y peace, 

" VVhen the brisk gales, that lent them motion, cease. 

" Ah, little knew we then what ills await 

" Much lauded scribblers in their after-slate ; 

" Bepuff 'd on earth — how lo dly Str— t can tell — 

" Aud, dire reward, now doubly puff'd in hell !" 

Touch'd with compassion for this ghastly crew, 
Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind sung through 
In mournful pr^se.— such prose as Rosa's* ghost 
Still, at the' accustom'd hour of egss and toast, 
Sighs through tire columns of the At—rn—g P — t, — 
Pensive 1 'urn'd to weep, when he, who stood 
Foremost of all that flatulemial brood. 
Singling a #A«-gho-t from the par'y, said, 
"Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z.,* 
'• ( >ne of our letter d uymphs — excuse the pun — 
" VVho gain'd a name on earth by — having none; 
"And whose initials would immortal be, 
" Had she but learn'd those plain ones, A. R. C. 

"Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, 
" Wrapp'd in his own dead rhimes — fit winding- 
sheet — 
" Still marvels much (hat not a soul should care 
" One single pin to know who wrote ' May Fair ;'— 
" While Ihii young een'lemau," (here forth he drew 
A dandy spectre, puff'd qui'e through and through, 
As though his rihs were an .Xolian lyre 
For the whole Row's soft frade-winds to inspire,) 
" Thi^ modest genius breath'd one wish alone, 
•' To have his volume read, him elf unknown ; 
" But different far the course his glory took, 
"All knew the author, and — none read the book. 

" Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, 
" Who ridts the blast, Sir J— n— h B — rr— t— n; — 
"In tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, 
"And now- the wind returns the compliment. 

"This lady here, the Earl of >s sister, 

•' Is a dead novelist;. and this is Mister — 

"Beg prrdon— Honourable Mister L— st— r, 

" A gentleman who, some weeks since, came over 

" In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. 

" Yonder behind us limps young Vivian Grey, 

" Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown 

away — 
" Like a torn paper-kite, on which Ihe wind 
"No further purchase for a puff can find." 

"Aid thou, thyself"— here, anxious, I exclaim'd — 
" Tell u-, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named." 
" Me, Sir 1" he blushing cried—" Ah, there '» Ihe rub— 
"Know, then— a waiter once at Brooks'- Club, 
"A waiier slill I might have long remain'd, 
" And long the club-room's jokes and glasses drain'd; 
" But, ah, in luckless hour, this last December, 
"I wrote a book, 6 and O'lburndubb'd me 'Member'— 



» Or Lieutenant-General, as it may happen to be. 



34* 



2 The classical term for money. 

3 The reader may fill up this gap with any one of 
Ihe dissyllabic publishers of London that occurs to 
him. 

« Rosa Ma'ilda, who was for many years the writer 
of the political articles in the journal alluded to, and 
whose spirit still seems to preside—" regnat Rosa" — 
over its pages. 

* Not the charming L. E. L, and still less, Mrs. 
F. H., whose poetry is amoug the most beautiful of Ihe 
present day. 

6 " History of ihe Clubs of London," announced as 
by ''a Member of Brooks's." 

2a 



402 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS, POEMS. 



" ' Member of Brooks's V — oh Promethean puff, 
"To what wilt thou exalt even ki'ehen-stutf 1 
'■ With crums of gossip, caught from dining wits, 
"And half-heard jokes, bequeith'd, like haif-cbew'd 

bits, 
" To be, each night, the waiter's perquisites ; — 
! "With such ingiedients, seiv'd up oft bef re, 
" But with fresh fudge and fiction garnish'd o'er, 
" I manag'd, for s.-'me weeks, 10 d(.se the town, 
•' Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down ; 
"And, ready still even waiter:,' souls to damn, 
" The Devil but rang his bell, and — heie I am ;— 
" Yes — ' Coming up, Sir,' once my favourite cry, 
" Exchang'd for • Coming down, Sir,' here am 1 1" 

Scarce had the Spectre's lips these words let drop, 

When, lo, a breeze — such as from 's shop 

Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs prevail, 

And speeds the shiets and swells the lagging sale — 

Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, 

And, whirling him and all his grisly group 

Of literary ghosts — Miss X. Y. Z — 

The nameless author, better known than read — 

Sir Jo. — the Honourable Mr. L— st— r. 

And, last, not leist, Lord Nobody's twin-si«ter — 

Blew them, ye gods, with -ill their prose and rhymet 

And sins about them, far into those climes 

'• Where Peter pitch'd his waislcoat ; '» in old times, 

Leaving me much in doubt, as on I prest, 

With my great master, through this realm unblest 

Whether Old Nick or C— lb— n puffs the best. 



LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD 
B— TH— ST'S TAIL.t* 

All in again — unlook'd for bliss ! 

Yet, ah, une adjunct still we miss; — 

One tender tie, attach'd so long 

To the same bead, through right and wrong. 

Why, B— th— st, why didst thou cut off 

That memorable tail of thine ? 
Why — as if one was not enough — 

Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, 
And ihus, at once, both cut and Tim f 
Alas, my Lord, 't was not well done, 
'T was not, indeed — though sad at heart, 
From office and its sweets to part, 
Yet hopes of coming in ajain, 
Sweet lory hopes! beguil'd our pain ; 
But thus to miss that tail of thine, 
Through long, long years our rallying sign — 
As if the State and all its powers 
By tenancy in tail were ours — 
To see it thus by scissors fall, 
This was "Ihe' unkindest cut of all '." 
It seem'd as though the' ascendan: day 
Of Toryism had pass'd a«ay, 
And, proving Samson's «tory true, 
She lost her vigour with her queue. 

Parties are much like fisb, 't is said — 
The tail direc's them, not the head j 
Then, how could any party fail, 
That steer'd is course by B— th— sfs tail ? 
Not Murat's plume, through Wagram's fight, 

E'er shed such guiding glories fioni it, 
As era', in all true Tories' sight, 

Blaz'd from our old Colonial comet I 
If vou, niv Lord, a Bashau- were, 

(As W— ll-gt— n will be ai.on) 



i A Dautesqut allusion to the oil spying, "Nine 
miles beyond H— II, where Perei pi ched his wais - 

l coat." 

! * The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off this 
much-respected appendage, on his retirement from 

: oOSce some months since. 



Thou might'st have had a tail to spare ; 

But no, alas, thou hadst but one. 

And that — tike Troy, or Babylon, 

A tale of other times — is gone ! 
Yet — weep ye not, ye Tories irue — 

Fate has not yet of all bereft us ; 
Though thus depriv"d of B — th— st's queue, 
We 've E— b— h s curU still left us ;— 
Sweet curls, from winch young Love, so vicious, 
His sho s, as from nine-pounders, issues; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, 
Surcharg'd with all a nation's fa e, 
His Loidship shakes, as Homer's God did,* 

And oft in thundering talk comes near him '— 
Except that, there, the sptaker nodded 

And, here, 'tis only those who hear him. 
Lons, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 

Of that lat cranium may ye t.ourisb. 
With pleniy of Macassar oil, 

Through many a year your growth to nourish ! 
And, ah, should Time too soou unsheath 

His barbarous shears sucb locks lo sever, 
Still dear to Tories, even in deatb, 
Their last, lov'd relics we'll bequeath, 

A AaiV-loom to our sons fur ever. 



THE CHERRIES. 

a parable. 4 

183 
See those cherries, bow they cover 

Yonder sunny garden wall ;— 
Had i hey not that network over, 
Thieving birds would eat them all. 

So, to guard our posts and pensions, 

Ancient sages wove a net, 
Through whose boles, of small dimension*, 

Only certain knaves can get. 

Shall we then this network widen ? 

Shall we stretch these sacred holes, 
Through which, ev'n already, slide in 

Lots of small dissenting souls? 

** God foibid V old Testy crieth ; 

"God forbid :" so echo 1 ; 
Every ravenous bird that rlietb 

Theu would at our cherries rly. 

Ope but half an inch or so, 

And behold, what bevies break in; — 
Sere, some curst old Popish crow 

Pups his long and lickerish beak in ; 

Hire, sly Arians flock unnumber'd, 

And Socinians, slim and spare, 
Who, with small belief encumber'd, 

Slip in easy any where; — 

Methodists, of birds Ihe apte«t, 
Where there 's puking going on ; 

And that water-ton I, the Baptist — 
All would share our fruits anon; 

Ev'rv bird, of ev'ry ci'y. 

That, for years, with ceaseless din, 
Hath revers'd the s'arling% ditty, 

Singing out " I can't get in.'' 



s "Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod." 

PofeU Honur. 
* Written during the late discussion on the Test 
and Corporation Ac s. 



PREFACE TO THE NINTH VOLUME. 



403 



"God forbid !>> "Id Ttsty snivels; 

** God forbid l" 1 echo too ; 
Ra'her may ten thousand d-v-ls 

Seize tile »holc voracious crew ! 

If less costly fruit woVt suit 'em, 

Hips and haws and such like berries, 

Curse the corm'ran s i sioue 'em, shoot 'ei 
Any thing — to save our cherries. 



STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICIPATION OF 
DEFEAT.' 

1823. 
Go seek for some abler defenders of wrong. 

If we mmt iuii the gantlet through blood and ex- 
pense ; 
Or, Golhs as ye are, in your multitude strong, 

Be content Viih success, and pretend not io sense. 

If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are vain, 

If Truth by the bowstring must yield up her breath, 
Let Mutes do the office — and sp.re her ibe pain 
, Of an In — gl — s or T — nd— 1 io talk her to death. 



Chain, persecu e, plunder— do all that yon will — 
Bui me us, at least, the old womanly lore 

Of a F— st— r, who, dully prophetic of ill, 

Is, at ouce, the two instruments, augur 3 and bore. 



i Durii g the discussion of the Catholic question in 
the House of Commons last se-sron. 
t * This rhyme is more for the ear than the eye, is 
the carpenter's tool is spell auger. 



Bring legions of Squires — if they 'II only be mute — 
And array their thick heads against reason and 
ri-hi, 
Like the R man of old, of historic repute,* 

Who with droves of dumb animals carried the 
fight; 

Pour out, from each corner and hole of the Court, 
Your Bedchamber lordlings, your salaiied slaves, 

Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort 
Have their consciences tack'd Io their patents and 
slaves. 

Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings, 
Are ihe Treasury's creatures, wherever they 
swim ; * 
Wih ail the base, time-serving toadies of Kings, 
Who, if fundi were the monarch, would worship 
ev'n him; 

And while, on the one side, each name of renown, 
That illumines and blesses our age is combin'd ; 
While he Foxes, the Fits, aud the tannings look 
down, 
And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of 
Mind; 

Let bold Paddy H— lines show his troops on the other, 
And, counting of noses the quan'uin desir'd, 

l>t Paddy but say. like the Gracchi's fam'd mother, 
" Come forward, my jewels" — 't is all that '• re- 
quir'd. 

And thus let your farce be enacted hereafter — 
Thus honestly per-ecute, outlaw, and chain ; 

But spare ev'n your vic-ims ihe torture of laughter, 
And never, oh, never, try reasoning again ! 



* Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the 
nemy. 

* Res Fisci est, ubicumque na'at. — JucenaU 



END OF VOL. VIII. 



PREFACE TO THE NINTH VOLUME. 



In one of those Notices, no less friendly than they 
are able and spiited, which this new Edition of my 
Poetical Works ha< called forth from a leading politi- 
cal journal, 1 tin J, in reference to the nume ous 
satirical pieces contained in these v lumes, the fal- 
lowing suggestion : * — "It is now more 'han a quar- 
ter of a century since this bundle of political pasqui- 
nade^ set the Hritish public in a roar; and, ihough 
the events to which they allude may be well known 
to every reader, 



there are many persons, now f rming a part of the 
literary put. lie, who have come into existence siice 
they happened, and who cannot be expected, even if 
they had the lei>ure and nppnrtui ity to mm mage the 
files of our old newspapers for a history of ihe 
peri hable facts, on which Mr. Moore has so often 
rested the flying artillery of his wit. Many of those 
facts will be considered beneath the notice of 'he 
grave historian; and it is, therefore, incumbent on 
Mr. Moore — if he wishes his political squibs, im- 
bued as they are with a wit and humour quite Aristo- 
prunic, to be relished, as they deserve tn be relished, 
by our great-grandchildren — to preface them with a 



* Titt. Times, Jan. 9, 1841. 



rapid summary of the events which gave them 
bir*h." 

Without pausing here to say how gratifying it is to 
me tn find my long course of Anti-Tory wartare thus 
tolerantly, and even zenerously si oken of. and by so 
1 ed an organ if public opinion, I shall as 
briefly as I can. advert In the writer's fnendly s.jg- 
ges'ion, and then mention some of those reasons 
which have induced me not to adopt it. That I was 
disposed, at first, to annex some >nch commentary to 
this seiie* of squibs, may have been c> liected from 
the coic uding rentences of my last Pieface; bul a 
li'tle further considera'ion has led me to abandon 
Ih.s inten'ioo. 

Tn that kind of satire which deals only with the 
lighter follies of social life, with the passing modes, 
whims, and scandal i f the day, -uch illus'rative com- 
ments become, af e- a short time, necessary. But the 
true preserviig silt rf political satne is its appli- 
cability to fu'ure times and generations as well as to 
those which h.d first c lied it forth; i's power of 
transmitting the scourge of ridicu'e through succeed- 
ing periods, with a lash still fiesh for the back of the 
bigot and ihe oppressor, under whatever new shapes 
they may present them elves. I can h.rdly flatter 
myself with the pcr-uasinn that any one of the satiri- 
cal pieces contnned in this Volume is likely to pos- 
sess this principle of vi alily ; but 1 feel qui e certain 



[404 



PREFACE TO THE NINTH VOLUME. 



that, without it. Dot all the notes and illustrations in | that, in thus alluding to a great light of the social and 
which even the industry of Dutch commentators!. ip I political world recently goiie out, 1 nieau the late Lord 

coud embalm them would insure to theseirir.es a life Holland. 

much bc>m>d the present hour. It may be recollected, perhaps, that, in mentioning 

Alreidy, 'o nun) of '.hem, that sort of relish — by ' some particulars respective an early >quib of mine, — 

far the least worthy source of their success — which the Parody on the Prince Regent's Letter, — I spoke of 

the names of living vicim- lend t > such sallies, has a dinner a' which I was present, on the very day of 
become, in the course of time, waning. But, as far I the first pi blica'ion of ihat Parody, when il was the 

as Hieir appositeness to the passing political events of subject of much conversiiion at table, ai d none of the 

the day ha* vet been tried — and the dates of these par y. except our hos', had ai y suspicion that 1 was 

jalires range over a period of neariy thirty years — the author • f it. 1 his h's was Lord Holland ; and 

their ridicule, thanks to the undoing nature at human as such a name could nol but le. d value to any anec- 

absurditv, appears to have 1> I as yet, but little nf the d te connected with li erature, I only forbore tbe 

original Ire.-hness nf its fiist applica'ion. Nor is this pleasure of addii g such an or. anient to my pee, f" m 

i. wing o any peculi >r felicity of aim. in the satire knowing tb.t Ltd Hnllaid had long viewed with 

itself, bnt to the -ameness, throuehout hat period, of disaj pobatinn and regret much of tha conduct nf the 

all its original objects.— he unchangeable nature of Whie pmttj towards the Resent, in 18I2-V3 ^ of tbe 

that spirit of Mo u op'.|y by which, unter all its tari- hist' ry of whch this squib, and the welcome recept.o.i 

ous impersonation*, commercial, re igious and pol.ti- it met wi h, forms an humb'e episode. 

c>l, these satires had been first provoked. To refer • Lord Hollai d hiniself, in ad lit. on 'o his higher in- 

but to one instance, the Corn Question,— assuredfy, telhctual accomplishment*, possessed in no ordinary 

the e tire apposiene-s at this very moment, of such deeree the 'alent of writing easy and playful cert it 

versicles as lie following, redounds far less to the ti-ciete ; and, among the instances 1 could* give of the 

ciedi*. of p esy than to tbe disgrace of legislation: — I lighti ess of bis hand at such tnfies, there is one no 

. ' .. _ .. . ... les- chancterisic of his good-nature than his » it. as 

How ... you, my Lord, th™ delight to torment .11 I ■ accompanied a cop; of the oda.o edition ol BaylM 

The Peers of Ihe realm about rh*ap nine iheir corn, . . . r . ,. , ' 

When you kll ow .( one hB. U 't « very hirb rental. w,llch ' ' " hear ' n '" "'l reJ "* ,°" e d 'I ,h * *\? r T 

T is hardly worib while to be .cry b.gb-boiu. »■?'« » n author had been at last made portable, be 
kin Iv oiderrd for me from P ns. 

That, being by nature so little prone to spleen or $<, j»t e , indeed, as only a month or two before his 

bitlenies-, I should je have frequented so much the lordship's death, be wa- employing himself, with all 

thorny paths of satire, has always, to myself and his usual cheerful eagernes-. in laiislvug ss.nie verses 

tho*e btst acquainted w jih me, been a matter nf some , f Metastasis . and occasionally consulted both Mr. 

surpri -e By supposing the iuiaginaioo, however, to Rogers and n vseif as to different readinp of some of 

be, in such cases, the s le or chief prompter of the the .ine~. In'ooe of the le ter* whch I received ft 



fa'ire — which, in my own instance, I must say, it has 
generlly been — an easy solution is found for the dif- 
ficulty. 'J'he sime readiness of fancy which, with 
bnt little help fr m reality, can deck out •• the Cyn- 
thia of the minute" wilb all possible attractions will 
likewise lie able, w hen in theven. to shower ridicule 
on a political adversary, without allowing a single 
feeling of re I bitterness to mix itself with tbe opera- 
tion. Even tint sternest of all satirists, Dante, » ho, 
not content with the penal fire of the pen. kept an 
Inferno ever ready to receive 'he \ict:ms .f bis 
wrath,— even Dante, on becoming icqt.ainted with 
some of the pers his whom he had thus doomed, not 

only revoked their awful sentence, hut even honour- - a minister's answer it always «o kisd! 
ed them with warm praise;' and | mbablv, on » I »!»rv < ., and he tei:« me be II k«-e» me ia mind, 
little further acquaintance, would have admitted them | H'lfbi* rromiw.God k««'«s. »twW my »r.irit» restore 
in'o his Paradiso. When thus loosely at d shallowlr | "-*- him iee.me-and. f.itb, I »i,l s>k tor so more." 
even the sublime satire of Dante could strike its roots 



him while thus occupied, I find the following post- 
script : — 

■ 'T if thes I turn th' Italian'* snag, 
Mordeem I read nm m. suing wrong. 
But with r.usb Rutins to combine 
- Ineas th.t '» n «ery line, 
A-ks or ynur Mm, and onl {or mine. 
Siiik »i»j» will not quit the nore; 
We must b.ve tnal, and — hUle .Mors. 

He then adds, •' I send you, too, a melancholy Epi- 
gram of mine, of which I bave seen many, alas, wit- 
ness the truth : — 




Might of the shaft 

I cuiu-u dismiss from my hands these political 
trifles. — 



a n.ere sequel, and lieht and un 
foll.es com ec'ed with the name o 

3oe*tion of the enmpa 
urtioi s, it - 
the charge ol 
I sha I content myse I 



[ in tbe words 
• entre r're de la 
ofanenl par Icon 



ds extravagaiites. 



without venturing to add that I ha\e now to connect 

with them one mournful rec >llec'ion — one loss from Pa^ca 1 ,— " 

among the circle of those I have longest looked up to re igion e 

with affection and admiration— which I II tie thought. °P' 

when I began this series of prefatory ;ke ches, I shou'd 

have to mourn before their close. I need hardlv add, * This will be seen whenever those valuable pa- 

* pers come to be published, which Lord Holl-nd left 

i In his Co»i»..o he praises very warmly some per- b ,f ni " d ' , **S" i ° i "« Memo.n of Mi owu Units, and of 

sons whom he had before abused.-See Fbscolo, Lit- tn *" 'nm.ediately preceding them. 
corto nU leslo di Jjantt, i 5 In sixteen volumes, published at Pans, by 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



405 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS, 

CONTINUED. 



ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS. 

BY ONE OF THE BOARD. 

1828. 
Let other baTds to groves repair, 

Wtiere linnets s rain iheir tuneful throats, 
Mine be the Woods aid Forests, wliere 

The Treasury pours its sweeier notes. 

No whisperic g winds have charms for me, 

Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask ; 
To raise ihe wind foi Royalty 

Be all our S\ Ivan zephyr's task '. 

And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, 

And all such vulgar irrigation. 
Let Gallic rhino ihrough our Wood* 

Divert its "course of liquid-ation." 

Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well 

What Woods and Fore-U ought to be, 

When, sly, he introducU in hell 
H is guinea-plant, his bullion-tree : 1 — 

Nor see I why, some future day, 
When short of cash, we shou d not send 

Our H— rr— s down— he knows the way — 
To see if Woods in lull will lend. 

Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts. 

Beneath whose "brancht s of expense" 
Our gracious K g gels all he wauts, — 

Except a little taste aud sense. 

Long, in vour golden shade reclined, 
Like him of fair Armida's bowers, 

May W— 11— n some wood-nymph find, 
To cheer his dozenth lustrum"s hours ; 

To rest from toil Ihe Great Untaught, 
And soothe the pangs his warlike biaiu 

Must softer, «hen, unus'd to thought, 
It tries to think, and — tries in vain. 

Oh long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserv'd. in all their teeming graces, 

To shelter Tory baids, like m», 

Who take delight in Sylvan places!* 



STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF 
THE SHANNON. a 



No longer, dear V— sey, feel hur 1 and uneasy 
At heaing it said by the Trea-ury brother, 

That th'>u ar a sheet'of blank pipe', my V— sey. 
And he, the dear, innocent placeman, another. * 



» called by Virgil, botanically, "species auri fron 
den''!*." 

* Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca 

Ovid. 

a These verses were suggested by 'tie result of ihe 
Cla'e election, in the year 1828 when the Right 
Honourable W. Ve-ey Fitzgerald was rejected, aud 
Mr. O'Connell returned. 



For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have done thee ; — 
Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more; 

By St. Patrick, we 've scrawl'd such a lesson upon 
thee 
As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap before. 

Come— on with your spectacles, noble Lord Duke, 
(Or O'Connell has green ones be haply would lend 

Read V— sey all o'er (as you can't read a book) 
And improve by the lesson we, bog-trotters, send 
you; 

A lesson, in large Roman characters trae'd, 

Whose awfui impressions from you and your kin 

Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be eflac'd — 
Unless, 'stead of paper, you *re mere asses 1 skin. 

Shall I help you to construe it ? ay, by the Gods, 
Could 1 risk a translation, you should have a rare 
one ; 

But pen against sabre is desperate odds, 
And you, my Lord Duke (as you hinted ODce), wear 



Again and again I say, read V — sey o'er ; — 
You will find him worth all Ihe old scrolls of 
papyrus, 

That Egypt e'er fill'd with nonsensical lore, 
Or the' learned Champolliou e'er wrote of, to tire 



All blank as he was, we 've returu'd him on hand, 
Scribbled o'er with a warning to Princes and 
Dukes, 
Whose plain, simple drift if they won't understand, 
Though caress'd at St. James's, they 're fit for St. 
Luke's. 



■ more meaning con- 



Talk cf leaves of the Sibyls ! - 
vey'd is 

In one sii.gle leaf such as now we have spell'd on, 
Than e'er ha h been u te''d by all Ihe old ladies 

That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to Eld— n. 



THE ANNUAL PILL. 



Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pili, 

Dat's to purify every ling nashty avay ? 
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let ma >ay val I vill, 

No- a Christian or Sheutleman minds vat I say ! 
>T is so pretty a bnlu< !— jn>t down let it go. 

And, at v nee, s: ch a radical shange you vill see, 
Dal I'd not be <u prish'd. like de bon-e in de show. 

If your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh ought 
to be! 

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &e> 



* Some expressions to this purport, in a published j 
let er of one of the-e gentlemen, had then produced a | 
good deal of amusement. 



406 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



T will are all Electors, and purge away clear 

Dal mit hty bad itching dey've got in deir bands — 
T will cure, too, all salesmen, of dulr:e-«, ma tear, 
Though th; case vas at desperate as poor Mister 
Van's. 
Dere is noiing at all vat dis Pill vill not reach — 
Give the Sinecure Ghentlem m von little grain, 
Pless ma heart, it vill act, like desalt on de leech, 
And he Ml throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, 
up again ! 

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual PiU, &c 

T would be tedious, ma tsar, all its peauties to paint- 
But, among Oder tings fundamentally wrong. 

It vill Cure de Pr'-ad Pollom ' — a common complaint 
Among M. P.'s and weavers — from titling too 
long. 

Should symptoms of speechine preak out on a dance 
(Vat is iften de ca«e), it vill s op de diease, 

And pring avay all de Inng speeches at vonce, 

Dal else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees ! 

Vill nobodies try my nice Annual PiU, 

Dai's to purify every ting nislity avay 
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill, 

Not a Clirisbliao or bheullemaii miDds vat 1 say 1 



"IF" AND "PE RH APS.»» 

Oh, tidings of freedom ! oh, accents of hope! 

Watt, waft then, >e zephyrs, 10 Erin's blue sea, 
And refresh wilh their sounds every son of ibe Pope, 

From Dingle-a-ccocb io far Donaghadee, 

" // mutely ihe slave will endure and obey, 

" Nor clinking his fetters, nor breithing his pains, i 

" His mas'ers, perhaps, at some far distant day, 
'■May think (lender t» rants ) of loosening bis 
chains." 



Presenting, alike, a bc!d front-work of power 
To the despot on land and Ibe foe on the flood : — 

That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the 
west, 

To the slave bringing hopes, to Ihe tyrant alarms; 
And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught tbe opprest, 

That kings are as dust before fieemen in arms ! 

If, awfuller still, the mute slave should recall 

Thai dream of bis boyhood, when Freedom's sweet 
diy 
At length seem'd to break through a long night of 
thrall, 
And Union and Hope went abroad in its ray ; — 

// F>ncy should tell him, that Day-spring of Good, 
Though swiftly its light died away from bis chain. 

Though" darkly it set in a na ion's Lest blond, 
Now wants but invoking tu shine out again ; — 



If— if, I say— breathings like these should come 
The chords of remembrance, and thrill, as 



Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps— but I dare not say 



■ precious salve for oar 



Wise " if" and " perhaps 
wounds, 

If he, whs) would rule thus o'er manacled mutes, 
Could check the free spring-tide of Mind, that re- 
sounds, 
Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's. 

But. no, 't is in vain — Ihe grand impulse is given — 
Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will 
claim ; 

And il ruin must follow where fetters are riven. 
Be theirs, who have forg'd them, the guilt and the 



"If the slave will be silent!"— vain Soldier, be- 
» are — 

There v» a dead silence the wrong'd may assume. 
When the feeling, sent back fiom ihe lips' in despair, 

Bui clings round the heart with a deadlier gluom ;— 

When the blush, that long burn'd on ihe suppliant's 
check, 
Gives place to Ihe' avenger's pale, resolute hue; 
And the tongue, that once threateu'd, disdaining to 
speak. 
Consigns to tbe arm the high office — to do. 

If men, in that silence, should think of the hour, 
When proudly their fa hers in p noply s:ood, 



l Meaning, I presume. Coalition Administrations. | 
a Written after hearine a celebrated sperch in the 
House of L rds, June 10. 1S2«, when the mo ion in 
favour of Ca holic Emancipation, brought forward by ' 
the Marquis of Lansdowue, was rejec ed by the | 
House uf Lords. 



WRITE ON. WRITE ON. 



A BALLAD. 

Air. — ".«««*• •», iltep on, sty KuL'in tear.' 

Sairete, fratres Asinl. St. Francis. 

Write on, wri'e on, ye Barons dear, 

Ye Dukes write hard and fist ; 
The good we 'vc sr.utbt f t many a year 

Your quills will brii g at bat. 
One let'er m :e, fi— « c-s'lc, pen, 

To match Lord K— ny— n's rioo. 
And more 'han Ireland's host of men, 

One brace of l'eer« will do. 

Wii e on, write on, be 

Sure, never, since the precious use 

Uf |*ii and ink began, 
Did letters ndoce 

Such s>g' al good 'o sua. 
While iirellect, 'omn; high and low, 

Is marching on, II I 
Give me the Dukes and L rds, who go, 

Like crabs, the of 1 

Wnle on, write on, tc 

Ev'n now I feel the coming light — 

Ev n ■ ow, c ulj Kolh lure 
My Lord M— ntc— sh — I, too, Io vrrite, 

Emai cipation's • 
B» gee.r nr), 

. nte was sav'd lr ■ 
And mm, to qnOls of geese, we see 

Old R DM 

VVn e on, wri'e on, *c 



Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to style, 

■ ibou' — 
Thing-, li le worth a No! le's while. 

You *re bet et fa r a itriou'. 
Oh. ne'er, si- ce -s-es -p ke of yore, 

Such miracles were d> ne: 
For. « rile bul four such letters mora, 

And Freedom's cause is woo .' 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



407 



SONG OF THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF 
TITHE. 

"The parting Genius is with sighing sent."— Milton. 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er; 

I hear a Voice, from shore to shore, 

Fioiii Donfanaghy to Baltimore, 

And it saith, in -ad, parsonic lone, 

" Great Tithe and Small are dead and gone !" 

Even now, I behold your vanishing wings, 

Ye Tenths of all conceivable things, 

Which Adam first, a» Doctors deem, 

Saw, in a sort of night-mare dream,* 

After the fe ist of fruit abhorr'd — 

Fiisi indigestion on record! — 

Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks, 

Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics, 

Or of Calvin's most select deprav'd, 

In the Church must have your bacon sav'd ; — 

Ye fields, where Labour cunts his sheaves, 

And, whatsoever himself believes, 

Musi bow to the' Esiablish'd Church belief, 

That the tenih is always a Protestant sheaf; — 

Ye calves, of which the man of Heaveu 

Takes Irish tithe, one calf in seven ; 2 

Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, 

£g?s a timber, milk, fish, and bees'-wax ; 

All things, in short, since earth's creaiion, 

D om'd.by the Church's dispensation, 

To sutler eternal decimation — 

Leaving the whole tat/-world, since then, 

Reduc'd to nine pans out of ten ; 

Or — as we calcula'e (belts and arsons — 

Just ten per cent, the worse for Parsons ! 

Alas, and is all this wise device 

F'T the saving of souls thus gone in a trice ? — 

The whole put down, in the simplest way, 

By the souls revolving not to pay ! 

And even the Papists, thankless race, 

Who haie had so much the easiest case — 

To pay for our sermons doom'd, 't is true, 

But no. condemn'd to hear them, too — 

(Our holy business beii g, 't is known, 

Willi the ears of their tatley, not their own,) 

Even they object to let us pillage. 

By right divine, their tenth of tillage, 

And. horror of horrors, even decline 

To find us in sacramental wine ! * 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er, 

Ah, never shall rosy Rector more. 

Like ihe shepherds of Israel, idly eat, 

And make nf his fl ck " a prey and meat." » 

No more shall be his the pastoral sport 

Of suing his flock in ihe Bishop's Court, 



» A reverend prebendary of Hereford, in an Essay 
on ihe Revenues of the Church of England, has 
assigned the origin of Tithes to "some unrecorded 
revelation made to Adam." 

3 " The tenth calf is due to the parson of common 
right ; and if there are seven he shall have one." — 
Rees's Cyclopaedia, art. " Tithes." 

s Chaucer's Plowman complains of the parish rec- 
tors, that 

" For the tithing of a duck. 
Or an apple, or an aye (egg). 
They make liim sw<-ar upon a boke; 
Thus they foulen Christ's fay." 

* Among the specimens laid before Parliament of 
the sort of Church rates levied upon Catholics in Ire- 
land, was a charge of two pipes of poit for sacra- 
iceulal wine. 

* Ezekiel, xxxiv. 10. —"Neither shall the shep- 
herds feed themselves anymore: for I will deliver 
my (lock from their mouth, that they may not be meat 
for then:." 



Through various steps, Citation, Libel — 
Scriptures all, but not the Bible; 
Working the Law's whole apparatus, 
To gel at a few pre-doom'd po'aioes, 
And summoning all the powers of wig, 
To settle the fraction of a pig ! — 
Till, parson and all committed deep 
In the case of "Shepherds versus Sheep," 
The Law usurps the Gospel's place, 
And, on Sundays, meeting face t> face, 
While Plaintiff fills the preacher's station, 
Defendants form the congregation. 

So lives he, Mammon'- priest, not Heaven's, 

For tenths thus all at sixes and sevens, 

Seeking what parsons love no less 

Than tragic poets — a good distress, 

Ins'ead of studying St. Auguslin, 

Gregory Nyss., or old St. Juslin 

(Books fit only to hoard dust in), 

His revereuce stints his evening readings 

To leam'd Repoits of Tithe Proceedings, 

Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy, 

Which forms his only ancient study ; — 

Port so old, you 'd swear its tartar 

Was of ihe age of Justin Martyr, 

And, had he sipp'd of such, no doubt 

His martyrdom would have been — to gout ! 

Is all then lost ? — alas, too true— 

Ye Tenths belov'd, adieu, adieu ! 

My reign is o'er, my reign is o'er— 

Like old Thumb's ghost, " 1 can no more," 



THE EUTHANASIA OF VAN. 

1 We ire told that the bigots are growing old and 1 
wearing out. If it be so, why not let us die in peace 
—Lurd Bezley's Letter to the Freeholders of Kent. 

Stop, Intellect, in mercy stop, 
Ye curst improvements, cease; 

And let poor Nick V— ns— tt— t drop 
Iuto his grave iu peace. 

Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun, 
Young Freedom, veil (hy head ; 

Let nothing good be thought or done, 
Till Nick V— us— lt-i'sdead! 

Take pity on a dotard's fears, 

Who much doth light detest; 
And let his last few drivelling years 

Be dark as w ere the rest. 

You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, 

Speed not so fast away— 
Ye rags, on which old Nicky gloats, 

A few months longer stay.6 

Together soon, or much I err 

You both from life may go— 
The notes unto the scavenger, 

And Nick— to Nick below. 

Ye Liberals, whate'er your plan, 

Be all reforms suspended ; 
In compliment to dear old Van, 

Let nothing bad be mended. 

Ye Papists, whom oppression wrings 

Your cry politely cease. 
And fret your hearts to fiddle-strings 

That Van may die in peace. 



6 Periturae parcere chartae. 



408 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



So shall he win a fame sublime 
By few old raz-men gained ; 

Since all shall o»n, in Nicky's time, 
Nor sense, nor justice reigu'd. 

So shall his name through ages past, 

And dolts ungoten ye', 
Dale from " ihe days of Nicholas," 

With fond and sad regrei ; — 

And sighing, say, "Alas, had he 
"•Been spar'd from Pluto's b.wers, 

" The blessed reizn of Bigotry 
" And Rags might still be ours 1" 



TO THE REVEREND . 

OWE OF THE SIXTEEN REQDISITIONISTS 
OF NOTTINGHAM. 

1828. 
What, you, too, my ***** *, in hashes so know- 
li g. 
Of -auces and soups Aristarchus profes' ! 
Are i/o», to°, my savoury Bn.ns» icker. going 
To" make an old fool of yourself with (lie rest ? 

Far be'ter to slick to your kitchen receipts ; 

And— if you «an» something to te.se— for variety, 
Go s'ndy how Ude, in his " Cookery," treats 

Live eels, when he fits tbem for polisb'd society. 

Just snuL'glii e them in, 'twill the bars of the fire. 
He lene- them t.. wriggle and writhe on the e>als,» 

In a manner tha' H — rn — r himself nnu'H admire, 
And wish, 'stead of tela, Ibey were Catholic souls. 

Ude tells us, the fi-h lit'le suffering feels; 

While Papis's, of kte, have Btnre sensitive grown ; 
So, take my advice, try your hand at live eels, 

And, for once, let the other poor devils alone. 

I have e'en a still better recept for yoor c-» k — 
How to make a goose die of c iifinn'd htpittitis;'* 

And, if you 'II for once, /ei'oic-feel'n gs o'erlook, 
A we.l-torlur'd goose a moat capital sight is. 

First, catch him, alive— make a good steady fi'e — 
Se' vnur victim before it, both legs being tied, 

(As, if left to himself, he might wish 'o retire,) 
And place a large bowl of rich cream by his side. 

There roasting by inches, dry, fever'd, and faint, 
Having drunk all the cream, you so civilly laid, 
off, 

He dies of as charming a liver complaint 

As ever sleek parson could wish a pie made of. 

Besides, only think, my dear one of Sixteen, 

What an emblem this bud, for the epicure's use 
meant, 

Presen's of l^e mode in which Ireland has been 

Made a tid-bit for yours and your bre hien's amuse- 



Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, as they 
quiver, 

A slow fire "f tyranny wastes by degrees — 
No wonder disease should have <■»» ell d up her liver. 

No wonder you, Gourmands, should love her dis- 



« The oi. ly way, Monsieur Ude assures us, to get 
nd of the oil so objectionable iu this fish. 
I ' A liver complaint The process by which the 
livers of geese are enlarged for Ihe famous Palts dt 
feit <Tui* 



IRISH ANTIQD1TIES. 

According to some learn'd opinions, 
The Iri-h once were Carthaginians; 
But, tru-ting to m .re late descriptions, 
I'd rati. er say they were Egyptians 
My reason 's "this : — the Pries s of l-is. 

When forh they march d in long array, 
EmployM. 'niong other grave devices, 

A Sac.ed Ass to lead tbe way ; 3 
And still the an iqnarian traces 

'Mong Irish Lord- this Pigan plan, 
For still, in all religious cases, 

TLey put Cord R — d— n iu the van. 



A CURIOUS FACT. 

The present Lord K— ny— n (the Peer who writes 

letters, 
For nhich the waste-paper folks much are his 

debt nrs) 
Hath one little oddity, well worth reciting, 
Which puzzlelh observers, ev'n more tha* his writ- 

»'S 
Wherever Lord K— ny— n doth chance to behold 
A cold .Apple-pie — m'ind, the pie miul be odd — 
His Lord-hip looks solemn (feu people know why), 
And he mikes ah>w bow to the s.id apple-pie. 
This idolatrous act, in so •' vital* 1 a Peer, 
Is by most serious Protestants, thought ra'her qoeer- 
Pie-M rship I hey hold, coining und- r the head 
(Vide Ctyalivm, chap iv.) i f 'he W..r-h p of Bread. 
Some tlm.k '■ is a tribute, as author, he ones 
For the service that pie-crust hah done to his 

I" - »;— 
The only good things in his pages, they swear, 
Being those that the past ia -cook sometimes puts 

there. 
Othtri say. 1 is a homage, through pie-crust co 

vry'd. 
To our Glorious Deliverer's much-honnur*d shade; 
As that Protestant Hero (nrSaiat, if you plea-r) 
Was as fond of cold pie as he w as of greeu peas,* 
And 'I is solely in I yal ren.en.brai, re 
My Lord K— ny- b to apple-pie lakes off his hat 
While others account for this kind S'lutatioa 
By »ha' Tony Lun.pkin calls " concatenation ;"— 
A ce.tain gnod-u ill lhat, from syrnpa hy's lies. 
Twill old .iiylt-HOateu and Otangt n.en l.es. 

But 't is needless to add, these are all vague surmises. 

For thus, we're assur'd, the whole nn'ter ar 

Lord K— ny — n's lesperted old lather (like many 

Respectt J old fathers) was foi.d of a pei.ay ; 

A Hi los'd s. to sjvc' that— there's not the least 

ques' 
His dea h was brought on by a bad indigestion, 
From cold apple-pic-erust his Lo dsh.p uxuld stuff 

in. 
At breakfast, to save the expense of hot muffin. 
Hence it is. an. I hence onlv, that c-'ld apple pies 
Are beheld by his Heir with such revercat eyes — 



a To this practice the ancient adage alludes, u Asi- 
nu? portans mys'eria." 

* See the anecdote, which the Durhess of 
rough re 1 1 

prop'iating to himself ore dav, a' 
dish ol gre-en peas— (he first of rbe se sou — - 
poor Princess Anne, who was ihe-r in a longing eon- ! 
di'ioo. sat by, vainly eutrea'iug, with her ej 
share. 

» The same prudent propensity eharae'erise* his 
descendant, who (as is well know*) would nol even 
go to the expense of a diphthong on his fathe> "s naonv ' 
■sen', but hoi 'he in-cnp irn spelled, ecouosuically, 
| thus : — " Man jm.ua vita. " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



409 



Just as honest Kin? Stephen his beaver might doff 
To the fishes that carried his kind uncle off — 
And while /Ut'a! piety urge* so many on, 
♦T is pure <yty<lc-pie-ety moves my Lord K— ny— n. 



NEW-FASHIONED ECHOES. 

Sir,— Most of your readers are, no doubt, acquainted 
with the anecd te told of a certain, not ovet-wise, 
judge, who, when in the act of delivering a charge in 
sonie country courl-h>use, v. as interrupted by the 
braying of an ass a' the door. '• What noise is that V 
asked the angry judge. '-Only an extraordinary ecAo 
there is in court, my Lord," answered one of the 
counsel. 

As there are a number of such "extraordinary 
echoes" abroad just now, you wiii not, perhaps, be 
unwilling, Mr. Editor, to receive the following few 
lines suggested by them. Yours, &c. S. 

Hue coenmus,l ait: nnlliqne libentiua unquam 
Rcsnonaura aono, Coeamus, reluM echo. 

Otid. 

There are echoes, we know, of all sorts, 
From the echo, that '■ dies in the dale," 

To the "airy-tongu'd babbler," thit sports 
Up the tide of the toirent her " tale." 

There are echoes that bore us, like Blues, 
With the latest smart mot they have heard; 

There are echoes, extremely like shrews, 
Letting nobody have the last word. 

In the bogs of old Paddy-land, too, 

Certain '■ talented" echoes" there dwell, 

Who, on being a-k'd, '• How do you do ?" 
Politely reply, '• Pretty well." 

But why should I talk any more 

Of such old-fashion'd echoes as these, 

When Britain has new ones in store, 
That transcend them by many degrees ? 

For, of all repercussions of sound, 

Concerning which bards make a pother, 

There's none like that happy rebound 
When one blockhead echoes another ; — 

When K— ny— n commences the bray, 
And the Borough-Duke follows his track; 

And loudly from Dublin's sweet bav, 

R — thd — ne brays, with interest, back; — 

And while, of most echoes the sound 
On our ear by reflection doth fall, 

The-e Brunswickers3 pass the bray round, 
Without any reflection at all. 

Oh Scott, were I gifted like you, 

Who can name all the echoes there are 

From Benvoirlich to bold Ben-venue, 
From Beuledi to wild Uamvar; 

I might track, through each hard Irish name, 
The rebounds of this asinine strain, 

Till fr- m Neddy to NedJy, it came 
To the chief Neddy, K— ny — n, again ; 



Might tell how it roav'd in R— thd— ne, 
How from I)— ws- n it died off genteelly— 

How hollow it rung from the crown 
Of the fatpated Marquis of E— y ; 

How, on hearing my Lord of G e, 

Thistle-eaters, the stoutest, gave way, 

Outdone, in their own special line, 
By the forty-a-s power of his bray. 

But, no— for so humble a bard 
' 1 is a subject too try ins to touch on ; 

Such noblemen's names are ton hard, 

And their noddles too soft to dwell much on. 

Oh Echo, sweet nymph of the hill, 

Of the dell, and the sweet-sounding shelves; 

If, in spite of Narcissus, you still 

Take to fools who are charm'd with themselves, 

Who knows but, some morning retiring, 
To walk by the Tent's wooded side. 

You may meet wi'h N — wc — stle, admiring 
His own lengthened eats in the tide! 

Or, on into Cambria straying, 

Find K— ny— n, that doubie-tongu'd elf, 
In his love of ass ceudency, braying 

A Brunswick duet with himself! 



INCANTATION. 

FROM THE NEW TRAGEDY OF " THE 
BRUNSWICKERS." 

1828. 
SCENE —Penenden Plain. In the middle, a cal- 
dron boiling. Thunder. Enltr three Brum- 
wickers. 



2d Bruns.— Once hath fool N— wc— stle bawl'd, 
3d Bruns.— B— xl— y snores ; — 'tis time, 'tis time, 
1st Bruns — Round abou' the caldron go; 

In the pois'nous nonsense throw. 

Bigot spile, that long hath grown, 

Like a toad w ithin a sione, 

Sweltering in the heart of Sc— tt, 

B >tl we in the Brunswick pot. 
Ml -D ibble, dribble, nonscn-e dribble, 

Eld— n, talk, and K— ny— n, scribble. 
2d Bruns.— Slaver from N— wc— stle's quill 

In the noisome mess distil, 

Brimming h'gh our Brunswick broth 

Both with venom aid with fio'h. 

Mix the brains (though apt to hash ill, 

Be ng -cant) of Lord M-ntc— shel, 

Win, that malty stuff which Ch— nd-s 

Drivels as no other man does. 

Catch (i. e. if catch you can) 

One idea, spick and span, 

From my Lord of S— 1— sb — y,— 

One idea, though it be 

Smaller than the '• happy Pea," 

Which his sire, in sonne terse, 

Wedded to immortal vere.4 

Though to rob the son is sin, 

Put his one i lea in ; 



* Alluding to a well-known lyric composition of 
the late Marquis, which, with a slight alteration, 
might be addressed either to a flea or a fly. For id- 



i " Let us form Clubs." 

» Commonly called " Paddy Blake's Echoes. 

3 Aifi-Catho|/c associations, under the title of stance :— 
Brunswick Clubs, were at Ibis time becoming nume- I "Oh, happy, happy, happy fly, 

rous both in England and Ireland. If I weie you, cr you were I. 

___ 



410 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And, to keep it company, 

Le* hat conjuror W— rich — Is— a 

Drop but half another there, 

If l,e hath so much to spare. 

Dreams of murders and of arsons, 

Hatch'd in heads of Irish parsons, 

Bring from every hole and corner. 

Where ferocious pries s, like H— rn— r, 

Purely for religious good, 

Crv aloud for Papists blood, 

Blood for W— lis, and such old women, 

At iheir ease to wade and swim in. 

All.— Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, 
B— xl— y. talk, and K— ny— n, scibble. 

3d Brum. — Now the charm begin to brew; 
Sister?, sis ers, add thereto 
Sera: s f L— thbr — die's o'd speeches, 
Mii'J with lea her from his breeches. 
Rinsings of old B— xl— v's brain?, 
Thickei.'d (if you 'II take the pains) 
With that pulp which rags ceale, 
In their middle, nympha sate, 
Ere, like insects fril and ra 
Forth 'hey wing abroad as u 
There — the Hell-broib we've e. chanted — 
Now but one thins more is wan'ed. 
Squeeze o'er all (hat i irange juice, 

C keeps cork'd for use. 

Which, to work the better «; ell. is 

Colour'd deep with blood of , 

Blood, of powers f .r more various, 
Ev'n than that of Jauuauus, 
Since so great a charm hangs o'er it, 
England's persons bow tt : 

All.— Dribble, dribble, nmaeise dribble, 
B— xl — v. talk, anJ K— ny — n, scribble. 

2d. Brunt.— Coo\ it now wi'b 's blood, 

So the charm is firm and good. [Exeunt. 



HOW TO MAKE A GOOD POLITICIAN. 

Whene'er you h-e in dnob', said a Sage I once knew, 
T» ixt two lines of conduct tohich <»■ rse to pursue, 
Ask a woman's advice, and. whate'er sire a : 
Do the very reverse, and you 're sure to be wise. 

Of the same use as guides, are the Brunswicker 

throne; 
In their though - *, words, and deeds, so instinctively 

wrong. 
That, whatever they counsel, act, talk, or ir 
Take the opposite course, and you're sure to be 

right. 

So golden this rule, that, had nature denied yoa 
The use of that fiurer-po- you — 

Were you even more doltish than any giv'n man is. 
More soft than N— wc— sle, more twaddling than 

Van is, 
I 'd stvke my repute, on the fallowing cuJitiom, 
To make you the soundest of sound politicians. 

Place yourself near the skirts of some high-flying 
Ton — 

Some Bruns« icker parson, of port-drinking S'ovT.— 

Watch well how he dines, during any great Ques- 
tion - 

What makes him feed gaily. » hat spoils his diges- 
tion— 

And always feel sure tliat hit joy o'er a slew 
a clear case of dyspepua to you. 



Bead him backwards, like Hebrew— waalerer be 

wishes, 
Or praises, note down as absurd, or pernicious. 
Like the f Iks of a weather-house, shifting about, 
When he's out, be an In — when he's in, be am 

Out. 
Keep bim always revers'd in your thoughts, night 

and day. 
Like an Irish* barometer turn'd the wrong way : — 
If he's up, you may swear that foul weather is 

nigh ; 
If he 's d/jurn, yon may look for a bit of bloe sky. 
Never mind what debaters or ji-urna • 
Onlv ask what he thinks, and then think t'other 

way. 
Does he ln - e the Small-note Bill ? then firmlv rely 
The Small-note Bill's a blessing, though you dont 

know why. 
Is Brougham his aversion ? then Harry H your ana. 
Does be quake at U'Coonel ? take doublv to Dan. 
Is be all for the Turks? then, at once, take the 

whole 
Russian Empire (Czar, Cossacks, and all) to yoar 

soul. 
In short, whatsoever he talks, thinks, or is, 
Be your thoughts, words, and essence the contrast 

of bis. 
Nay, as Siamese ladies — at least, the polite one* — 
Ail paint heir teeth black, 'cause the devil has 

white ones — 
If ev'n, by the chances of time or of tide, 
Tour Torv, for once, should have sense on his side, 
Even then stand aloof- for, be sure (hat Otd Nick. 
When a Tory talks sensibly, means rod some trick. 

Such my recipe is — and, in one stogie Terse, 
I shall now. in cor.clu-ion. its substance r eh ea rs e . 
Be all th>t a Brunswicker u sot, nor could be. 
And then — you '11 be all that an hones: man should 
be 



« Oh. happy, hsppy. happy flea. 
Ir i were vou, or yoa were m 

I BK 



EPISTLE OF CONDOLENCE. 

FROM A SLAVE-LORD, TO A COTTOH-LORD. 

Abs ! my dear friend, what a s'ate of affairs ! 

How unjustly we both are despoilM of oar rights ! 
Not a pound of* black flesh shall I leave to say heirs, 
ore work to death little 



Both fore'd to submit to that general controller 

Of King. Loris 
No more shall you beat » ith i 

Nor / with the cart-whip assert my dominion. 

Whereas, were we suffer 'd to do as we please 

Wi'h our Blacks and our Wnr.es, as of yore we 
wer. let. 
We might range them alternate, like harpsichord 
keys. 
And between us thump out a good piebald duet. 

But this fun is all over ;— fareweH to the zest 
Which Slav'rv now lends to each tea-cup we sip ; 

Which makes still the cruellest coffee the best. 
And that sugar the sweetest which smacks of the 

w hip. 

Farewell, too, the Factory's wti'e picminnies — 
Small living machines, which, if flogg*d to their 
tasks. 
Mix so well with their namesakes, the u Billies" and 
"Jennies," 
That lOrVieA hare got souls in 'em nocody asks ;— 



Utile Maids of the Mill, who, the* 
Are oblig'i, 'moog their other at 



iM Mat, 

l» cares. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



411 



feeding the scribbler?, »i — and better, t is [ ALA r M ING INTELLIGENCE — REVOLUTION 
Fraser have ever fed I IN THE DIC I 1ONARV-0NE GJLT AT THE 



Than old Blackwood 
theirs. 

All this is now o'er, and so dismal my loss is, 
So hard ' is to part from the smack of the thong, 

That I mean (from pure love for the old whipping 
process), 
To take to whipt syllabub all my life long. 



THE GHOST OF MILTIADES. 

Ah quoties dubius &«>tis exarsit amator '.— Ovid. 

The Ghost of Milliades ciroe at night, 
And he s'ood by ihe bed of the Benthamite, 
Ai.d he said, in'a voice that thrill'd the frame, 
" If ever the sound of Marathon's name 
" Ha h fir'd thy hi od or tlush'd thy brow, 
" Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now !" 

The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed — 

A»ay <o the Mock Exchange Me s; ed, 

And he found the Scrip of Greece so high, 

That it lir'd his bio. d, it flustfd his eye, 

And oh, t was a sight for the Ghost to see, 

For never was Greek more G eek than he! 

And still as he premium higher went, 

His ecs'asy rose — so much ptr cent. 

(As we see iu a glass, that tells the weather, 

The heat and the silver rise :oge her.) 

And Liberty sungfiom the patriot's lip, 

While a voice I rum bis pocket whisperd "Scrip!' 

The Ghost of Miltiades cmie again; — 
He smil'd, as the pale moon smiles through rain, 
For his soul was g ad at that patriot strain ; 
(And pour, dear giiost — h"W ii tie lie knew 
The jobs and the tricks of the Pbilhellene crew!) 
"Bleastugs and thank-..'' was all he said, 
Then, melting away, like a night-dream, fled ! 

The Benthamite hears — amaz'd that ghosts 

Couid be such fools — and away he posts, 

A patriot still ? Ah, no, ah, no — 

Godde s of Freedom, thy Scrip is low, 

And, warm and fond as thy lovers are, 

Thou triest their passion, u lien undei par. 

The Beiilhaii.i e's ardour fast deca.s, 

By turns he weeps, and swears, and prays, 

And wishes the d — 1 had Cre-cent and Cross, 

Ere he had been foic'd In sell at a loss. 

They qu >te him ihe Stock of various nations, 

But, spite of his c assic a-sociations. 

Lord, how he loathes ihe Greek quotations ! 

" Who'll buy my Scrip? Who'll buy my Scrip?" 

Is now the theme of the patrio's lip, 

As he runs to tell how haid his lot is 

To Messrs. Orlando and l.uriottis, 

And says, "Uh, Greece, for Liberty's sake, 

" Do buy my Scrip, aud I vow to break 

" Those dirk, unholy bonds of thine — 

"If }ou'll only consent to buy up mine!" 

The Ghost of Miltiades came once more ; — 
His brow, like he night, was lowering o'er, 
And he said, with a 1 ok that flash'd dismay, 
"Of Liberty's foes the worst are they, 
" Who turn to a trade her cause divine, 
*■ And gamble for gold o-i Freedom's shrine !" 
Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his flight, 
Give a Parthian kick o he Ben hamite. 
Which .ent him, whimpering, off o Jerry— 
Aud vanish'd aviay to the Stygian ferry ! 



there 's nothing now safe from 
around, churches brought to the 



HEAD OF IT. 

God preserve us ! — 
assault ; — 
Thrones toppling 
hammer; 

And accounts have just reach'd us that one Mr. Gait 
Has declar"d open war against English and Gram- 
mar! 

He bad long been suspee'ed of some such design, 
And, the betier his wicked intents to arrive at, 

Had lately 'ninng C— lb— n's troops of tL; line 
(The penny-a-line men.- enlisted as private. 

There schonl'd, with a rabble of words at command, 
Scotch, English, and slang, in promiscuous alliance, 

He, at length, against Syntax has taken his stand, 
And sets all Ihe Nine Farts of Speech at defiance. 

Next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford; 

In the mean ime 'he danger mi >sl imminent grows, 
He lias taken the Life of one eminent Lord, 

And whom he 'II next murder the Lord only knows. 

Wednesday evening. 
Since our last, matters, luckily, look more serene; 

Tbo' he rebel, t is s aled, to aid his defeciion, 
Has seized a great Powder — no. Puf}' Magazine, 

And the' explosions are dreadful iu every direction. 

Whal his meaning exactly is, nobody knows. 
As he lalks (in a s'r.iiu of intense botheration) 

Of lyrical "ichor, '3 "gelatin us" prose, 3 
Aud a mixture call'd amber immortalization. < 

Now, he raves of a ba d he once happen'd to meet, 
Sealed high "among rattlings,' and churning a 
sonnet ; 5 

Now, t .Iks of a mystery, wrapp'd in a sheet. 
With a halo (by' way of a nightcap) upon it 16 

We shudder in tracing these terrible lines ; 
Something bad ihey must mean, tbo' we cant 
make it out ; 
For, whate'er may be guess'd of Gait's secret desgns, 
'lhat they're all .dnri-Euglish no Christian can 
doubt. 



» One of the operations in cotton mills usually per- 
formed by chi d. en. 



RESOLUTIONS PASSED AT A LATE MEET- 
ING OF REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVE- 
RENDS. 

Resolv'd — to stick to ev'ry particle 
Of ev' y Creed and ev'ry Anicie ; 
Reforming nought, or great or little, 
We'll st.nchly stand by "every tittle, "t 
And scorn the swallow of lhat -oul 
Which cairn t boldly bolt he whole. 



a " That dak diseased ichor which coloured his 
effusi ns." — GaltH Life of Byron. 

3 •■ 1 hat nelatinous character of their effusions."— 
Ibid. 

* "The poetical embalmment, or raher, jmber im- 
mortalization •' — Ibid. 

s " Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, churn- 
ing an inarticulate melody." — Ibid. 

6 •■ [|e was a mystery in a wiuding-sheet, crowned 
with a halo." — Ibid. 

i One of the questions propounded to the Puritans 
in 1573 was — " W he her the Book of Service was 



412 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Resolv'd, that, though St. Athanasius 
In damning souls is ralher spacious — 
Though wide and far his curses fall, 
Our Church '• hath stomach for ihem all ; 
And those who 're not content with -uch 
May e'en be d d ten times as much. 



Resolv'd — such liberal souls are we 
Though haling Nonconformity, 
We yet believe ihe cash no worse is 
Thai conies from Nonconformist purses 
Indifferent whence 'he money reaches 
The pockets of our reverend beeches, 
To us the Juniper's jingling i enny 
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any - } 
And ev'n our old friends Yea and Nay 
May through the nose for ever pray, 
If also through the nose they 'II pay 

Resolv'd, that Hooper,' Latimer,* 

And Cranmer.3 all extremely err, 

In taking ?uch a low-bred view 

Of what Lords Spit i ual ought to do:^ 

All owing to the fact, poor men, 

That Mother Church was modest then, 

Nor knew what golden eggs her eo-'se, 

The Public, w> uld in time produce. 

One Pisgah peep at modern Durham 

To far more lordly thoughts would stir 'em. 

Resolv'd, that when we, Spiri'ual Lords, 

VVtwe income just enougti affords 

To keep our Spiritual Lordships cozy, 

Are told, by Antiquarians prosy. 

How ancient Bishops cut up theirs, 

Giving the poor the largest shares — 

Our answer is. in one short word, 

We think it piou>, but absurd. 

Those good men made the world their debtor, 

But we, the Church ref nn'J, know better; 

And, taking all that all cm pay. 

Balance the' account the other way. 

Resolv'd, our thanks profoundly due are 

To last month's Quarerly Reviewer, 

Who proves (by arguments so clear 

One sees how much he holds per yea<) 

That England's Church, though out of date, 

Must -till be left to lie in - 

As dead, as rotten, and as grand as 

The mummy of King Usymandyas, 

All pickled snug — ihe h'ains drawn out * — 

With costly cerements swa'hed about. — 

And -'Touch me not," ihose words terrific, 

Scrawl'd o'er her in good hieroglyphic 



good and eodly, every tittle grounded on the Holy 
Scrip'ure?" On which an honest Dissenter remarks 
— " Surely they had a wonderful opinion of their Ser- 
vice Book that there was not a tittle amiss in it." 

i "They," the Bishops, "know thai the primitive 
Church had no such Bishops If the fourth part of 
the bishopric remained unto the Bishop, il were suf- 
ficient." — On the Commandments, p. 72. 

2 " Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, 
the plough standeth, there is no work done, the people 
starve " — Lat . Serm. 

3 "Of whom have come .ill thrse glorious titles, 
styles, and pomps into the Church. But I would that 
I, and all my brethren, the H shops, w uld leave all 
our styles, and write the styles of our offices," &c — 
Life of Cranmrr, by Strype. Appendix. 

* Part of the process of embalmment. 

* The Book of Spirts drawn up bv Bishop MTe'on 
was first out for h in the reign of James I , 1618. and 
aflerwa ds republished, at the advice of La-.d, by 
Charles I., 1633, with an injunc'ion that it should be 



SIR ANDREW'S DREAM. 

"N.c tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis ; 
Cum pia veuerunl s.mina, pondus habent" 

Properl. lib. iv. ekg. 7. 

As snug, on a Sunday eve, of late, 

In his easy chair Sir Andrew sale, 

Being much too pious, as every one knows, 

To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but dcze, 

He dreamt a d>eam, dear, holy man, 

And I Ml tell you his dieam as well -,s I can. 

He found himself, to his great amaze, 

hi Cliailes the Fiisfs high Tory d-us. 

And jut at the lime that gravest of Courts 

Had publi-h'd i's Book of Sunday Sports.* — 

Sunday Sports '. what a thing for he ear 

Of Andrew, even in sleep, to heir! — 

1" chanced to be, too, a Sabbath day, 

When the people from church weie coming away; 

And Andrew with horror he rd this song, 

As the smilii g sinners tiock'd along : — 

" Long life to ihe Bi-hi ps, hu'iah ! hurrah! 

" for a » eek of work and a Sunday of p ay 

"Make the poor man's life run merry away." 

"The Bishops!" quoth Andrew, "Popish, I guess,'' 

And he grinned with conscious h li 

But the song went on, and, to brim the cup 

Of poor Andy's grief, the fiddles struck up ! 

" Come, take out the lasses — le 's have a dance - 

" Dor the Bishops allow u> m skip our fill, 
" Well knowing It.at no one 's the mote in advance 

"(Jo the road o heaven, f r s'aiidine sill. 
"Oh, it never was mean that grim giimacea 

*• Should -our the cie.m of a creed of love ; 
"Or that fellows with long, disastrous faces, 

"Alone should sit among cherubs above. 

" Then hurrah for Ihe Bishops, fcc 

" For Sunday fun we never can fail, 

" When the Church herself each sport points oat;— 
"There'- Mai -sanies, archery. Whitsun-ale, 

" And a Mat -pole high to dance about. 
"Or, sh uld we be Tar a pole hard driven, 

"Some lengthy saint, of aspect fell, 
" Wi h Ins p ckels on earth, and his nose in heaven, 

* Will do for a May-pole just as well. 
"Then hurrah for Hie Bi hops hurrah ! hurrah I 
" A week of work ai d a Sabbath of play 
" Make (he poor uau's life run merry away." 

To Andy, who doesn't much deal in history, 

This Sunday scene was a downright n | 

And God kn »s where migh' have ended the joke, 

But, in trying to stop ihe fiddles, he woke. 

And the odd thing is (as the lumourgoes) 

That since that dream— which, one would 

Should have made bis godly s'omaci 

Even more than ev( , ies — 

He ha. view 'J things }in!e wi h different eyes; 

Is beginning to lake, on matters divine. 

Like Charles and his Rish'ps, the sport ing line • 

Is all for Chris tans jigging in pairs. 

As an interlude 'twix' Sunday prayers; — 

Nay, talks of ge'ting Arc!. bishop H— 1— y 

To bring in a Bill, enacing duly. 



' made pt.blic by order fr m the Bishops." We find 
it therein dedaied that > for his g.-d people's rerrea- 
lion, hs Mije tv's p ea-ure was. 'hat alter the end ot 
divii e service they should n >t be dis'uibed, letted, or 
di-couraged from any lawful recreations, such as 
dancing.eilherof men or women, archery for men, 
le>pi' t, vaulting or anv -uch harmle-s recreations 
nor having of May-games, Whi s 

May-polos, or other • porta 
threw-ith useV&c. | 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



413 



That all good Protestan's, from this date, 
May freely and lawfully, recreate, 
Of a Sunday eve, their spiri'a moody, 
With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy. 



LTJE LOVE-SONG 



Air.— " Come live with ma and be my love." 

Come wed with me, and we will write, 

My Blue of Blues, from morn till night 

Chafed from our classic souls shall be 

All I hough Is of vulgar progeny ; 

And thou shall walk through smiling rowi 

Of chubby duodecimos, 

While I, lo match thy products nearly, 

Shall lie-in of a quario yearly. 

'T is true, ev'n hooks entail some (rouble; 

But live productions give one double. 

Correciing children is such, bother,— 

While prin ers' dev'ls correct the other. 

Just think, my own Malthusian dear, 

How much more decent 't is to hear 

From male or female — as it may be — 

" How is your book <" than •' How 's your baby V 

And, whereas physic and wet nurses 

Do much exhausl paternal purses, 

Our books, if ricke y, may go 

And be well dry-nurs'd in the Row; 

And, when God wills to lake them hence, 

Are buried at the /toto's expense. 

Besides, (as 't is well prov'd by thee, 

In thy o«n Works, v. I. 93,) 

The mirch, just now, of population 

So imch outstrips all modeiation, 

That ev'n proline herring-sin als 

Keep p ice not with our erring souls.* 

Oh, far more proper and well-bred 

To stick io writing books instead j 

And show the world how two Blue lovers 

Can coalesce, like two bo k-c 'vers, 

(Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leather,) 

Letter'd at back, and stitch'd logdher, 

Fondly as first ihe binder rix'd 'em, 

Wiih nought but — literature betwixt 'em. 



SUNDAY ETH ICS. 
A SCOTCH ODE. 

Puir, profligate Londoners, having heard tell 

That the De'il's got amangye and fearing 'tis true, 

We ha' sent ye a mon w In - -, a match for his spell, 

A chiel o' our ain, that the De'il bimsel 
Will be glad to keep clear of, one Andrew Agnew. 

So, at least, ye may reckon, for ane day entire 
In ilka lang week ye 'II he ranquil eneugh, 
As Auld Nick, do hini justice, abhors a Scotch squire, 
An' wou'J sooner gae roast by his ain kitchen fire 
Than pass a hale Sunday wi' Andrew Agnew. 

For, bless the gude mon. gin he had his ain way. 

He 'd na let a cat on Ihe Sabbath say " mew ;" 

Nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie maun play, 

An' Phoebus himsel could na travel that day, 

A? he'd find a new Joshua in Andie Agnew. 



tSee "Ella of Garveloch."— Garveloch being a 
place wheie there was a lirge herring-fishery, but 
where, as we are told by the author, " the people in- 
creased much faster than the produce." 



Only hear, in your Senate, how awfu' he cries, 

" Wae. wae \o a' sinners who boil an' who stew. 
" Wae. wae to a' eaters o' Sabbath-bak'd pies, 
" Por as surely again shall the crust thereof rise 
" In judgment against ye," saith Andrew Agnew J 

Ye may think, from a* this, that our Andie's the lad 

To ca' o'er the coals your nobeelity, too; 
That their drives, o' a Sunday, wi' flunkies,'-* a' clad 
Like Shawmen, behind 'em, would mak the mon 
mad — 
But he 's nae sic a noodle, our Andie Agnew. 

If Lairds an' fine Ladies, on Sunday, think right 
To gang to the deevil — as maisi o' em do — 

To slop them.our Andie would think na polite ; 

And 't is odds (if the chiel could get ouy thing by 't) 
But he'd follow 'em, booing,^ would Auilrew 



AWFUL EVENT. 

Yes, W— nch— Is— a (I tremble while I pen it), 
W — nch— Is— a's Earl hath cut the British Seuate 
Hath said to England's Peers, in accent gruff, 
" That for ye all ' [snapping his fingers], and exit, in 
a huff! 

Disastrous news I — like that, of old, which spread 
From shore to shore, "our mighty Pan is dead," 
O'er Ihe cross benches (cross from being crost) 
Sounds Ihe loud wail, "Our W— nch— Is— a is lost!" 

Which of ye, Lords, that heard him, can forget 

The deep impression of that awful threat, 

"I quit your house I !" — 'midst all that histories 

tell, 
I know but one event that 's parallel : — 

It chane'd at Drury Lane, one Easter night, 

When the gay gods, loo blest to be polite, 

Gods at their'ea-e, like tho-e of learn'd Lucretius, 

Laugh'd, whis'led, gr an'd, up'oanously facetious — 

A well-dres^d member of Ihe middle gallery, 

Whose '• ears polite" disdain'd such low canaillerie, 

Rose in his place — so grand, you 'd almost swear 

Lord W — nch— Is— a himself stood towering there — 

And like that Lord of dignity and nous, 

Said, " Silence, fellows, or — 1 M leave the house ! V 

How brook'd the gods this speech ? Ah well-a-day, 
'I hat speech so fine should be so thrown away ! 
In vain did this imd-gallery grandee 
Assert his owu two-shilling dignity — 
In vain he menae'd to withdraw the ray 
Of his own full price countenance away — 
Fun against Dignity is fearful odds, 
And as the J,ords laugh nou>, so giggled then the 
gods! 



THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY. 

PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WIL- 
LI A MS'S FAMOUS ODE, 
u Come Cloe und give me sweet kisses." 

" We want more Churrhea and more Clergymen." 

Bishop of London's late Charge. 

"Rectorum numerum, tenia pereunlihus, angenl." 

Claudtan in Eutrop. 

Come, give us more Livin?s and Rectors, 
For, richer no realm ever gave; 



2 Servants in livery. 

3 For Ihe "gude effects and uteelity of booing," 
see the Man of the Horrid. 



414 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Bui why, ye unchristian objectors, 
Do ye ask us how many we crave? * 

Oh. there can't be too many rich Livings 

For souls of the Pluialist kind, 
Who, despising old Cocker's misgivings, 

To numbers cau ne'er be confin'd.t* 

Count the cormorants hovering about,' 
At the time their fish season sets in, 

When these models of keeu diners out 
Are preparing their beaks to begin. 

Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses. 
Flock round when the harvest 's in piay, 

And, not minding (he farmer's distresses, 
Like devils in grain peck away. 

Go, number the locusts in heaven,* 
On their way to some titheable shore ; 

And when to many Parsons you 've given, 
We still shall be craving for more. 

Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye 
Must leave us in peace to augment 

For the wretch who could number the Clergy, 
With few will be ever content.* 



A SAD CASE. 

• If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabitt 
rtlwosa is to be so tearful, what security has Mr. 
O— lb — n against it at this moment, when his son u 
actually exposed to the full venom cf an association with 
Diaseuters 1" — The Timet, March 25. 

How sad a case '. — just think of it — 

If G— lb— ii junior should be bit 

Bv some insane Dissenter, r aming 

Through Grantas balls, at large and foaming, 

Aud »ith thai aspect, ultra crabbed 

Which marks Disseu'ers when they 're rabid ! 

God only knows what mischiefs might 

Result from this one single bite, 

Or how the venom, once suck'd in, 

Migh' spread and rage through kith and kin, 

Mad folks, of all denomma ions. 

Firs' 'urn upon their own rela'ions: 

So thai one G— lb— u, fairly bit, 

Might eud in maddening the whole kit, 

Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue 

OurG— lb— n senior bi teu too; 

The Hychurchphobia in those veins, 

Where Tory blood now redly reigns ; — 

And that dear man, who now perceives 

Salvaion only in lawn sleeves 

Might, tainted by such coarse infection, 

Run mad in the' opposite direction, 

And think, |>oor man, 'i is only given 

To linsey-woolsey to leach Heaven! 



» Come, Cloe, and give me sweet kisses, 
For sweeter sure never girl gave ; 
But why, in the midst of my blisses, 
Db you ask me how many I'd have? 

2 For whilst 1 love thee ab ve measure, 

To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd. 

3 Count the bees that on Hvbla are playing, 

Cunt the flowers that 'enamel its fields, 
Count the flocks, &c. 

* Go number the stars in the heaven. 

Count how many sands on the shore ; 
When so many kisses y u 've given, 
I still shall be craving f<T n.ore. 

* But the wre'eh who can number his kisses, 

With few will be ever content. 



Jusl fancy what a shock 't would be 
Our G— lb— n in his fits to see, 
Tearing into a thousand partic es 
His ouce-lov'd Nine and Thirty Articles j 
(Those Articles I is friend, the Duke,« 
For Gos; e!, t'other night, mistook ;) 
Cursing cathed al-, deans, and singers — 
Wishing Ihe ropes might hang Ihe ringers- 
Pelting the chuich with blasphemies, 
Even worse than Parson B — v— il— y's; — 
And ripe for severing Church and State, 
Like any creedless repr bate. 
Or like that class of Methodists 
Prince Waterloo styles " Atheists ! 

But 't is too much — the Muse turns pali, 
And o'er ihe picture dnps a veil, 
Praying, God save the G— lb— rns all 
From mad Dissenters, great and small ! 



A DREAM OF HINDUSTAN 
ritmm teneatia, amici. 

" The longer one lives, the more one learns, 

Said I, as oh" to sleep I went, 
Bemus'd with thinking at '1 i ' he concerns, 
And reading a bo k, by the Bishop of Ferns,'' 

On the Irish Chuch" Establishment 
Bu\ lo, in sleep, not long I lay, 

When Fancy her usual tricks began, 
And I found myself bcwitch'd away 

To a g odly cry in H.uJ slan — 
A city, where he, who dares to dine 

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner; 
Wbere sheep and kine a e held divine, 

AnJ, accordingly — never drest for dinner. 

" But how is this ?" I wondering cried — 
As I walk'd that city, fair and » ide, 
Aid saw, in every ma'ble street. 

A row of beautiful butchers' shops — 
41 What means, for men who dont eat meat, 

" This grand di-play of loins and chops 7 1 
In vain I ask'd — t was plain lo see 
That nobody dar'd to answer me. 

So, on, from street to street I strode ; 
And y< u cai.'t conceive how vastly odd 
The butchers look'd — a roseate crew, 
Inshnn'd in ttalli, wi h n ueh' to do; 
While some on a bench, halt-dozing, sat, 
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat. 

Still pos'd to think, what all this scene 
Of sinecure tiade »a> meant to mean, 
'• And, pray," .isk'd I — "by whom is paid 
Ihe ei|*i se of this s range masquerade?"— 
" The' expense ! — oh, that 's of course defrayed 
(Said one <( these well-fed Hecatombers) 
'• By yonder rascally rice-consumers." 
*' What '. they, who mustn't eat meat!" — 

■'No matter- 
(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew falter,) 
" 1 he rogue- may munch their Paddy crop, 
'• But the r'gues mus' still support our shop. 
" And, depend up >u it, Ihe way o Ireat 
" Heretical s'omachs that ibus dissent, 
" Is '0 burden all 'hat wo'n't eat meat, 
" With a costly Meal Establishment.'' 



s The Duke of Wellington, who styled tbea ' 
Articles of Christianity."' 

1 An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Cathol e 
ph!e:s. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



415 



On hearing these words so gravelv said, 

With a volley of lauehter loud I shook; 
And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped, 
And I found 1 was lyii g snug in bed. 

With my nose in the Bishop ot Ferns'a book. 



THE BRUNSWICK CLUB. 

1 letter having >een addressed to a very distinguished 
personage, requesting him to become the Patrou of this 
Orange Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, 
of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a 
copy. 

Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828. 
Private. — Lord Belzebub presents 
To the Brunswick Club iiis compiimenls, 
And much regrets to say that he 
Cannot, at present, their Pal ion be. 
In stating this, Lord Belzebub 
Assures, on his honour, the Brunswick Club, 
That 't isn't from any lukewarm lack 
Of zeal or fue he thus holds back — 
As ev'n Lord Coal » him elf is net 
For the Orange party more red-hot: 
Bat the truth is, till their Club affotds 
A somewhat decenter show of Lords, 
And on its list of members gets 
A few Ies3 rubbishy Baronets, 
Lord Belzebub must be'g to be 
Excused from keeping such company. 

Who the devil, he humbly begs to know, 

Are Lord Gl— nd— ne, and Lord D— nlo? 

Or who, with a grain of sense, would go 

To sit and be bored by Loid M — yof 

What living creature — except his nurse — 

For Lord M— n c— sh— 1 cares a curse, 

Or thinks 't would matter if Lord M— sk— rry 

Were t'other side of the Stygian ferry ? 

Brea'hes there a man in Dublin town, 

Who 'd give but hilf of hall-a-crown 

To save from drowning my Loid R— thd— ne, 

Or who wouldn't also gladlv hustle in 

Lords R-d— n, B— nd— n, C— le, and J— c— 1— n? 

In short, though, from his tenderest years, 

Accustoin'd to all sort* of Peers, 



Lord Belzebub much questions whether 

He ever yet saw, mix'd together, 

As 't were in one capacious tub, 

Such a mess of noble silly-bub 

As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club. 

'T is theefore impossible that Lord B. 

Could stoop to such society, 

Thinking, he owns ('hough no great prig), 

For one in his station 't were infra dig. 

But he begs to propose, in the interim 

(Till thev find some pop'rer Peers for him), 

His Highness of C— mb d, as Sub, 

To lake his p'ace at the Brunssvick Club- 
Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub 
Their obedient servant, BELZEBUB. 

It luckily happens, the R — y— 1 Duke 
Resembles so much, in air and look, 
The head of the Bebebub family, 
That few c*n any difference see ; 
Which makes him, of course, the better suit 
To serve as Lord B.'s subsiitule. 



PROPOSALS FOR A GYNECOCRACY. 
kDDRESSED TO A LATE RADICAL MEETING. 



As WhU tteform has had its rn;e, 
And none of us are yet c intent, 



l Usually written "Cole." 



Suppose, my friends, by way of change, 

We try a Ftmale Parliament ; 
And since, of late, with he M. P.'s 
We 've fared so badly, take to she's — 
Peitico.it paliiots. floune'd John Russells, 
Burdetts in blonde, and Broughams in lustltt. 
The plan is startling, I confess — 
But 'i is but an affair of dre s; 
Nor see I much there is to choose 

'Twixt Ladies (so they're thorough-bred ones) 
In ribands of all sorts of hues, 

Or Loids in only blue or red one*. 

At least, the fiddlers will be winners, 

Whatever other trade advances; 
As then, instead of Cabinet dinners, 

We'll have, at Almsck's, Cabinet dancei 
Nor let this world's important questions 

Depend on Ministers' digestions. 

If Ude's receipts have done things ill, 

To Weippen's band they may go better; 
There's Lady * *, in one quadrille, 

Would settle Europe, if you 'd let her: 
And who the deuce or asks, or cares, 

When Whigs or Tories have undone 'em, 
Whether they've danced through State atfain, 

Or simply, dully, din'd upon 'em ? 

Hurrah then for the Petticoats ! 

To them we pledge our free-born votes; 

We'll have all she, and only she — 

Pert blues shall ict as " best debaters," 
Old dowagers our Bishops be, 

And termagants our Agitators. 

If Vestris, to oblige the nation. 

Her own Olympus will abandon, 
And help to prop the' Administration, 

It can't have be'fer legs to stand on. 
The fam'd Macaulay (Miss) shall show, 

Each evening, forth m learn d oration; 
Sh 'II iimve (midst general cries of " Oh !") 

For full returns of population : 
Anj, finally, to crown the whole, 
The Piincess Olive,* Royal soul, 
Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, 
Descend, to bless her fiithful lieges, 
And, mid our Unions' loyal choius, 
Reigu jollily for ever o'er us. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *. 

Sir,— Having heard some rumours respecting the 
strange and awful visitation under which Lord H— n- 
1 — y has for some time past been suffering, in conse- 
quence of his declared hostility to "anthems, solns, 
duels,"3 tic., I took the liberty of making inquiries 
at his Lordship's house this morning, and lose n > time 
in transmitting to you such particulars as I could col- 
lect. It is said that the screams of his Lordship, under 
the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, no 
doubt, some trick of the Radicals,) may be heard all 
over the neighbourhood. The female who personates 
St. Cecilia is supposed to be the same that, hst year, 
appeared in the charac er of Isis, at the Rotunda. 
How the cherubs are mamged, I have not yet ascer- 
tained. Yours, &c. P. P. 

LORD H-NL-Y AND ST. CECILIA. 

in Metii descendat Judicis aures. Horat, 

As snug in his bed Lord H— nl — y lay, 
Revolving much his own Renown, 



» A personage, n styling herself, who attained con- 
s derable notoriety at that period. 

3 In a work, on Church Reform, published by his 
Lordship in 1832. 



416 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And hoping to add therelo a ray, 
By pulling due's and aotbems'down, 

Sudden a strain of choral sounds 

Mellifluous o'er his senses stole; 
Whereat the Keformcr citi'ter'd, "Zxindsf" 

For he loath'd sweet music with ail his soul. 

Then, starting up, he saw a sight 

That well might shock so learn'J a. snorer — 
Saii:' CVcilia. rob'd in light, 

With a portable organ slung before her. 

And round were Cherubs, on rainbow wings. 
Who. his Lordship fear'd. might tire of flitting, 

So begg'd ihey 'd sil — but ah ! poor things. 
They 'd, none of tbeni, got the means of sitting.* 

"Having heard," said the Saint, "you're fond i 
hymns, 

"And indeed, that musical snore betray'd you, 
" Myself, and my choir of cherubims, 

"Are come, for a while, to serenade you." 

In vain did the horrified H— nl— y say 

'•'Twas all a niisake" — " she was misdirected ;' 
And point to a concert, over the way, 

Where tiddlers and angels mere expected. 

In vain — the Sain' could see in bis looks 
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore ; 

So. at once, all 01 en"d their motie-t 
And herself and ber Cherubs set off at score. 

All night duets, terwts. quartets. 

Nay, lone quiirets omsi dire to hear; 

Ay, and old motets, and canzone's. 
And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear. 

He tried to sleep — but it wouldn't do ; 

Si loud h y squali'd, he mutt at end to Vm; 
Though Cherubs' S"ngN to his cost he knew, 

Were like themselves, and had no end to 'em. 

Oh judgment dire on judges bold. 

Who meddle wi'h m< sic^ sacred strains! 

Judge Midas tried Ihe same of old, 

And was punish'd, like H— nl — y, for bis pains. 

But worse on the modern judge, alas ! 

Is the sentence launch'd frui Apollo's throne; 
For Mi las was given Ihe ears of an ass, 

Wbile H— nl — y is doooi'd to keep his ownl 



ADVERTISEMENT.* 

1S30. 
Mistiac °r In*', I 1 '* Sunday night. 

A Waterloo coin, whereon was 'racM 
The' inscription, '• Couraee '." in lei'ers bright, 
Though a little by rust of years defae'd. 

The mttil hereof is tourh and bard. 

Aid CI is thiujht of latr) m.x'd up wi'h brass; 

But it bcais the s'anip of Faille's a wars), 
And through all Posterity's hands will pass. 



How it was lost. God only knows, 
Bui certain City thieves, they say, 

Broke in on the ow rer's eveni z doze, 
And fileb'd this « gilt of gods'' away 1 

One ne'er could, of course, the Cits suspect, 
If we hadn't, that evening, chane'd to see, 

At the robb'd man's door, a Mare elect, 
With an ass to keep her company. 

Whosoe'er of this lost treasure knows, 

Is begg'd lo state all facts al 
As tie owner can't well face his foes. 

Nor ev'n bis friends, just now, without it. 



And if Sir Clod wilt bring it back, 
Like ' trus'y Bar net, wise and able, 

He shall have a ride on the whitest backs 
That s left io old King George's stable. 



MISSING. 

Carlton Terrace, 1 

Whereas, Lord *•*»•» de **••••« 

Left his home last Ss'aiday, 

And, thrueh iuqoirM for, round and round, 

1 broueh ceiiaiu purlieus, canl be I 



And w hereas 



No ice is her« 


II a' all 


May forthwn 


rifall, 


As, or.ee the t 


sine "s well set about, 


No d ub< but 


we shall huut bim out. 



His Lordship's mind, of late, they say, 
H-'ih been in an ui«asy way, 
Hin. self and c lleaeue"< not being let 
To climb into the Cat .ne , 
To se tie Etngland's state affairs, 
Haih ii uch. it seems. tint ed (heirs; 
And chief to this sira> Fleaipo 
Ha h been a suosi i. 
Alreadv,— certain to receive a 
Well-paid mission t .. the Neva, 
A'A be the bearer 
To tyrant Nick from Torv Lords,— 
To 6 himself f r free discussion. 
His Lords mug Russian; 

And all so naural 'o him were 
The acce . bear. 

Thv, w - ear, you 

Might «a - _ r ; v 

r Peer, loolda 

Tells v >oy a 

a .« 

As Ouli-r 



A m re than ample _ 



ck.) 
-mks,« 



» " Assevez-vous, mes enfans."' — " II n'y a pas de 
quoi. moo Seigneur. - ' 

* Written at that memorable crisis when a distin- 
guished Ouke. then Prime Minister, actii g under ihe 
inspirations of Sir CI— d— s H— n— r and other City 
wor'b'.es, advised his Ma jest v to give up bis an- 
nounced indention of dining with the Lord Mayor. 



3 AnvneMi 

« In the Gov 

* Te'ri 
Kosskressrn-e. 

• Ihe name of a religious sect in Ru 
iste en Rus ic plusieurssectes ; la plus 
crlle des Ri- 
yoyagt dam la Rustic Meridionals, 



- ■ 
i, the laxzliogwb 
ihe least < 



longing to the 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



417 



Such are the marks by which to know 
This stray'd or slolen Plenipo ; 
And \\ hosoever brings or sends 
The unhappy statesman to his friends, 
On Carlton Terrace, shall have thanks, 
And — any paper but the Bank's. 

P. S.— Some think, the disappearance 
Of this our diplomatic Peer hence 
Is for the put pose of reviewing, 
In person, what dear Mig is doing 
So as to 'scape all tell- ale letters 
'Bout B— s-d. and such abettors,— 
The only •' wre'ches" for whose aid * 
Letters seem not to have been made. 



THE DANCE OF BISHOPS; 

OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUADRILLE. 2 

A DREAM. 

1833. 
'Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, 
admitted among the primitive Christians, in which 
even the Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. 
Scaliger says, that the first Bishops were called Prae- 
sulus 3 for no other reason than that they led off these 
dances."— Cyclopaedia, art. Dances. 

I've had such a dream —a frightful dream — 
Though funny, mayhap, to wags 't will seem, 
By all who regard the Church, like us, 
•T will be thought exceedingly ominous! 

As reading in bed I lay last night — 

Which ,' being insured) is my delighl — 

I happen'd to doze off just as I got to 

The singular fact «hich forms my molto. 

Only think, thought I, as I dozd away, 

Of a party of Churchmen dancing the hay! 

Cle'ks, curates, and rectors, capering all, 

With a neat-legg'd Bishop to open the ball! 

Scarce had my eyelids time to close, 

When the scene I h d fancied belore me rose — 

An Episcpal Hop, on a scale so grand 

As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. 

For, Britain and Erin cl bb'd UieirSees 

To make it a Dance of Dignities, 

And 1 saw — oh, biightest of Church events! 

A quadrille of the two Establishments, 

Bishop to Bishop vis-a-vis. 

Footing away prodigiously. 

There was Bristol capering up to Deny, 
And Cork with London making merry j 
While huge Llandaff with a See, so so, 
Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe. 
There was Chester, hatch'd by woman's smile, 
Performing a chaine des Dames in s'\le; 
While he who, whene'er the Lords' House dozes, 
Can waken them up by citing Moses,* 
The portly Tuam, was all in a hurry 
To set, en avant, to Canterbury. 

Meantime, while pamphlets stuff'd his pockets, 
(All out of dite, like spent sky-rockets,) 
Our Exeter -to. d foith to caper, 
As high on the floo.- as he do h on paper — 



* " Hsav"n first taught letters for some wretch's aid.' 

Pope. 

* Written on the passing of the memorable Bill 
in the year 1833, for the abolition of ten Irish 
Bishoprics. 

* Literally, First Dancers. 

* " And what does Moses say ?"— One of the ejacu- 
lations with which this eminent prelate enlivened 
his famous speech on the Catholic question. 



Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise, 

Who pirouettes his whole church-service-- 

Performing, 'midst those reverend souls, 

Such entrechats, such cabrioles, 

Such balonnes,* such — rigmaroles, 

Now high, now low, now this, now that, 

That none could guess what the dev'l he'd be at; 

Though, watching his various steps, some t.iought 

That a step in the Church was all he sought. 

But alas, alas ! while thus so gay, 

These rev'rend dancers frik'd away, 

Nor Paul himself (not the saint, but he 

Of the Opera-house) could brisker be, 

There gather'd a gloom around their glee — 

A shadow, which cime and went so fast, 

That ere one could say '"T is there," 't was past— 

And, lo, when the scene again was clear'd, 

Ten of the dancers had disappear'd ! 

Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept 

Fiom the ballow'd floor where late they stept, 

While twelve was all that footed it s ili, 

On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille! 

Nnr this the worst : — still dane'd they on, 

But the pomp was sadden'd, the smile was gone; 

And again, from time to time, the same 

Ill-omened darkness round them came — 

While still, as the light broke out anew, 

Their rank- look d less bv a d>zen or two ; 

Till ah ! at la-t the e. were only found 

Just Bi-hops enough fnr a four-hands-round ; 

And when 1 aw ke, impatient getting, 

I left the last holy ps.ir poussetling ! 

N. B.— As ladies in years, it seems, 
Have the happiest knack at solving dreams, 
1 shall leave lo my ancient feminine friends 
Of the Standard to say what this portends. 



DICK * * * 



A CHARACTER. 

Of various scraps and fragments built, 

Borrow'd alike from fools and "its, 
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt, 

Made up of new, old, motley bits — 
Wheie, if the Co. call'd in their shares, 

If petticoats their quota got, 
And gowns wee all refunded theirs, 

The quilt would look but shy, God wot. 

And thus he still, new plagiaries, seeking, 

Revers'd ventriloquism's trick, 
For, 'stead of Dick through others speaking, 

'T was otheis we heard speak through Dick. 
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding, 

Now best of Whigs, now worsfof rats; 
One day, with Malthus, foe to breeding, 

The next, with Sdler, all for brats. 
Poor Dick ! — and how else could it be ? 

With notions all at random caught, 
A sort of men'al fricassee. 

Made up of legs and wings of thought — 
The leavings of the last Debate, or 

A dinner, yesterday, of wits, 
Where Dick sate by and, like a waiter, 

Had the -craps tor perquisites. 



6 A description of the method of executing this 
step may he useful to future performers in the same 
line:— ''Ce pas est compose de deux mouvemens 
ditf'erens, -avoir plier, et sauter sur un pied, et se 
rejeter sur laulre. y — Dictionnaire de Danse, art. 
Contretemps. 



418 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME LATE 

SPEECHES. 

'Then I beard one saint speaking, and another saint sai< 

unto that saint." 

1834. 
St. S— ncl— r rose and declar'd in sooth, 
1 hat he wouldn't give sixpence to Maynootb. 
He had hated priests the whole of his life, 
For a priest was a man who had no wife,* 
And, having no wife, the Church was his mother, 
The Church was his f.ther, sister, aud brother. 
This being the case, he was sorry lo say, 
That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant lay,* 
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it 
To say even •' how d'ye do ?" across it : 
And though your Liberals, nnible as fleas, 
Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 
T was a jump that nouuht on e^nh could make 
Your proper, heavy built Christ an take. 
No, no,— if a Dai ce i f Sects must be, 
He would set to the Baptist willingly^ 
At the Independent deign to smirk 
And rigadcon with old Mother Kirk; 
Nay ev'n, for once, if needs must be, 
He'd take hands round wi h all the three; 
But, as to a jig with Popery no,— 
To the Harlot ne'er would he point his loe. 

St. M— nd— v— le was the next that rose — 

A Saint who round, as pedlar, goes, 

With his pack of piety and pro^e, 

Heavy and hot enough. God knows, — 

And he said that Papists were much ir.clin'd 

To extirpate all of Protestaut kind, 

Which he couldn't, in truth, so much condemn, 

Having rather a wish to extirpate tfum; 

That is,— to guard against mistake. — 

To extirpate them for their doctrine's sake; 

A distinction Churchmen always make,— 

Insomuch that, when they 've prime control, 

Though sometimes roasting heretics whole, 

They but cook the body for sake of the soul. 

Next jump'd St. J— hnst— n jollity forth, 
The spiritual Dogberry of the North,* 
A right " wise fellow, and, what 's more, 
An officer,' s like his type of yore ; 
And he ask'd, if we grant such toleration, 
Pray, what 's the u.-e of our Reformation ?6 
What is the-use of our Church and State ? 
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe, and Rale ? 



And, still as he y el I'd out '■ what's the use?* 
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse 
Where they'd for centuries slept, broke loose 
Telling responsive, " What 7 s the use ? n 



MORAL POSITIONS, 



A DREAM 



His Lordship said that it took a long time for a moral 
position to find its way across the Atlantic. He was 
veiy sorry that its voyage had been so Ion*,*' &c. — 
Speech of Lord Dudley ai.d Ward en Colonial Slavery, 
March 8. 

T' other night, after hearing Lord Dudley's oration 
(A treat that comes once a-year as May-day does), 

I dreamt that I saw — what a strange operat'ion ! 
A " moral position" shipp'd off for Barbadoes. 

The whole Bench of Bishops stood by in grave atti- 
tudes, 

Packing he article tidy and neat ;— 
As therr Rev'rences know, that in southerly latitude* 

•■ Moral positions" don't keep very sweet. 



arranging the custom-house 



There was B- 

pass; 

And, to guard the frail package from lousing and 
rou'ing, 
There stood my Lord Eld— n, endorsing it "Glass," 
Though as to which side should lie uppermost, 
doubting. 

The freight was, however, stow'd safe in the hold; 
The winds were polite, and the moon look'd 
romantic, 
While off in the good ship "The Truth" we were 
roll'd, 
With our ethical cargo, across the Atlantic 

Long, dolefully long, seem'd the voyage we made; 
per " I he Truth," at all limes' but a very slow 
sailer, 
By frieuds, near as much as by foes, is delay'd, 

And few come aboard ber, though so many hail 
her. 

At length, safe arrived, I went through " tare and 
tre%" 
Deliver'd my goods in the primes! condition, 
And next morning read, m the Bridgetown Gazettt, 
" Jusl arrived by ' The Truth,' a~new moral posi- 
tion. 



» - He objected to the main'enance and education 
of a clergy bound by the particular vows of celibacy, 
■which, as it Wtre, gave t hem the church at their only 
family, making it fill the places of father and mother 
and brother.' — Debite on the Giant to Mayuooth 
College, The Times, April 19. 

o " It had alwavs appeared lo him that between the 
Catholic and Prnttslant a great gulf intervened, 
which rendered it impo.-sible,"' &c 

3 " The Baptist might acceptably extend the offices 
of Religion lo the Presbyteiian and the Independent 
or the member of the Church of England to any of 
the other three; but the Catholic," &c. 

4 "Could he then, holding as he did a spiritual 
office in the Church of Scotland, series of hear, and 
laughtei,) with any consistency give his consent to a 
grant of money ?'' &c. 

s " I am a » ise fellow, and which is more, an offi- i. Though all the pet mischiefs we count upon, fail, 
cer."— Much Ado about Nothing. | ,. Though Cholera, hurricanes, Wellington leave us, 

s " Wha', he askeJ, was the use of the Reforma- " We've sill in reserve, mighty Comet, thy 'ail ; — 
tion ? What was the use of the Articles of the '• Last hope of the Tones, wilt thou too deceive us? 

Church of England, or of the Church of Scotland?" — 

ice. I i Eclipses and comets have been always looked lo 



"The Captain"— here, startled to find myself nam'd 
As " the Captain"— (a thing which, I own it with 
pain, 
I through life have avoided,) I woke — look'd 
asham'd, 
Found I wasn't a captain, and doz'd off again. 



THE MAD TORY AND THE COMET. 

FOUNDED ON A LATE DISTRESSING INCI- 
DENT. 



' Mutantem regna cometem." — Luemn. ; 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



419 



"No— >t ii coming, 't is coming, lh' avenger is nigh ; 

" Heed, heed "not, ye placemen, how Herapsth 
flat'er-; 
" One v»hi>k irom thai tail, as it passes us by, 

'• Will settle, at once, all political nutters j — 

"The East India Question, the Bank, the Five 
Powers, 
I " (Now- turn'd into two) with their rigmarole Pro- 
tocols ; i — 
" Ha ! ha ! ye god?, how this new friend of ours 
j " Will ku ck, right aDd left, all diplomacy's what- 
d'ye-calls ! 

"Yes, ralher than Whigs at our downfall should 
m ck, 
" Meet planets, and suns, in one general hustle ! 
" While, happy in vengeance, we welc me the shock 
u That shall jerk from their places, Grey, Althorp, 
and Russell." 



Thus spoke a mad Lord, as, with telescope rais'd, 
His wild Tory e\e on the heivens he set ; 

And, hou^h nothing de-tructive appear'd as he gaz"d, 
Much hop'd thai there would, before Parliament 
met. 



And s'ili, as odd shapes seem'd to flit through his 

gl ss, 

'■ Ha ! ihere it is now," the poor maniac cries ; 

! While his fancy vviih for. is but too mouslrous, alas ! 

From his o»n Tory z diac, peoples the skies : — 

1 Now I spy a big body, good heavens, how big ! 

"Whether Bucky ^ or laurus I caimoi well say:— 
'And, > oilier. Ihere s Eld — n's old Chancen-wig, 

" In ils dusty aphelion fast fading auay. 

'I see, 'mong those fatuou* meteors behind, 
" L — nd — nd — ry. rn vacuo, fl iring abou> ; — 

1 While that dim double stir, of the nebulous kind, 
"Is the Gemini, R— den and L— rt — n, no doubt. 



"Ah, El-b'r— h! 'faith, I first thought 'twas the 
Comet ; 
"So like ihat in Milton, it made me quite pale; 
"The head with the same 'horrid haii'3 coining 
from it, 
"And plenty of vapour, but — where is the tail ';" 

Jus' 'hen, up aloft jump'd the gazer elated — 
For, lo, his brigh gl<«s a phen men n show'd, 

Which he took to be C — mb— rl— d, upwards trans- 
lated, 
Instead of his natural course, t'other road ! 

But too awful that sight for a spirit so shaken. — 
Down dropp'd the poor lory in fits and grimaces, 

Then off to ihe Bedlam in Ch.rles Slreet was taken, 
And is now one of Halford's nioat favourite cases. 



as great changers of administrations. Thus Milton, 
speaking of the former : — 



And in Statius we find, 

"Mutaot quae sceptra cometae." 

> See, for some of these Protocols, the Annual 
Register, for the year 1S32. 
a The U -e of B-ck-m. 
» •« And from his horrid hair 

Shakes pestilence and war." 



FROM THE HON. HENRY , TO LADY 

EMMA . 

Paris, March 30, 1832. 

You bid me explain, my dear angry Ma'amselle, 
How I came thus to boll without saying fareuell ; 
And the iruth is,— as truth you will have, my sweet 
railer, — 
There are two worthy persons I always feel loth 
To take leave of at starting, — my mistress and 
tailor. — 
As somehow one always has scenes with them 
both ; 
The Snip in ill-humour, the Syren in tears, 

She calling on Heaven, and he on the' attorney, — 
Till sonieiii.es, in short, twixt his duns and his 
dears, 
A young gentleman risks being stopp'd in his jour- 
ney. 

But, to come to the point, — though you think, I dare 

say. 
That 't is" debt or the Cholera drives me away, 
'P n honour you 're wrong;— such a mere bagatelle 

Asa peslile.ee. n- body, now-a-days, fears; 
And the fact is, my love[ I *oi ihu> boiling, pell-mell, 

To gel ou' of the way of ihese horrid new peers ; * 
This dHuge of coronets, frightlul to think of, 
Which Engand is nm, fur her sins, on the brink of ; 
This coinage of nouies,— coiu'd. ail of 'em. badly. 
And sure to bring Counts to a discount most sadly. 

Only think, to have Lords overrunning the nation, 
A~ pie ty as frogs in a Du'ch inundation ; 
No shelter fr -m Barons, fr m Earls no protection, 
And tadpole young Lords, too, in every direction, — 
Things created in hase, jus t" make a Court list of, 
Two legs and a coronet all they consist of! 
The pr spec! 's quite frightful, and what Sir George 
R— se 

(My paricula- friend I says is perfectly true, 
That, so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 

'Tuixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's to 
do; 
And Sir George even doubts,— could he choose his 

disorder, — 
'Twixt o ffin and coronet, which he would order. 
This being Ihe case, why, 1 thought, my dear Emma, 
' I we p e test 1 1 light shy of so cur>'d a dilemma ; 
And though I c •ufess myself someu hat a villain, 

To 've left idol mio wi h u an addio. 
Console vnur sweet heart, and a week hence, from 
Milan 

I 'II send you — some news of Bellini's last trio. 



N. B. — Have just pack'd up my traveling set-out, 

Things a tourist in Italy can't go without — 

Viz, a piir of gants gras, from old Houbigant's 

shop, 
Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might 

chap. 
Small presents for ladies, — and nothing so wheedles 
The ceatures abroad s your golden-ey'd needles. 
A neat pocket Honce. by which folks are cozen"d 
To think one knows Latin, when — one, peihaps, 

doesn't ; 

With some little book about heathen mythology, 
Jus' large emugh lo tefresh one"s theol gy ; 
Nothing on earth being half such a bore as 
Not knowing the d ff rence 'Iwixt Vi gins and Floras. 
0: ce more, love, farewell, best regards 'o the girls. 
A;,d mind you beware of damp feet and new E<r!s. 
HENRY. 



« A new creation of Peers wa3 generally expected 
at this time. 



420 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY. 

College. — We announced, in our last, that Lefroy and 
Shaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday; 
the Students o the College determined, it would seem, 
to imitate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves 
to the car, and the Masier ol Aits bearing Orause liags 
and bludgeons before, beside, and behind the car." 

Dublin Evening Putt, Dec. 20, 1632. 

Ay, yoke ye to the bigols' car, 

Ye chos'n of Alma Mater's scions;— 
Fleet chargers drew the God of War, 

Great Cy bele was drawn by Lions, 
And Sylvan Pan, as Poels dream, 
Drove'four young panthers iu his team. 
Thus classical L — fr— y, f"r once, is, 

'1 bus, studiou- of a like turn-out, 
He harnesses young sucking dunces, 

To draw him, as their Chief, about, 
And let the world a pict.resee 
Of DulDesa ynk'd In Bigotry: 
Showing us how yoin g College hacks 
Can pace with bigots at their backs, 
As ihough the cubs were burn to draw 
Such lugg ge as I.— fr— y and Sh— w. 
Oh shade ol Goldsmith, shade of Swift, 

Blight spirits whom, in di\s of yore, 
This queen of Dulness sent adrift, 

As aliens to her foggy shore ; ' — 
Shade o( our glorious Cretan, too, 

Whose ver> name her shame recalls; 
Whose effigy her bigot crew 

Rever-'d upon their monkish walls — 
Bear witness (lesi the world should doubt) 

To your mule Mothers dull ten own, 
Then famous bul for Wit turn'd cut, 

And Eloquence turn'd uyside duwn ; 
But now oidam'd new wreaths to win, 

Beyond all fame of former days, 
By breaking thus young donkies in 

To draw M P.«, amid the brays 

Al ike of donkies and M. A.s J — 

Defying Oxford io surpass 'em 
In this new " Gradus ad l'aiuassuin." 



TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL 
LANGUAGE. 



'T was graved on the Sone of Destiny,* 
In letters four, and letters Ihee ; 
And ne'er did the King of the Gulls go by 
But those awful letters scar'd his eye ; 
For he knew lhal a Propbel Viice hid said, 
"As long as I base words by man were read, 
" The ancient race i f the Gulls should ne'er 
"One hour of peace or plenty share." 
But years on years successive flew, 
And'llie letters slill more legible grew, — 
At top, a T, an H, an E, 
Aud underneath, D. E. B. T. 

Some thought them Hebrew,— such as Jews, 
More skill'd in Scrip th <u Soipture, use; 



i See the lives cf these two poets for the circum- 
stances under which they lefi Dublin College. 

» In the year 1799, the Board <( Trinity College, 
Dublin, thought proper, as a mode of expressing their 
disapprobation of Mr. Graltan's public conduct, to 
order his portrait, in the Great Hall of the University, 
to be turned upside down, and in this position it re- 
mained for some time. 

3 Liafail. or the Sione of Destiny, — for which see 
Westminsier Abbey. 



While «'me surmis'd 'twas an ancient way 

Of keeping accounts, (well known in the day 

Of the fam'd Didlenus Jeiennas, 

l\ h had hereto a wonde ful b as.) 

And prov d in books nr si leani'dly boring, 

'T Has called the PonticA way of scoiing. 

How e'er this be, there never were yet 

Seven letters of the alphabet, 

Tha', 'twill Ihem, form'd so grim a spell 

Or .c.r'd a land of Gulls so well. 

As did ibis awful riddle-me-ree 

Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 



Hark ! — it is struggling Freedom's cry 

" Help, help, ye nations, or I die; 

" ' I is Freedom's ligh', and, on the field 

" Where I expire, your doom is stal'd." 

The Gull-King hears the awakening call, 

He ha;h summou'd his Peers and Patriots all, 

And he a-ks ' Ye noble Gulls, shall we 

'• Stand basely by at Ihe f.ll ol the Free, 

" Nor utler * curse, nor deal a How ?•' 

And they answer, with voice of thunder, " No. 1 

Out fly their flashing swords in Ihe air ! — 
Bui —why do thev rest suspended there? 
What sudden blight, what baleful charm, 
Haiti chili'd each eye, and check'd each arm? 
Alas ! some withe- ing hand haih i brown 
'1 he veil from i If lhat fatal so e. 
And | oinlirg now with siples. finger, 
Mioweth where dark those letters linger, — 
Letters f >ur, and le'lers ihiee, 
T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 



At sight 'hereof, each lif'ed brand 

Powerless falN from every hand ; 

In vain ihe Padioi knits his brow, — 

Even t.lk. his staple, fails him now. 

In vain he King like a hero ireads. 

His Lords of ihe Treasury shake their head 

And io .ill his talk of " brave and free," 

No answer getieth his M jesly 

But "T. H. E. D. E. B. T." 

In sh rt, the whole Gull nation feels 
They 're fairly spell-bound neck and heels 
And" so, in Ihe face of the laughing world, 
Mus e'en sit down, with banners furl'd, 
Adjourning all their dreams sublime 
Of glory and war tu — some other time. 



NOTIONS ON REFORM. 



BY A MODERN REFORMER. 

Of all the misfor'unes as ye' brought to pass 

By this come'-like Bill, w ilk its long lail of speeches, 

The saJiles and worst is the schism « hich, alas! 
It his cau-ed between W— th— r— I's waisicoat and 
breeches. 

Some svmptoms of this Anli-Union propensity 

Had oft broken out in that quar'er I • 
But the breach, since the Bill, has attam'd such im- 
men-ity, 

Daniel himself could have scarce wish'd it more. 

Oh ! haste to repair it. ye friends of go^d order, 
Ye Atw— js ii d \V_: r*. ere tie moment i« pas' ; 

Who can di obi that we Iread upon Anarchy '- 

When <he ties ihal should hold men are loosening 
so fasl ? 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



427 



Make W— Ih— r— 1 yield to "some sort of Reform" 
(As A-e all must, God help us! with very wry 
i.ice>) ; 

And louj as be likes let him bluster and storm 
About Corporate Rights, so he 'II only wear braces. 

Should tho^e he now sports have been loDg in posses- 
sion, 

And, like his own borough, the worse for the wear, 
Advise him, at least, as a prudent concession 

'Jo Intellect's progress, to buy a new pair. 

Oh ! who thai e'er saw him, when vocal he stands, 
With a look something midway 'twixt Filch's and 
Lncki's, 

While still, to inspire him, his deeply-thrust hands 
Keep jingling the rhino in both breeches-pockets — 

Who that ever haslisten'd, Ihrough groan and through 
cough. 

To the speeches inspii'd by this music of pence,— 
But must grieve that there's anjihing like falling off 

In that great nether source nf his wit and his sense ? 

Who that knows how he look'd when, with grace 
debonair, 
He began first to court— rather la'e in the season— 
Or when, less f.islidious, he sit in the chair 
Of his old friend, ihe Nottingham Goddess of Rea- 
son ; * 

That Goddess, whose borough-like virtue attracted 
All mongers in bot/t wares 10 proffer their love; 

Whose chair like the stool of the Pythoness acted, 
As W— th— r— l's ranis, ever since, go to prove;* 

Who, in short, would not grieve, if n man of his grace* 
Should no on refecting, unwarn'd by the past, 

The •' moderate Refoim' of a pair of new br.ces, 
Till, some day,— he'll all fall to pieces at last. 



TORY PLEDGES. 

I pledge myself through thick and thin, 
To labour still, wi h zeal devout, 

To get the Outs, poor devils, in, 
And turn the Ins, the wretches, out. 

I pledge myself, though much bereft 
Of wa>s and means of ruling ill, 

To make the most of whit ate left, 
And stick to all that's rotten still. 

Though gone the days of place and pelf, 
And drones no moie take all the honey, 

I pledge my elf to cram myself 
Wilh all I can of public money. 

To quarter on that social purse 

My nephews, nieces, sis'ers, brothers, 

Nor, so toe prosper, ere a curse 
How much t is at the' expense of others. 

I pledge myself, whenever Right 
And Might on any point divide, 

Not to a-k which is black or white, 
But take, at once, the strongest side. 



» It will be recollected that the learned gentleman 
himself boasted, one night, in Ihe House of Commons, 
of having sat in ihe very chair which this allegorical 
lady hid occ ipied. 

» Lucan's description of the effects of ihe tripod on 
the appe rauce and voice of 'he sitter shows that the 
symptoms are, at least, very similar : 

Spuraea tune nrimuin rabies vesana per ora 

Elllu.i 

tuuc motatus vaslis ululatus in antrig. 



For instance, in all Tithe di cussions, 
I "m for tt.e Reverend encroachers : — 

I loathe the Poles, applaud he Russian -, — 
Am for the Squires, against the Poachers. 

Betwixt the Corn-Lords and the Poor 
I 've not the slighte t hesitation, — 

The People must be starv'd, t' insure 
The Laud iis due remuueration. 

I pledge myself to be no more 

With iieland's wrongs bepros'd or shatnm'd j 
I vote her grievances a bore, 

So she may suffer, and be d d. 

Or if she kick, let it console us, 
We still have plenty of red coats, 

To cram the Church, lhat general bolus, 
Down any giv'n amount of throats. 

I dearly love Ihe Frankfort Diet, — 

Think newspapers ihe worst of crimes 

And would, 10 give some chance of quiet, 
Hang all the writers of The Times; 

Break all their correspondents' bones, 
All authors of " Reply,' 1 " Rejoinder,'' 

From the Anii Tory, Colonel J— es, 
To the Anti-Suttee, Ml P— ynd— r. 

Such are the Pledges I propose ; 

And though 1 can t now otter gold, 
There 's many a way of buying those 

Who've but the taste for being sold. 

So here 's, wilh three times three hurrahs, 
A toast, of which you'll no complain, — 

"Long life to jobbing; may the days 
" Of Peculation shine again 1" 



ST. JEROME ON EARTH. 



FIRST VISIT. 

1832. 

As St. Jerome, who died some ages ago, 

Was sitting, one day, in the shades below, 

" I've heard mucn of £nglish bishops." quoth he, 

"And sha.l now take a trip to eirh. to see 

" How far they agree, in iheir lives and ways, 

" With our good old bishops of ancient days." 

He had learn'd — but learn'd without misgivings— 
Their love fir good living, and eke good livings; 
Not knowing (as ne"er having taken degrees) 
That go id living means claret and trie .ssees, 
While its plural means simply — pluralities. 
'• Fiom all I heir," said the i nocent man, 
44 They are quite on the good old pi imitive plan. 
"For wealth and pomp they little can care, 
"As they .11 say • No' to the' Episcopal chair; 
" And Iheir ves al vntue it well denotes 
" That they all, good men, wear petticoats." 

Thus saying, post-haste to earth he hurries, 
And knocks at the' Archb shop ol Can erbury's. 
•| he door was oped by i lackey in lace. 
Saying, " What 's your business wilh his Grace?' 
'• His Grace I" quoih Jerome — f r posed was he, 
N oi kinwing wtiat sort this Grace c >uld be ; 
Whether Grace preventing. Giace farttCidaT, 
Grace of that breed called Quinquarticular ^ — 
In short, he rummag'd his holy mind, 
The' exact description of Grace to liud, 



a So called from the proceedings of the Synod of 
Dort. 



36 



422 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Which thus could represented be 

By a foot:i.an in full livcrv. 

At Ia~t, out liud in a laugh he broke, 

(For Nearly ihe good saint lov'd his joke) « 

And said — surveying, as sly bespoke, 

Tlie costly palace Ir m roof to base — 

" Well, it isn't, at least, a laving Grace !" 

" Umph !" said the lackey, a man of few words, 
"Th' Archbishop is gone' to the Hi use of Lords.' 
" To the House of the Lord, you mean, my son, 
"For, in my time, al least, there was but one; 
" Unless such mauy-/oW priests as these 
"Seek, ev'n in their Lord, pluralities !" 2 
" No time for gab," quoth Ihe man in lace: 
Then, slamming the door in St. Jerome's face, 
With a curse to Ihe single knockers all, 
Wenl to finish his port in Ibe servan s' hall, 
And propose a toast (humanely memt 
To include even Curaies in ils extent) 
" To all as serve* the' Establishment.' 



ST. JEROME OX EARTH. 

SECOND VISIT. 

'This much I dare nay, that, since lord-tig and loiterin? 
hath come up, preaching bath come down, contrary to 
tbe Apo»ile»' tunes. For they preached and lorded 

not : and now they lord and preach not Lvcr 

since the Prelates were made Lords and Horde., the 
plough sUndeth ; there is no work dour, the people 
starve." — Latimer, Sermon of the Plough. 

"Once more,"' said Jerome, •' I 'II run up and see 

How the Church goes! on," — and offset he. 

Just then the packet-boat, which trades 

Betwixt our plane' and ihe shades. 

Had arrived below, with a freight so Queer, 

" My ey. s !" said Jerome, •• w hat have" we here ?"'— 

For he saw, when nearer he explor'J, 

They "d a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard. 

" They are ghosts of w igs," said Charon, " all, 

"Once worn by n"bs Episcopal 3 

" Ft folks on "earth, who've got a store 

"Of casi-off things they'll want no more, 

■' Oft sei d hem down, as gifts, you kaaar, 

" To a certain Geotlemau here below." 

" A sign of the times. I plainly see," 
Said tbe Saint o himself as. pondering, be 
Sail'd off in the deab-boat gallantly. 

" Arriv'd on earth." quo-h he, " No more 

" I 'II affect a b-dy, as beta e ; 

" Fur I think I 'd best, in ihe company 

"Of Spiritual Lor. 

" And glide, unseen, from See to See." 

But oh ! to tell wha' scenes he taw,— 

It was more ihan Rabe'a>t' pen could draw. 

For instance, he found Ex— t— r. 

Soul, bodv , i< bland, all in a stir,— 

For love of God? for sake of King? 

For good of people ? — no such thing; 

But to gel for himself, by some new trick, 

A shove to a better bishopnck. 



l Witness his well known pun on the name of his 
adversary Vigilantius, whom he calls facetiously Dor- 
mitm'ius. 

a The suspicion attached to some of the early 
Fathers of being Arian* in their doctrine wou'd ap- 
pear to derive some confirmation from this passage. 

* The wig, vihich had so long formed an essential 
part of the dress of an English bshop, was at this 
lime beginning to be dispensed with. 



He found that pious soul. Van M— id — t, 
Much with his money-bags bewilder'd; 
Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocesa,* 

Because Ibe rogues shon'd restlessness 

At having too Title cash to touch, 

While he so Christian!} - bears to much. 

He foi.nd old Sar.jins wis as gone 

As bis own beloved 'ext in J 

Text he hath p osed so long 

That 'I is thought when ask d, at Ihe gate of bearefc, 

His ume, he '11 answer " John, v. 7. ' 

" But enough of Bishops 1 've had to-day," 

Said the wean Saint. — " I mu-i aw.y ' 

"Though 1 own I should like, before"! go, 

" To see f r mice (a- I 'm ask'd below 

" If really such odd sigh's ex s'j 

"A regular s:x-fold Plura 

Ju,t then he heard a general cry — 

" 1 here '» Docnr Hodgson galloping by!" 

"A>, tba' 's the man," says the Saint, "to folio* 

And off he sets, with a loud virw-hollo, 

- heels, lo ca ch, if he can, 
A glimise of this singular p.ural ml 
Bu!,— talk of Sir Boyle Roche's bitd ! « 
To conipare him ^ it'll Hodgson is absurd. 
" Which way. sir, ptay, is the doctor g ner*— 
"He is now at his living at Hilling. 
'• No no, — you re out, by mam a mile, 
''Kr'-a.i ay at his Deanery, in Car! a 
" rardon me, sir; but 1 understand 
" He s gnoe to his living in Cumberland." 
"God ble-s me, no,— he c»n': Le there ; 
"You must try St. George's, Hanover Square.'' 

Thus all in rain Ihe Saint inquir'd, 

Fran living to living, niock'd and tir'd ; — 

T was Hodgson here, *t was Hodgson there, 

T was Hodgson nowhere everywhere; 

Till, fair :y" beat, Ihe Saint gave o'er, 

And (lilted away lo the Stygian shore, 

To astonish the na'ives under ground 

With the comical things be on earth bad faunj. 



TDOCGHTS ON TAR BARRELS. 
(Fide Description of a late TeteJ) 

rem, 

What a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devis'd 
Tw ixt 'ar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses! 

And how the tar-barrels mu*t all I* N 
To find themselves seated like "Love among 
roses 1" 

What a pity we cant, by precautions like these. 
Clear the atr of thai other still viler infection ; 

That radical pest, thai old whiggish d : sea-e, . 
Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction. 

Stead of barrels, let's light op an Aoto da Fe 

Of a few gr*<i combustible Lords of - th.- Club:» 

Tbev would fume, in a trice, the Whig cholYa awaT. 
And there's B— cky would burn like a barrel of 
bub. 



* See the Bishop's Le ter to Clergy of hi D ocese. 

s 1 J h -, v. 7. A text which, though lone given 
up by all Ihe res' of he orthodox •.» 
nacionsly adhered to by ibis Right Reverend 

s It was a «ayinr of the well-known Sir Boyle, that 
** a n.an could not be in two places at once, unless be 
was a bird." 

I The M s of H— tf— d's Fe»e. — From dread of 

cholera his Lordship had ordered tar-barrels to be 
burned in every direction. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



423 



How R — d— n would Haze ! and what rubbish Ihrow 
out ! 

A volcano of nonsense, in active display ; 
While V— ne, as a butt, amidst laughter/would spout 

The hot nothings he's full of, all nitjhl and all day. 

And ihen, for a finish, there's C— mb— d's Duke,— 
Good Lord, how his clun-'uft would crackle in air! 

Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look) 
He 's already oespoke for combustion elsewhere. 



THE CONSULTATION.! 



Scene discovers Dr. Whig and Dr. Tory in consulta- 
tion. Patient on the floor between thtm. 

Dr. Whig. — This wild Irish patient docs pester 

me so, 
That what to do with him, I'm curst if I know. 

I've -promised him anodynes 

Dr. Tory. Anodynes ! — Stuff. 

Tie him down — gig him well — he'll be tranquil 

enough. 
That 's my mode of practice. 

Dr Whig. T> ue, qui'e in your line, ! 

But unluckilv not much, till lately, in mine. 

'T is so pa nful 

Dr. Tory —Pooh, nonsense— ask Ude how he feels, 
When, fur Epicure fea-t«, he pre|iares his live eels, 
By flinging them in, 'twixl the bars of the fire, 
And letting them wriggle on there till they tiie. 
He, loo. says " 't is painful"— -'quite makes his heart 

bleed"— 
But "your eels are a vile, oleaginous breed."— 
He would fain u-e them gently, but Conk'ry says 

'■ No " 
And— in short— ee's were lorn to be treated just so.3 
'T is the same w ith these Irish,— who 're odder fish 

st II — 
Your tender Whig heart shrinks from u-ing them ill ; 
1, myself, in my ynulh, ere I cme to get wise, 
U*ed, at some operations, to blush to the eyes ; — 
But, in fact, my dear brother,— if I may make bold 
To st\ le ynu, as Peachum did Lrckii, of • Id. — 
We, Doctors, must act with the firmness o| Ude, 
And, indifferent like hmi,— so the fish is but siew'd,— 
Must toiture live Pats for the general go-.d. 

[fare patient groans and kicks a little. 
Dr. Whig.— But what, if one's patient's so devilish 
pe: verse, 
That he ted'n't be thus tortur'd ? 

Dr. Tory. Coerce, sir, coerce. 

Tou 're a juv'nile performer, but once >ou begin, 
You can't think how fast you may train your hand in: 
And {smiling) who knows but old Tory may take to 

the shelf, 
With the comforting thought that, in place and in 

pelf, 
He's succeeded by one just as — had as himself? 
Dr. Whig {looking flattered) —Why. to tell you 
the tru h, 1 've a small matter here, 



Which you help'd me to make for my patient last 
year, — 

[Goes to a cupboard and biings out a 

strait-waistcoat and gag. 

And such rest I 've enjoy 'd frorn his raving, since then, 

That 1 've im.de up mv mind he shall wear it again. 

Dr. Tory (unbracing him). — Uh, charming! — 

My dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure. 

Next to torturing, myself, to help you is a pleasure. 

[Assisting Dr. Whig. 

Give me leave — I've some practice in these mad 

machines ; 
There— tighter— the gag in the mouth, by all means. 
Delightful ! — all 's suug — not a squeak need you 

fear,— 
You may now put your anodynes off till next year. 
[St£?ie closes. 



TO THE REV. CH— RL— S OV— RT— N, 

CURATE OF ROMAI.DKIRK. 

AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE 
OF THE CHCRCH. 3 

1833. 

Sweet singer of Rnmaldkirk, thou who art reckon'd, 
Bv critics Episcopal D.viJ the Second,* 
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight, 
Only think, in a Rectory, how you would write! 
Once fa rly inspir'd by the " Tithe-crow n'd Apollo/' 
(Who beats, 1 confess it, our lay Phoebus hollow, 
Having gotten, besides the old iVine's inspiration, 
The Tenth of all eatable things in creation,) 
There's nothing, in fact, that a poet like you, 
So be-nined and be-tenlh'd, couldn't easily do. 

Round the lips of the sweet-tongued Athenian * they 

say, 
While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay, 
Wild honey-bees swarin'd, as a presage to tell 
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence afterwards 

fell. 

Jus' so round our Ov — rt— n's cradle, no doubt, 
Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting about; 
Goose emb yos, waiting their doom'd decimation, 
Came, shadowing forth his adult destination, 
And small, sucking tithe-pigs, id musical droves, 
Announc'd the Chuich poet whom Chester approves. 

Horace ! when thou, in thy vision of yore, 
Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage came o'er 
Thy elheiealis'd limb-, stealing dowoily on, 
Till, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert turn'd to a 

swan, 6 
Li'tle thought »>t thou such fate could a poet befall, 
Wi hout any effort nf fancy, at all ; 
Little thoughi'st thou the world would in Ov— rt— n 

find 
( A bird, ready-made, somewhat different in kind, 
But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could pioduce, 
By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose. 



t These verses, as well as some others, that follow, 
(p. 426 ) were extorted from me by th.t lamentable 
measure of the Whig ministry, the Irish Coercion 
Act. 

* This eminent artist, in the second edi ion of the 
work wherein he propounds this mode of purifying 
his eels, professes himself much concerned at ihe 
charge of inhumanity brought against his practice, 
bui s^ill begs te.ve respectfully to repeat that it is the 
only proper mode of preparing eels for the table. 



s See Edinburgh Review, No. 117. 

-»"Your Lordship," says Mr. Ov— rt— n, in the 
Dedication of his P«m to the Bishop of Chester, 
"has kindly expressed your persu.sion that my 
'Muse will alw.ys be a'Muse of sacrod song, and 
that i J will be tuned as David's was.' " 

* Sophocles. 

6 album mutor in alitem 

Superne: uascunturque laeves 
Perdigitos, humerosque plumae. 



424 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



SCENE FKOM A PLAT, ACTED AT OXFORD, 
CALLED "MATRICULATION." i 

1S34. 

[Boy discovered at a table, with the Thirty-iJine Articles 
before h;m.~ Enter the Ri. Rev. Doctor Ph— Up— ts.] 

Dxtor P — There, my lad, lie the Articles — (Boy 

begins to count them) just thirty-nine — 
No occasion to c 'Un' — you ve now only to sign. 
At Cambridge, where folks are leas High-church than 

we, 
The whole Nine-and-Thirty are lump'd into Three. 
Let Vrun o'er the items ; — there 's Justification, 
Predestination, and Supererogation, — 
Not forgetting Salvation and Creed Athanasian, 
Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess's Ratification. 
That's sufficient — now, %jgn — having read quite 

enough, 
You " believe in the full and true meaning thereof?" 

(Boy staret.) 
Oh, a mere form of words, to make things smooth and 

brief. - 
A commodious and short make-believe of belief, 
Which our Church has drawn up, in a form thus 

aricular, 
To keep out. in general, all who 're particular. 
But n hat "s ihe boy doing ? what ! rending all through, 
And my luncheon fast cooling ! — this never will do. 
Boy {poring over the Articles.) — Here are points 

which — pray, Doctor, what 'e " Grace of Con- 

g'u.ty:-" 
Doctor P. (sharply). — You '11 find out, young sir, 

«hen you've more ingenuity. 
At present, by signing, you pledge yourself merely, 
Wlia'e'er it may be, >o brl.eve it sincerely. 
Both in dining and signing we take the same plan, — 
First, swallow all down, then digest — as we cm. 
Boy (still reading).— I 've to g .lp, 1 see, St. Alha- 

nanus's Creed, 
Which, I 'm told, is a very tough morsel, indeed ; 

As he damns 

Doctor P. (aside).— Ay, and so would /, willingly, 

too, 
All confounded particular young boobies, like you. 
This comes of Reforming ! — all "s o'er with our land, 
When |ieople wo'u't stand what they can't under- 

stand ; 
Nor perceive that our ever-rever'd Thirty-Nine 
Were made, not for men to believe, but to sign. 

[Exit Dr. P. in a passion. 



LATE TITHE CASE. 

"SIC TOS DOO ToblS." 

1833. 

■The Vicar ofB— mh— m desire* me to Mate that, io con- 
sequence of Ihe patting of a recent Act of Parliament, he 
is compelled to adopt measures which may by some be 
considered harsh or precipitate : but, is rials "to sjkat he 
ewes to his successors, he feel- bound lo preserve the 
rights or the vicarage."— Lctlir from Mr. S. Pouetl, 
August & 

No, nof for yourselves, re reverend men, 

Do vou t .ke one pit in every ten. 

But for Holy Church's future heirs. 

Who've an abstract right to that pig, as theirs ; — 



t " It appears that when a youth of fifteen goes to 
be matriculated at Oaf >rd, and is required first to sub- 
scribe Thirty-Nine Articles of Religious Belief, this 
only means that he engages him-elf af'rr»ard< to ud- 
ders'and wha' is now above his comprehei sion ; that 
he expresses no assent at all 'o »i,at he signs; and 
that he is (or, ought o be) at full liberty, » hen he has I 
sti.died Ihe subject, to withdraw his provisional as- 
sent."— Edinburgh Review, No. 120. 



The law supposing that such heirs male 

A<e alie dy ei-ed of the pig, in tail. 

No, not for himself ha'h B— tub — m's priest 

His " well-belov'd " of their pennies fieee'd 

Rut it is that, before his prescient e\es, 

All future Vicars of B— mh— m rise, 

Wiih Iheir embryo daugh'ers, nephews, nieces, 

And 'i is for them ihe poor he fleeces. 

He htare'h their voices, ages hence, 

Savinz, " Take (he | is"— " oh take Ihe pence,' 

The cries of little Vicarial dears. 

The unborn B — mh — miles, reach his ears; 

And. did he resist that soft appeal. 

He would not like a true-born Vicar feel. 

Thou, too, L— ndy of L — ck— ngt— n ! 

A Rector true, if e'er 'here was one, 

Wh •>, for Ihe sake of rhe L— ndies of coming; ages, 

Griped the tenths of labourers' wages.* 

Tis tme, in the jocke's of thy -mall-clothes 

The claim'd "obven'ion"3 of four-pence goes; 

But itsab-'rac' spirit, unconfin'd, 

Si reads to all fu'ure R-ctorkind, 

Warning them all lo Iheir righ s to wake, 

A' d ra'her lo face the block, lee stake, 

Than give up 'heir darling tight to take. 

One grain of musk, il is said, perfumes 

(So s btle i's -pint) a thousand r<-om«, 

And a single f >u -pence, pocketed well, 

Through a thou-ai d rectors' lives will telL 

Then still con'ii ne, ye reverend souls, 

And still as your rich Pactolus rolls, 

Grasp every [«• ny on every side, 

Fpth every w retch, to swell i's lide: 

Remembering s',11 what tlie Law lays down, 

In tha' pure p- e'ic s'yle of its ow n, 

" If Ihe parson in esse submits to loss, he 

"Inflicts the same on the parson in yofst." 



FOOLS' PARADISE. 

DREAM THE FIRST. 

I have been, like Puck, I have been, in a trice. 

To a realm hey call F wis' Paradise, * 

Lyi g N NE. of the l-and of Sense. 

And seldom blt-ss'd »i'h a glimmer thence. 

But they want i' not in this happy place. 

Where a light of its own gilds every face; 

Or, if some wear a shadowy brow, 

T is the urish to look wise!— no' knowing kou: 

Sell-glory gtis'ens o'er all that's Ihere, 

The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air; 

The well-bred wind in a whisper blows, 

The snow, if it snows, is coultur de rest, 

The falling foun's in a tit'er fall. 

And the sun look- simpering down on all. 

Oh. t isnt in tongue or pen lo trace 
The scenes I saw in that joyous place. 
There were Lords and La lies si'ting toee'her. 
In converse s«ee», •' What charming weather !- 
u You 'II all rejoice to hear. I m <nre, 
" Lord Charles has got a t *xl sinrc 
" And Ihe Premier says, my youngest brother 
" (Him in the Guards") shall have another. 



a Fourteen agricultural labourers (one of whom re- 
ceived so little as six guineas for veirly wage-, noe 
eight, one nine, another (en gU'i eas, and Jhe be*' paid 
of the wh le not more tha' re all, is 

the course of the au unv> of IS32. serve i n ilh demand- 
of tithe at the rate of id. in the II s'erling, on behalf 
of the Rev. F. L— dy. Rector of, ic. ic— The Tissus, 
August, ISO. 

* One of the various general erms under which ob- 
lations, tithes, &c are compromised. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



425 



" Isn't this very, very gallant ! — 
"As for my poor old virgin aunt, 
" Who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, 
" We must quarter her on the Pension List." 
Thus smoothly time in thai Eden roll'd; 
It seem'd like an Age of real g Id, 
Where all who liked might have a slice, 
So rich was that tools' Paradise. 

But the sport at which most time they spent, 
Was a puppet-show, call'd Parliameut, 
Perlorm'd by wooden Ciceros, 
As laige as life, who ro-e to prose, 
While, hid behind them, lords and squires, 
Who own'd the puppets pull'd the wires; 
And thought il the very best device 
Of that most prosperous Paradise, 
To make the vulgar pay through the nose 
For them and their wooden Ciceros. 

And many more such things I saw 

In this Eden of Chmch, and Sa'e. and Law; 

Nor e'er were known such pleasant folk 

As those who had the Lest of the joke. 

There were Irish Ri-ctors, such as resort 

To Cheltenham yea'ly, to dink — port, 

And bumper, " Long may the Church endure, 

May her cure of souls be a sinecure, 

And a scoie of Parsons to every soul 

A mod'rate allowance on the whole." 

There were Heads of Colleges, lying about, 

From which the sense had all run out, 

Ev'n to i he lowest classic lees, 

Till nothing was lelt but quantities ; 

Which made them heads most tit to be 

S uck up on a tlni ersity, 

Which yearly hatches, in its schools, 

Such flights of young Elysian fouls. 

Thus all went on, so snug and nice, 

In this happiest possible Paradise. 

Bui plain ii was o see. alas ! 

'I hat a downfall soon inns' come to pass. 

For grief is a lot the good and wise 

Don't quite so much monopolise; 

But that (-'lap! in Elysium" as they are) 

Even blessed fools must have their share. 

And so it happen'd : — but what befell, 

In Dream the Second 1 mean to tell. 



THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE; 

OR, ONE rOI'ND TWO. 

I trust we shall part, ns we have met. in peace and cha- 
rity. My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 
1st ofthis month. Since that, I owe you for one month, 
which, beiug a long month, of thirty-one rlays, amounts 
as near as 1 can calculate, to six pounds eieht shillings. 
My steward returns you as a debtor to the amount of 
seven pounds ten shillings fur con-ncre ground, which 
leaves some trilling balance iu my favour." — Letter of 
Dismissal from the Rev. Marcus Bcrttford to hit Cu- 
rate, the Rev. T. A. Lynns. 

The account is balanced — the bill drawn out, — 
The debit and credit nil right, n i doubt — 
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state, 
Owe- to his Curate six pound eight ; 
The Curate, that least well-fed of men, 
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten. 
Which maketh the balance clearlv due 
From Curate to Rector, one pound two. 



Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven ! 
But sure to be all set right in heaven, 
Where bills like these will be check 'd. I 
And the balance settled the other way : 

36* 



day, 



Where Lyons the curate's hard-wrung sum 
Will back to his shade with inteiesi come ; 
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue 
This tot, iu his favour, of one pound two. 



PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS.* 
1833. 
About fifty years since, in the days of our daddies, 
That plan was commenced which the wise now 
applaud, 
Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies, 
As good raw material lor settlers, abroad. 

Some West-India island, whose name I forget, 

Was the region then chos'n lor this scheme so 
romantic ; 

And such ihe success the first colony met, 

That a second, soon alter, set sail o'er th' Atlantic 



Behold them now safe at the long-look'd-for shore, 
Sailing in between banks that the Shannon might 
greet, 
And thinking of friends whom, but two years before, 
They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon again 
meet. 

And, hark ! from the shore a glad welcome there 
came — 
"Arrab, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet 
boy ?" 
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name 
Thus hail'd by black devils, who capei'd for joy ! 

Can it possibly be?— half amazement — half doubt, 
Pat lisens again — tubs his eyes and looks steady ; 

Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, 
"Good Lord! only think,— black and curly 
already !" 

Deceiv'd by that well-mimick'd brogue in his ears, 
Pat read his own doom in ihese wool-headed figures, 

And thought, what a climate, in less than two years, 
To tuin a whole cargo of Pats into niggers 1 

MORAL. 

'T is thus, — but alas ! by a marvel more true 
Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories, — 

Your Whigs, when iu office a short year or two, 
By a lusus naturx, all turn iuto Tories. 

And thus, when I hear them "strong measures" 
advise, 
Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get 
steidy, 
I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes, 
" Good Lord ! only think, — black and curly al- 
ready '." 



COCKER, ON CHURCH REFORM. 

FOUNDED DPON SOME LATE CALCULA- 
TIONS. 

1833. 

Fine figures of speech let your orators follow, 
Old Cocker has figures that beat them all hollow. 



» I have already, in a preceding page, referred to 
this squih, as being one of those wrung from me by 
the Irish Coercion Act of my friends, the Whigs. 



128 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Though famed for his rules Aristotle may be, 

In but half of this Sage any merit 1 see. 

For, as honest Joe Hume sajs, the '• tattle" l for me ! 

For instance, while others discuss and debate, 
It is thus about Bishop^ / ratiocinate. 

In England, where spite of the infidel's laughter, 
•T iscer'am nur souls are I ok'd viy well after, 
Two Bishops cm well (if judiciou-ly sunder'd) 
Of parishes manaste tuo th us lid two hundred, — 
Said number <f parishes, uncle said Uache s, 
Containing thrt-e million, of Protectant creatures,— 
S ■• thai each of said Bishops full ably cn'rols 
One million and five hundred thousands of souls. 
And now ernes old Cocker. In Ireland we're told, 
Half a million includes 'he w|, ile l.otes an f Id ; 
If, hetefme, for three million souls, 'i is conceded 
ruio proper-sized Bish ps ueall ihat is needed. 
'T i- plain, for the Irish half million who want 'em, 
One. third of out Bi^h p s jus I be righ' quantum. 
And th'.s, by ohl Cocker's sublime Rule of Three, 
The Irish Church question 's resoh'd o a T ; 
Keeping al« ajs that excellent maxim in view, 
That, in saving men's souls, we must sa\e money too. 

Nay, if— as St. Roden complains is the case — 
The half million of soul is decreasing apace, 
The demand, I o, for bithop will also tail off, 
I ill the tilUt f one, taken in kind, be enough. 
But. as fractions imply that we'd have to dissect, 
And to cutting up Bi-h ps 1 s'rong y object. 
We 've a small, fractious prelate u horn well we could 

spore. 
Who has just the <ame decimal worth, to a hair; 
And, not lo leave Ireland too much in the lurch. 
We II let her have Ex— I— r, jote.i as her Chuicb. 



LES HOMMES AUTOMATES. 

1834. 
'We are persuaded that this our artificial mau will oot 
ouly walk an J nj^ak, and perform most of the function* 
of ..utnial lite, but (being woulnl nponie a week) will 
perhaps rea.on a- >■ r country parsoiu." 

— Memoirs of Mar/inns Sc-tbterus, cbap. xii. 

It being an object now to meet 
With Paisons that don't want to eat, 
Fit men io fill tho.e Irish rectories. 
Which soon will have tut scant refectories, 
It his been suggested,— Ic-t that Church 
Should, all at dice, be left in the lurch, 
For want of reverend men ei d .ed 
With this gift "f ne'er requiring f nd,— 
To try, by way i f ei|>erinie:it, whether 
There couldn'c be made, of wood a. d leather,* 
(Howe'er the notion may *ound chimerical,) 
Jointed liguies, no! lay,* but clerical. 
Which, wound up caiefully once a week, 
Might jus 1 like parsons lo k and speak, 
Nay even, if requisite, reason too, 
As well as most Irish parson, do. 

The' experimen! having succeeded quite, 
(Whereat those Lords inus much delight, 
Who\e shown, by stopping the Church*) food, 
They think i; isn't* for her spiritual good 
To be serv'd by par>ons of flesh and blood.) 



The Patentees of this new invention 
Bei leave re-pecfutly o men ion, 
They now are enabled to produce 
An ample supply, f« pre-eni use, 
Of these reverend pieces of machinery, 
Ready for vicarage ree'rv, deanery, 
Or a-.i\ such like po tol sk 11 
That wood and leather are fit to fill. 

N.B — In places addie'ed to arson, 
We can't rec mmend a wooden parson 
Bu', if the Church any such appoints. 
They 'd belter, at least, have iron joints. 
In parts, no' much by Pro e.tan's haunted, 
A figure to look at 's all that 's wanted — 
A block in black, to eat and sleep, 
Which (now that the ealing's e'er) comes chi 

P. S. — Should the Lords, by way of a treat, 

Permit the clergy again lo eat, 

The Church wili, of c urse, no longer need 

Imitation parsons tha' never feed ; 

And these loood cre.tures of i urs will sell 

F< r secular purposes ju-t as well — 

Our Bereslords, tun.'d to bludgens stout, 

May, stead of beating their o»o about, 

Be knocking the brains of Papists out ; 

While our smooth O'Sullivaus. by all means, 

Should tiansmigrate into turning machines. 



HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A PEER. 

ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, 
AS DISCLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC 
WORK. 6 

1834. 

Choose some title that *s dormant — the Peerage hath 
ii wry — 

I.ord Baruii of Shanid"s sounds noblv as any. 
Next. c<tch a dead cousin of said defunct Peer, 
And many him, olf-hand, in someeiven year, 
To the daughter of somebody,— no matter who,— 
Fie, the grocer himself, if n u're hard run, will do; 

Mtdici pilli still in hera dn lell, 
And » hy shouldn't loUyj>-/pt quar'er as well ? 
Thus, having your couple, and one a lrd s cousin, 
Young mate'ials for peers may be had by the dozen ; 
And 't is hard if, inventing each smalt mother's son 

of - cni, 
You can't somehow manage to prove yourself one 

of 'em. 



i The total,— so pronounced by this industrious 
senator. 

2 Corporation sole. 

3 The materials of which those Nuremberg Savant, 
mentioned by Scriblerus, conslruc ed their artificial 
man. 

« The wooden models used by painters are, it is 
well known, called "lay figures." 



Should registers, deeds, and such ma'ters refractory, 

S'and in the way of this lord-manufactory, 

I »ve merely to hint, as a secret auricular, 

One grand rule of enterprise,— don't be particular. 

A mm won once tikes such a jump at n< bcli'y, 

Most not mince the matter, like folks of nihility,* 

Bui clear thick and thin with true lordly agility. 

Tis true, lo a would-be defendant from Kings, 
Parish-registers someimes are troublesome things; 
As oft. when the vi.ion is near brought about, 
Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grius out ; 
Or some barber, perhaps, with mv Lord mingles 

bloods. 
And one's patent of peerage is left in the suds. 

But there are ways — when folks are resolv'd to be 

1 .Itht - 
Of expurging ev'n troublesome parish records. 



• The claim to the barony of Chandos (if I recol- 
lect right) advauced by the late Sir Eg— r— t— a 
Br-d-s. 

« " This we call pure nihility, cr mere nothing."— 
H'atts't Logic 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



427 



What think ye of scissors? depend nn't no heir 
Of a Shamdos should go unapplied wi h a pair, 
As, whate'er eke the learn d in such lore may invent, 
Your scissors does wonders in proving descent. 

Ye«, poe's may sing of those terrible shears 

With which Atropos snips off both bumpkins and 

peers, 
But they're nought to that weapon which shines in 

the hands 
Of some would-be Patrician, when proudly he stands 
O'er the careless churchwarden's baptismal array, 
And sweeps at each cut geneiatinns away. 
Rv some babe of old times is his peerage lesis'ed ? 
One snip,— and the urchin hath never exis'ed ! _ I 
Does some marriage, in days near the Flooj, io- 

teifere 
With his one sublime object of being a Peer? 
Quick the shears at once nullify bridegroom and 

bride,— 
No such people have ever liv'd, married, or died 1 

Such the newest receipt for those high-minded elves, 
Who've a fancy for making great lords of them- 
selves. 
Follow this, young aspirer, who pant'st for a peer- j 

Take S— in for thv model and R— z for thy steerage, 

Do all and much worse than old Nicholas Flam does, 

And — who knows but you '11 be Lord Baron of 

Shamdos? 



THE DUKE IS THE LAD. 

Air.—" A master I have, and I am hia man, 
Galloping dreary dun." 

Cattle of Andalusia. 

The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
Galloping, dreary duke ; 
The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
He's an ogre to niee', and the d— 1 to pass, 
With his charger prancing, 
Grim eye glancing, 
Chin, like a Mufii, 
Grizzled and tufiy, 
Galloping, drea'y Duke. 

Ye misses, beware of the neighbourhood 
Of this galloping, dreary Duke; 
Avoid him, all who see no good 
la being run o'er by a Prince of the Blood. 
For, surely, no nymph is 
Fond of a grim phiz, 
And of the married. 
Whole crowds have miscarried 
At sight of this dreary Duke. 



EPISTLE FROM ERASMUS ON EARTH TO 
CICERO IN THE SHADES. 

Southampton. 
As 'tis now, my dear Tully, some weeks since I 

started 
By rail-road, for earth, having vowed, ere we parted, 
To drop you i line, by the Dead-Letter pis', 
Just io say how 1 thiive, in my new line of ghost, 
And how deucedly odd this live world all appears, 
To a man who's been dead now for Ihree hundred 

years. 
I take up my pen, and, with news of this ear'h, 
Hope to w.'ken, by turns, bo h your spleen and your 
mirth. 



In my wav to lhr»se shores, taking Italy first, 
Lest I he ch 'lige fn m Elysium too sudden should bunt, 
] (org I nol o visit those ham, Is where, of yore, 
V'ou look lessons from PaeJUS in cnokeiy's lore.i 
Turn'd aside from ihe cal.'sof the rostrum and Muse, 
To di»cu s ihe rich meiits of rods a d stews, 
And preferr'd io all honours ol triumph or trophy, 
A supper on prawns with that rogue, little Sophy.* 

Having dwell on such classical musings awhile, 
I set off. by a steam-lion, for this hap) y isle, 
(A conveyance you ne'er, I think, sail'd by, my Tully, 
And therefore, per nex , 1 'II describe it moie fully,) 
Having heard, on the way, u ha - distresses megieaily, 
That England's o'er-iun by idolaters lately, 
Stark, siaring adore's of wood and of stone, 
Who will let neither stick, stock, or sta'ue alone. 
Such Ihe sad news I heard from a tall man in black, 
Who from -ports continental was hurrying back, 
To look after his lilies ; — seeing, doubtless, 'I would 

follow, 
That, just as, of old, your great idol, Apollo, 
Devour'd all the I euths,3 so the idols in ques'ion, 
These » ond and stone gods, may have equal digeslion, 
And th' idolatrous crew, whom this Rector despises, 
May eat up the tithe-pig which he id lizes. 

London. 
'T is all but too true — grim Idola'rv reigns, 
In full pomp, over Eng a i id's lost cries and plains ! 
On arriving just now, as my tirsl thought and care 
Was, as u-ual, to seek out some near House of Pnver, 
Some calm, holy sp t, lit lor Christians to pray oii, 
I was shown to — what think you f — a downright 

Pantheon ! 
A grand, pillar'd temple, with niches and hills,* 
Full of idols and gods, which they nickname St. 

Pau's; — 
Though 'tis clearly the place where the idolatrous 

ctew, 
Whom the Rector complain'd of, their dark riles 

pursue; 
And, 'mong all the "strange gods" Abr'ham's father 

cirv'd nut,» 
That he ever carv'd stranger than these I n._ch doubt 

Were it ev'n, my dear Tully, your Hebes and 

Graces, 
And such pretty things, that usurp'd the Sain's' places, 
I shouldn't much mii.d, — f r, in this clas-ic dome, 
Such folks from Olympus would feel quite at home. 
But Ihe gods they 've got here !— such a queeromiiium 

gatheiuin 
Of misbegot things, that no poet would father 'em; — 
Britanoas, in light, summer-weir for ihe skies,— 
Old 'I hame*, urn'd to stone, to his no small snrpii-e, — 
Father Nile, too,— a portrait, (in spite of wh.u's said, 
That no mortal e'er \el got a glimpse of his head*) 
And a Gauges, which India would think somewhat 

fat Io, >t. 
Unless 'twas some full-grown Director had sat fort: — 
Not to mention the'e* cxteras of Genii and Sphinxes, 
Fame, Vict'ry, and other such semi-clad minxes; — 
Sea Captains, i— the idols lice mo-t idolised ; 
And of whom some, alas, might too well be comprised 
Among ready-made Sain s, as they died cannon- 



I 1 See his Letters to Friends, lib. ix. epist. 19. 20, kc. 
» Ingenlium squillarum cum Sophia Septimx. — 

Lib. ix. epi-t. 10. 
i 3 Tithes were paid to the Pythian Apollo. 
I « See Dr. Wiseman's learned and able letter to Mr. 

Poynder. 
. * Joshua, xxiv. 2. 

I 6 « Nec contigit ulli 

Hoc vidisse caput." 
I 1 Captains Mosse, Riou, &c. &c. 



Claudiaru 



428 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Wi'h a multitude more of odd cockneyfied deities, 
abriued in such pomp thai quite shocking to see it 

'lis; 
Nor know I what better the Rector could do 
Than lo shrine there his own belov'd quadruped too; 
As most Mjrely a lithe-pig, w hate'er 'he world ihinks,is 
A much htter beast for a church than a Sphinx is. 

But I 'm call'd off to dinner — grace just has been 
said, 
And my host waits for nobody, living or dead. 



Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy vocation 

Of adding fre*h sums to this Natioi al Debt of ours, 

Leaguing wilh Kit gs, wfco, for mere recreation, 
Break promises, fast as your Lordship breaks 
metaphors. 

Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair of Peers, 
And ma\ Cupid and Fame fan you Loth with their 
pinions ! 
The one, the best lover we have — of his yean, 
And the other, Prime Statesman of Britain's do- 
minions. 



ON THE DEPARTURE OF LORDS C— S- 
T — R— GH AND ST — W — RT FOR THE 
CONTINENT. 

Al Paris? et Fratre», el qui rapuere sub Mils 
Vix teuuere manue(*cis hi*.-, M<rutlae,i in-taDjaa. 
Ovid. Mtlam. lib. xiii. v. 202. 

Go, Brothers in wisdom — go, bright pair of Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with their 
pinions ! 

The one, the best lover we have — of his yean, 
And the other Prime Statesman of Britain's domin- 



Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the smile 
Of the Miss s that love, and the monarch* that 
prize 'lire ; 

Foreet Mrs Ang-lo T—yl—r awhile, 
Aud all tailors but him who so well dandifies thee. 

Never mind how thy junio r s in gallantry scoff, 
Never heed how perverse atliJavits may thwart 
thee. 

But show ihe young Misses th m 'rt scholar enough 
To translate " Amor Fortis" a love, about Jorty ! 

And sure 't is no wonder, when, fresh as young Mars, 

From ihe battle you came, with Ihe Orders you 'd 

earn'd in "t, 

That sweet Lady Fanny should cry out '«my start™ 

And forget th<t the Moon, too, was some way cou- 

ceru'd in 't. 

For not the great R— g— t himself has end^r'd 
(Though I 've seen him wiih badges and oidert all 
shine, 

Till he lnok'd like a house that was over insur'J) 
A much heavier buiden of glories than ihine. 

And 't is plain, when a wealthy young lady so mad is, 

Or any young ladies can so go astray. 
As to marry old Oar. dies that might be their daddies, 

The stars3 are in fault, my Lord Si— w — rt, not 
they! 

Thou, too, t'other brother, thou Tully of Tories, 

Thou Alalaprop Cicero, over whose lii s 
Such a smooth rigmarole about '• monarch*,'' and 
"glorie-," 
And ' nuUidgt,"* and "features," like syllabub 
slips. 



l This and the following squib, which must have 
been writ'en about the year 1SI5-I6, have been by 
tome oversight misplaced. 

» Ovid is mistaken in saying that it was "at Paris" 
these rapacious transactions took place — we should 
read " al Vienua." 

* " When weak women go astray, 

The stars are more in fauli than 'hey." 

« It is thus Ihe noble lord pronounces the word 
"knowledge"'— deriving it, a~ fir as bis own share is 
concemed, from the Latin, "nullus." 



TO THE SHIP 



IN WHICH LORD C — ST— R— GH SAILED 
FOR THE CONTINENT. 

Imitated from Horace, lib. i. ode 3. 

So may my Lady's pray'rs prevail.* 

And C— nn— g's too,"and lucid Br — gge's, 
And Eld— n beg a f .v urine ga'e 

From Eolus. tint older Bag«.6 
To speed thee on thy dtstind way, 
Oh, ship, thai bear 'si our C— t— r— gh,T 
Our gracious R— g — t's belter half 8 

Ani, therefore, quarter of a King — 
(As Van, or any other c-lf, 

May find, without much figuring). 
Waf 'h.m, oh, >e ki; dlv breezes. 

Waft this Lord of place aud pelf, 
Anywhere his Lordship ■ 

Though 't were to Old Nick himself! 

Oh. what a face of brass was hi«,» 

Who first at Congress show'd his phiz— • 

To sign away the Rights of Man 

To Russian threats aid Austrian juggle; 
And lea-. I rican'O 

To fall without one saung s' niggle — 
_ loinisers from Nor h and South, 

To show his lack of shame and sense, 
And hoist the Sign of •• Bull and Mouth" 

For blunders and for eloquence ! 

In vain we wish our Sea. at home u 

I o mild their papers, de-ks, and shelves, 

If silly Sees, abroad will mam 
Aud make such noodles of themselves. 

But such hah always been Ihe case — 

For matchless impudence of f«ce. 
There's nothing like your Tory race! i» 



» Sic te Diva po'ens Cypri, 

Sic fratres He em, luciJa sidera, 
Veii'orumqiie rrgat pater. 
« See a description of the aovcot, or Bags of Eolus, 
in the Odys-ey, lib. 10. 

I Navis, quae tibi creditum 

Dcbes Virgilium. 

■ Anima? dimidium meum. 

» Illi robur et ae* triplex. 

Circ> pectus era;, qui, &c 

10 pnecirotem Africum 

Decertm em Aquil nibus, 

II Nequicquam Deus abscidit 

to, oce»uo dissociabili 
Terr.s, -i 'amen imp 32 

Nou tangenJa Rates transiliont vsjsv 
This last line, we m<y suppose, alludes to sosne «B» 
tinguisbed Hats that a tended Hie voyager. 
ia Audax omnia perpeti 

Geus ruit per veium nefas 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



429 



First, Pitt,» the chos'n of England, taugbt her 

A taste for famine, fire, and slaughter. 

Then came the Doctor. 2 lorour ease, 

With E— d— os, Ch— ih— ms, H— wk— b-s, 

And other deadly maladies. 

When each, in turn, had run their rigs, 

Necessity brought in tiie Whig-,: 3 

Anl oh, i blush, 1 blush to say, 

When these, in lurn, were put to flight, too, 
Illustrious T— nip— e flew away . 

With lots of pens he had no right to ! * 
la short, what will not mortal man do ? s 

And n"W, that — strife and bloodshed past — 
We've done on earth wha' hum we can do, 

We gravely take to heav'n at last, *> 
And think its favouring smile to purchase 

Oh Lord, good Lord ! by — building churches ! 



SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A NEW 

ROMANTIC DRAMA. 
" And now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose, 
" Having got good materials, 1 'II brew such a dose 
"Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall say, 
" They 've not known its equal for many a long day." 
Here she wink'd to her subaltern imps to be steady, 
And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails and stood ready. 

''So, now for the' ingredients: — first, hand me that 

bishop ;" 
Whereon, a whole oevy of imps run to fish up, 
From out a largei eserv ir, wherein they pen 'em. 
The blackest of all its black dabblers in venom ; 
And wrapping him up (lest the virus should ooze, 
And one -'drop of the' immortal"! Right Rev." 

they might lose) 
In the sheets 01 his own speeches, charges, reviews, 
Pop him into the caldron, while I Midly a burst 
From the by-stauders welcomes ingredient the first ! 

" Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor,'' mu'ter'd the dame— 

" He who's cll'd after Harry the Older, bv name." 

"The Ex-Chancellor!" echoed her imps, "the whole 
crew of 'em — 

" Why talk of one Ex, when your Mischief has lioo 
of 'em ?" 

"True, true," said the hag, looking arch at her 
elves, 

"And a double- Ex dose Ihey compose, in them- 
selves." 

This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, 

Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly. 

So, in went the pair, and (what none thought sur- 
prising) 

Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising; 

While not a giiin phiz in that realm but was 
lighed 

VVitl joy to see spiri's so twin-like united — 



Audax Japeti genns 
Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulit. 

l"->st 

macies, et nova febrium 



Terns incubit cohors, 

* tarda nece-sitas 

Lelhi •orripuit gradum. 

* Exper.us vacuum Daedalus aera 
Pcnnis non homiui dalis. 

This alludes In the 120OZ worth of stationery, which 
his Lordship is -aid to have ordered, when on the 
point of vacathig his place. 

* Nil morialibus arduum est. 

6 Ccelum ipsum petimus stultitia. 

1 " To lose no drip of the immortal man." 

* The present Bishop of Ex — t— r. 



Or (plainly to -peak) two such birds of a feather, 
In one mess of venom thus spilled together. 

Here a flashy imp rose — some connexion, no doubt, 
uf he young lord in question— and, scowling about, 
" Hop'd his fiery friend, St — nl— y, would not be left 

out; 
"As nil schoolboy unwhipp'd, the whole world must 

agree, 
"Lov'd mischief, pure mischief, more dearly than 

he." 

Bu>, no— the wi-e hag wouldn't hear of the whipster; 
Not merely because, as a shrew, he eolips'd her, 
And nature had giv'n him, to keep him still young, 
Much tongue in his head and n<> head in his tongue; 
Hut because she well knew th.it, for change ever 

ready. 
He 'd not ev'n to mischief keep properly steady ; 
That soon ev'n the wrong side would cease to de- 
light, 
And, for want of a change, he must swerve to the 

right ; 
While, on each, si at random his missiles he threw, 
That the side he aUack'd was most safe, of the two.— 
This ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf, 
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself. 
"And now," quoth Ihe hag as he caldron she ey'd, 
And the tidbit- so Mend fly rankling inside. 
" There wants but some seasoning ; — so, come, ere I 

slew 'em, 
'• By way of a relish, we'll throw in ' -f- John Tuam.' 
"In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish 
"Like yr-ur meddling High Piiesl, to add zest to Ihe 

dish." 
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand Lama — 
Which great event ends the First Act of the Drama. 



ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 

Though fam'd was Mesmer, in his day, 

Nor less so. in ours, is Dupotet, 

To say nothing of all the » onders done 

By that wizaid. Dr. Elliotson, 

When, standing as if the gods to invoke, he 

Up waves his arm, and — down drops Okey ! 9 

Though strange these things, to mind and sense, 
If y.iu wish still s'ranger thing- lo see — 

If you wih to kn w the power immense 

Of the true magneiic influence. 
Jus' go to her Majesty'- Treasury, 

And learn the w. nders* working there — 

And I'll be hang'd if you don't s are ! 

Talk of yi ur animal iiiaguelists, 

And that wave "f the hand no soul resists, 

Not all its witcheries can compete 

With Ihe friendly beckon low'rds Downing Street, 

Which a premier gives to one who wishes 

To taste of the Treasury loa\es and fishes. 

It ac'ually lifts the luckv elf, 

Thus acted upon aiooc himself; — 

He jumps to a state of clairvoyance, 

And is placeman, statesman, all, at once ! 

These effects, observe (with which I begin), 
Take place when the patient 's motion's 1 in; 
Far d.fferenl, of course, the m de of all'ec ion, 
When the wave of the hand 's in Ihe out direc'ion ; 
The effects being hen extremely unpleasant, 

A- is seen in ihe case i f Lord B in, at present ; 

In whom this sort of manipulation 

Has late y pr due'd such inflammation, 

Attended with c 'iisant irrigation, 

That, in sh >rt — not to mince his situation — 



9 The name of the ljeroine of the porforniances at 
the North London Hospital. 



430 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



II has work'd in the man a transformation 
That puzzles all human calculation ! 

Ever since the fata !iy which saw- 
That " pass' * perfo- m'J on this Lord of La vr — 
A pa-s potential, none can doubt 

As it sent Harrv B m tn the right about — 

The condition in which the patient has been 
Is a thing quite awful to be seen. 
Not (ha: a casml eye could scan 

This wondrous change by outward survey; 
It being, in fact, the* inlirior man 

That's turn'd cumple el> topsy-turvy : — 
Like a ca-e tha 1 lately, in readiug o'er 'em, 
1 touud in the .icta Eniditorum, 
Of a man in «li se inside, when disclrs'd, 
The « hole order of hiuis was found Iranspos'd; * 
By a lusus nalurx, strange to see, 
The liver plac'd n here the heart should be. 

And the spleen (like B m's, since laid on the 

shell) 
As diseas'd and as much out of place as himself. 

In short, 'tis a case for consultation, . 

If eVr there was one, in lb s thinking nation; 

And therefore I humbly b g to propose, 

Th.«t I'rue tacaiu who me m, as the rumour goes, 

To si I o . Miss Okey's w odeiful c*se. 

Should also Lord Harry's case embrxe; 

And inform us. in lain these patients' states, 

Which ism it is that predominates, 

Whe her magne ism and somn uibulism, 

Or, simply and solely, mountebank ism. 



THE SONG OF THE BOX. 

Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans, 
And tell how they stood against tyranny'.- shocks; 

They were all, I confess, in my eye. Betty MartiDS, 
Compar'd to George Gr— te and' his wonderful Box. 

Ask, where Libeity now has her seat ? — Oh, it isn't 
By Delaware's banks or on S wi e- land's rocks ; — 

Like an imp in some c injuror's bottle impiso .'d, 
She's shly shut up in Gr— le's wonderful Box. 

How snug ! — 'stead of floating through ether's do- 
minions, 

Blown this way and that, by the "populi vox," 
To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions. 

And go fast asleep in Gr — te's wonderful Box. 

Time was, when free speech was the life- breath of 
freedom — 
So th ught once the Seldens, the Hampdens, the 
Lockes ; 
But mute be our troops, when to ambush we lead 'em, 
For "Mum*' is the word with us Kuigbts of the 
Box. 

Pure, exquifi'e Box ! no corrop i^n can soil it; 

There's Otto of R se in each brea'h it null cks ; 
While Gr— te is the •• Betty.'* that serves at 'he toile', 

Aud breathes all Arabia around from his B x * 

T is a singular fact, that the fam'd Hugi Grotius « 
(A namesake of Gr—te's— being both of Dutch 
stocks), 

Like Gr— te, too, a genius profound as precocious, 
Was also, like him, much reuown'd for a Box ; — 



An immortal old clo!ht--box, in which the great 
Grotius 

When sutt'eiing. in prison, for views het'rodox, 
Was pack'd up incog. spi'eof gaolers ferocious,* 

And scut to his wife,* carriage tree, in a Boxl 

But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf, 
Since a rival hath ns'n that all paiallel mocks; — 

That Grotius inglorious!)- sav'd but himself, 
While ours saves the whole British realm by a 
Box! 

And oh, when, at las', ev'n this greatest of Gr — tes 
Must bend to the Power that at eve. y door knocks,*! 

May he drop in the urn like his own " -ilent votes," 
And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot Box. 

While long at his shrine, both from county and city, 
Shall pilgrims trienuiaily gather in flocks, 

Aud sing, w bile they whimper, the' app- cpnate dit y, 
"Oh, breathe uot his name, let it sleep — in the 
Box." 



ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW THALABA. 

ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ 

When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue 

The terrible tale of I halaba ui.g — 

Of him, I he Destroyer, dooiu'd to rout 

That grim divan ot c ujurors out, 

Whose dwelling dark, as legends -ay, 

Beneath the roots of ihe oce.u lay, 

(Fit place for deep ones, such as ihev,) 

How little thou kneu'st, dear Or. So'uthey, 

Although bright genus all allow thee, 

That, some ye r thence, thy wondering eyes 

Should -ee a second Tlialaba rise — 

As ii| e for ruinous rigs as I 

Though Ins havoc lie in a didereut line. 

And should hud tin- new, in.prov'd Destroyer 

Beneath ihe » ig of a Yankee lawyer ; 

A son of an "aiieii,* iinar man. 

Who e c-untry or party guess who can, 

Beir.g Locki.ey half, hall Jonathan; 

And his hie, hi make the thing crmple'er, 

Being all in the genuine Th.laba metre, 

Loose and irregular as thy feet *ir ; — 

First, into Whig Pindarics tamt ,ni. 

Then in low lory do^rel scrambling; 

N « torn I. is I heme, n a Church bis glory 

(At once both Tory and an 

Now iii the' Od Billey-Jof meandering, 

Now in a n emontel mi e ph laodrriagj 

And, hs ly, in lame Alexai 
Dragging his w. unded length along,'' 
When sc.urgd by Holland's silkeu thong. 

In short, dear Bob. Des'royer the Second 
May fairly a match for the First be reckon'd; 
Save that your I halaba's 'aleul lay- 
In -weeping old cot jur rs 
While ours at aldermen deals Ins blows, 
(Who no gre.t c njurors are, G d knows,) 



» The technical term for the movements of Ihe 
magnetizer'- hand. 

a Omnes fee in'erms corporis partes in verso ordine 
sitas Act. Erudit. 1690. 

a And all Arabia breathes fr~m yonder b^x. 
PoptH Baft of the Lock. 

* Groot, or Grote, latinized into Grotius. 



* For the particulars of this escir-e of Gro'ius from 
the Cas'le of Louve stein, by meins of a box (only 
three feet aud a I I in « hich books 
used to be occasional )y sen to him and foul lineu re- 
tu ued M iries. 

6 1 his is n't qui'e jc.- •- of the 

case; his wife laving heen the conriver of the 
■ the prison herself to gi»e 
him imc f r 

i PilliJa Mors aiquo pulsat peJe, Ac // 

• • A needlrs- A txandriue ends the soi g 

Tha'. like a w.uudcd snaiu.. Jrags its sloar 
leugth along."" 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 431 


Layf Corporations, by wholesale, level, 


But small 's the chance that Law affords 


Seivhr Acts of Parliament lo the devil, 


Such folks are daily let off; 


Bullies the whole Mile.ian race- 


And, 'twixt the' Old Bailey and the Lords, 


Seven millions of Paddies, face to face; 


They both, 1 fear, will get off. 


And, seizing that magic wand, himself, 




Which erst" thy conjurors left on 'he shelf, 


o 


Transforms the boys of the Boyi.e and Liffey 




All into jorcigit-.is, in a jitt'ey — 


THE BOY STATESMAN. 


Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em, 




Born but for whips and chains, the whole of em! 


BY A TORY. 


Never, in short, did parallel 


" That boy w:!l be the death of me." 

Matthews at horn: 


Beiwixt two heroes gee so well ; 


And, among the points in which they fit, 




There : s one, dear B b, 1 can'l omit. 


Ah, Tories dear, our ruin is near, 


Thai hacking, hectoring blade of thine 


With St— nl — y to help us, we can't but fall ; 


Dealt much in the Domdanitl line ; i 


Already a warning voice 1 hear, 


And 't is bul rendering justice due, 


Like tlie late Charles Matthews' cioak in mv ear, 


To say ihat ours and his Tory crew 


"That boy — that boy 11 be the death of you all." 


Damn Daniel most devoutly too. 






He will, God help us! — not ev'n Scriblerius 


o 


In the "Ait of Sinking" Ins match could be; 




And our case is growing exceeding serious, 


RIVAL TOPICS. a 


For, all being in the saint boat as he, 




If down my Lord goes, down go we, 


AN EXTRAVAGANZA. 


Loid Baron St— nl— y and Company, 




As deep in Oblivion's swamp below 


Oh, W-ll—ngt— n and Stephenson, 


As such "Masters Shallow" well could go; 


Uh, morn and evening papers, 


And where we shall all both low and high, 


Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun, 


Embalm'd in mud, a 5 forgotten lie 


When will \e cease our ears to stun 


As already doth Gr— h— m of Netherby! 


With these two hemes' c pers ? 


But that boy, that boy ! — ihere 's a tale I know, 


Still " Stephenson" and '• W— 11— ngl— n." 


Which in talking of him comes a-propos. 


The everlas iug rwo ! — 


Sir 1 homas More had an only son, 


Still doom'd, from ri-e to set of sun, 


And a foolish lad v. as that only one. 


To hear what mischief one has done, 


And Sir Thomas said, one day to his wife, 


And t'other means to do : — 


" My dear, 1 can't bul wish you joy. 


What hills the banker pas,»d lo friends, 


"For you pray d foraboy and y u now have a boy, 
" Who 'II continue a boy to the end of bis life." 


But never meant to pay ; 


What Bills the other wight intends, 




As hones*, in their way ; — 


Ev'n such is our own distressing lot, 


Bills, payable at distant siuht, 


With the ever-young s ate-maii we have got; 


Beyond ihe Greciai. kalends, 


Nav ev'n still worse ; for Mas'er More 


• When all good deeds will come to lishf, 


Wa-n't moie a you h than he'd been before, 


When W-ll— ngl— ii will dn what's right, 


While ours such power of boyhood shows, 


And Rowland pay his balance. 


That, 'he older he ge s ihe niuie juv'nile he grows, 




And, at what extreme old age he'll close 


To catch Hie banker all have sought, 


His schoolboy couise, heaven only knows; — 


But still the rogue unhurt is; 


Some century hence, sh <u'd he reach so far, 


While i' other juggler — who'd have thought? 


And ourselves to witness it heav'n condemn, 


Though slippery long, has just been caughf 


We shall find him a sort or cub Old Parr, 


By old Archbislv p Curtis ; — 


A whipper-snapper Meihusalem ; 


And. such the power of papal crook, 


Nav, ev'n should lie make still lonsjer stay of if, 


The crosier scarce had quiver'd 


The toy '11 want judgment, ev'n to the day of it! 


About his ears, wl en, lo. the Duke 


Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction; 


Wai of aBulldeliver'd! 


And, dav and night, with awe I recall 




The a e Mr. Matthews' solemn p'ed.ction. 


Sir Richard Birnie doth decide 


" That hoy Ml be the death, the death of you all." 


Thai Rowland " must be mad," 




In private coach, with crest, to ride. 
When chaises could be had. 






And l' other hero, all agree, 




St. Luke's will snon ar ive at, 


LETTER 


If thus he shows off publicly, 




When he mi^ht pass in private. 


FROM LARRY o'bRANIGAN TO THE REV, 


Oh W-ll— ngt— n. oh Stephenson, 


MURTAGH O'MULLIGAN. 


Ye ever-boring pair, 


Arrah, where were you, Murlhagh, that beautiful 


Where'er 1 sit. or stand, or run, 


day ? — 
Or, how came it your riverence was laid on the 
shelf, 


Ye haunt me everywhere. 


Though Job hid patience tough enough, 


Such duplicates would try it ; 
Till one's urn'd out and t'other off, 


When that poor craythur, Bobby — as you were 
away — 
Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool of himself. 

Throth, it wasn't at all civil to lave in the lurch 


We shan' hive pe<ce or quiet. 


* "Vain are ihe spells, the Destrover 


Treads lie 1) mdaniel fl • t." 


A boy so desarving your tindh'rest affecion ; — 


Thalaba, a Metrical Romance. 


Two such iliganf Mamase twins of the Church, 


* The date of this squib must have been, I think, 


As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the con- 


■bou' 1828-9. 


nection. 



432 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



If thus in two different directions you pull, 

'Failh hey 'II swear lhat yourself and your riverend 
broiher 
Are like (hi.se quare foxes, in Gregory's Bull, 

Whose tails "ere join'd one way, while they look'd 
auot/itr ! i 

Och bless'd be he, whosomdever he be, 

Tha' help'd soft Magee lo that Bull of a Letther ! 

Not ev'n my own self, I hough 1 sometimes make free 
At such bull-inauufacture, could make him a 
bet I her. 

To be sure, when a lad takes to forgin\ this way, 
T is a thrick he 's much timpted to carry on gaily ; 

Till, at last, his " injanious devices," 5 some dav, 
Show him up, uot at Exe.uer Hall, but the-'"Ould 
Bailey. 

That parsons should forge thus appears mighty odd, 
And (as if soniethui' "odd" in their names, too, 
must be.) 

One forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, 

While a riverend Todd's now his match, to a T.3 

But. no matther who did it — all blessins betide him, 

For dishiu' up Bob, in a manner so nate ; 
And there wanted but you, Murthagh 'vourneen, 
beside him, 
To make the wbole grand dish of AuW-calf com- 
plate. 



MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER. 

Of all 'he odd plans of this monstrously queer age, 
The oddest is that of reforming the peerage ; — 
Just as if we, erea' d. ns. with a utle and star 
Did not get on exceedingly well, as we ire, 
And perform all the functions of noodles, by birth, 
As completely as any born noodles on eir h. 

How acres descend, is in law-bonks dhplay'd, 

But » e as wiseacres descend, ready made ; 

And, by right of our tank in Debietl's nomenclature, 

Are. all of us, born legislators by nature; — 

Like duckling-, t> water instinctively takin*. 

So we, with like qmckeiy. take to law-making; 

And God forbid any refomi should come o'er us, 

To make us more wise than our sires were before us. 

The' Egypt ans of old the same policy knew — 
If your sire uas a cook, you must be a cook loo: 
1 hu* making, fr >ni f ther to son, a good trade of it, 
Poisoners by right ( so n • more c uld be said of it), 
The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty oiesi made 
of it ; 



Without a wry face bolted all the presc iptions. 



i '-You will increase the enmity with wtveh they 
are regarded by their ass <iatrs in heresy, thus tyine 
these foxes by the tails, lb tl their faces may tend in 
opposite directions '' — .BdA'j £ull, read at Exeter 
Hall, July 14. 

- '• An ingenious device of my learned friend." — 
Bol's Letter to Standard, 

* Had I con-lilted only my own wishes, I should 
not have allowed this hasty attack on Dr. Todd to 
have made its appearance in this Collection; being 
now fully convinced that the charge brought against 
that reverend gentleman of intending lo pass off as 
genuiue his famous mock Papal Letter was al'oge her 
unf'undeJ. Finding it to be the w ish, h » ever, of 
my reverend friend — a^ I am now glad t i be permit- 
ted to call h'm— thit both the wr ng and the repara- 
tion, the Ode and the Palin. de, shouhl be tl 
in jux ap si ion. 1 have thought it but due to bin to 
comply wi h his request. 



It is true, we've among us some p*-ers of the past, 
Who keep pace with the present uMt awfully fast — 
Frnits, tiiat ripen benea'h the new light now arising 
With speed lhat to us, old conserves," is surprising, 
Conserves, in whom — potted, for grandmamma uses — 
'T would puzzle a sunbeam to find any juices. 
T is true, too. I fear, midst the geneial movement, 
Ev'n our House, God help it, is doom'd to improve- 
ment, 
And all its live furniture, nobly descended, 
But sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended. 

With moeeables 'oioug us, like B m and like 

D— rh— m, 
No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to bestir 'em ; 
And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible day, 
When— as p ayful Uld Nick, for his part me, ther say, 
Flies off wnh'old houses, sometimes, in a storm — 
So ours may be whipt off, some night, by Reform ; 
And, as up, like Lorttto's fani'd house,* through the 

air, 
Not angels, bul devils, our lordships shall bear, 
Grim, radical phizzes, unus'd to the sky, 
Shall flit iouid like cherubs, to wish us "good-by," 
While, perch'd up on clouds, little imps of plebeians, 
Small Grotes and O'Couoells, shall siug lo Paeans. 



THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER. 
A ROMANTIC BALLAD. 

Oh, have you heard what hap'd of late? 

If not, come lend an ear, 
While sad 1 state the preous fate 

Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

All prais'd hi* skilful jockeyship, 

Loud rung the Tory cheer. 
While away away, with spur and whip, 

Went the Kevereud Pamphleteer. 

The nag he rode — how could it err? 

T was the same that took, last year, 
That wonderful jump to Exeter 

With the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

Set a beggar on b rseback, wise men sajr, 
The co'urse he will take is clear ; 

And in that Jpecli— lay the way 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

«' Stop, stop ■ said Truth but vain her cry- 
Left far awav in the rear, 

She heard but t'he usual gay "Good-by" 
From her faithless Pamphleteer. 

Tou may talk of the jumps of Homer's gods, 
When cante' iug o'er our sphere — 

I y back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds, 
This Reverend Pamj hleleer. 

But ah, what tumbles a jockey hath! 

In the midst of bis career, 
A file of the Times lay right in the path 

Of the headlong Pamphleteer. 

Whether he tripp'd or shy "d therea', 

D lh not so ciear ap| eir : 
But d own he came, as his sermons flat — 

This Reverend Fawpble eer ! 

Lord King himself could scarce desire 

To see a spiritual Peer 
Fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire, 

Than did this Pamphleteer. 



« The Cnsa Santa, -upposed 'o have b 
bv angels through the air fr m Galilee to 1 air, 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



433 



Yet pitying parsons, many a day, 

Shall vi'ii his silen' bier. 
And, thinking the while of Stanhope, saj 

" Poor dear old Pamphleteer 1 

" He has finish'd, at last, his busy span, 
"And now lies coolli/ here — 

" As often he dil in lite stood man, 
"Good, Reverend Pamphleteer 1" 



A RECENT DIALOGUE. 



A B ;h->p a' d a bold dragoon, 

B-ilh heroes in 'heir way 
Did Ihus, of late, one afternoon, 

Un'ii each mliei say : — 
" Dear bishop," quoth the brave hussar, 

"As (.•■body denies 
" That you a wise logician are, 

'• And I am — otherwise, 
'"T is fit 'hat in this question, we 

"Stick each to his own art- 
«' I hat yours should be the sophistry, 

'• And mine the fighting part. 
" Mv erred, 1 need not tt'.l vou, is 

"Like that f VV ^n, 

" To whom no harlo* comes amiss, 

'• Sivt- her of Baby Ion ; i 
"And wL.n we're at a loss for words, 

" If laughing reasoneis flout us, 
"For lack of sense we 'II draw our swords - 

The sole thing sharp about us " — 
" Dear bold dragoon," the bishop s i id, 

'• 'T H true for war thou ml meant ; 
" And reasoning — bless that dandy head ! 

"Is not in thy department. 
" So leave the argume i to me — 

" And, when my holy laboi.r 
" Hath lit the fires of bigoiiy, 

" Thou "It p -ke them with thy sabre. 
"From pulpit and fmni sentry-box, 

'• We Ml make our joint attacks, 
" I at the head of my Cassocks, 

"And you of your Cossacks. 
"So here '- your health, my brave hussar, 

'• My exquisite old figh er — 
"Succes to bigotry and war, 

"The mu-kel and the mitre !" 
Thus pray'd the minister of heaven — 

While V — k just en ering then, 
Snor'd out (as if some Clark had given 

His no = e Che cue) " Amen." 

T. 



THE WELLINGTON SPA. 
« And driiik oblivion to our woes." — Anna Matilda. 
1829. 

Talk no more of your Cheltenham and Harrowga'e 
springs, 
'T is from Lethe we now our potations must draw ; 
Your Lethe s a cure for — all possible things, 
And the doctors have nam'd it the Wellington 
Spa. 

Other physical waters but cure you in part ; 
0?ie C'bbhs your gout — t'other mends your di- 
gestion — 
Some settle your stomach, but this — bless your 
heart ! — 
It will settle, for ever, your Ca'holic Question. 



1 Cui nulla meretrix displicuit praster 



37 



Unlike, too, the potions in fashion at present, 
This Wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth, 

So purges the meni'ry of all that 's unpleasant. 
That patients forget themselves into rude health. 

For instance, the' inventor — his having once said 
"He should think himself mad, if, at any one's 
call, 
"He became what he is" — is so purg'd from his 
head, 
That he now doesn't think he 's a madman at all. 

Of course, for your mem'ries of very long stand- 
ing — 

Old Chronic diseases, that date back, undaunted, 
To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens' hist landing 

A dev'l of a dose of the Lethe is wanted. 

But ev'n Irish patients can hardly regret 
An oblivion, so much in their own native style, 

So conveniently plann'd, hat, whate'er they forget, 
They may go on rememb'riug it still, all the 
while!!* 



A CHARACTER. 

1834. 
Half Whig, half Tory, like those midway things, 
'Twixt bud and beast, that by mistake have wings; 
A mongrel Statesman, 'twixt two factions nurst, 

Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst 

'! he Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer, 
The leveller's rashness and the bigot's tear; 
The thirst for meddling, les'less still to show 
How Freedom's clotk, repair'd by Whigs, will go; 
J he alarm when others more sincere than they, 
Advance the hands to the true time of '•ay. 

By Mother Church, high fed and haughty dame, 
'1 he boy was dandied, in lis dawn of fame ; 
Lisl'ning she smil'd, and bless'd the flippant tongue 
On which the late of unborn tithe-pigs hung. 
Ah, who shall pnint the grandam's gr in dismay, 
When loose Reform enlicM her boy away ; 
When shork'd she heard him ape the rabble's tone, 
And, in Old Sarum's fa'e, foiedoom her own ! 
Groaning she cried, while tears roll'd down her 

cheeks, 
"Poor, glib-ongued youth, he means not what he 

speaks. 
'« Like oil at top, these Whig pr fessions flow, 
"But, pure as lymph, runs Toryism below. 
" Alas, that tongue should start thus, in the race, 
"Ere mil d can reach and regulate its pace ! — 
" For, once outstripp'd by tongue, poor, lagging mind, 
" At every step, still further limps behind. 
" But, bless the boy I — whate'er his wandering be, 
"Still turns his he-rt to Toryism and me. 
" Like tho»e odd shapes, portry'd in Dante's lay,* 
" With heads fix'd on, ihe wrong and backward way, 
" His feet and eyes pursue a diverse track, 
" While those march onward these lookfondlv back." 
And well she knew him — well fores w Ihe day, 
Which now hath come, when snatch'd fr. m Whigs 

away, 
The self-same changeling drops the mask he wore, 
And rests, restor'd, in granny's arms once more. 

But whither now, mixt brood of modern light 
And ancient d "rkness, can'st thou bend thy flight? 
Tried by both factions, and to neither true, 
Fear'd by the old school, langh'd at by the new; 



3 The only parallel I know to this sort of oblivion 

s to be found in a line of the late Mr. R. P. Knight— 

"The pleasing memory of things forgot." 

* "Che dalle reni era t'rnatn '1 volto, 

E indie'ro venir li convenia, 

Perche 'I veder diuanzi era lor tolto. 

2c 



434 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



For this too feeble, and for that too rash, 
This wanting more of tire, that \e-s of flash, 
Lone shalt thou st >nd, in isolation cold, 
Betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old, 
A smail and " vex'd Bermoothes," which the eye 
Of venturous seaman sees — and passes by. 



A GHOST STORY. 

TO THE AIR OF " UNFORTUNATE MTSS 
BAILEY." 

1835. 
Not long in bed had L — ndh— rst lain, 

When, as his lamp buru'd dimly, 
The ghosts of c rporate bodies slain, » 

Stood by his bed-side grimly. 
Dead aldermen, who once could feast, 

But now, themselves, are fed on, 
And >keletons of may'rs deceas'd, 
This doleful chorus led on : — 
"Oh Lord L— ndh— rst, 
"Unmerciful Lord L— udb — ret, 
" l< rises we, 
'•Allburk'dby thee, 
"Unmerciful Lord L — ndh— rst !" 

" Avaunt, ye frigh's !'» his Lordship cried, 

" V'e look most glum and w hitely." 
"Ah. L— ndh— rst dear !" the frights replied, 

"You've u-'d us u> politely- 
"And now, ungraeful man ! to drive 

" Dead bodies from your door so, 
" Who quite corrupt enough, alive, 
" You 've made, by death, still more to. 
"Oh, Ex-Chancellor, 
"Destructive Ex-Chancellor, 
" See thy work, 
'• Thou second Burke. 
"Destructive Ex-Chancellor!" 

Bold L — ndh— rst then, whom nought could keep 

Awake, or surelv that would. 
Cried ■• Curse ynu'all"— fell fast asleep — 

And dreamt of "Small v. Atwood." 
While, shock 'd, the bodies flew down stairs. 

But, courteous in their panic. 
Precede: c- save to ghosts of may'rs, 
And corpses aldermanic. 

Crying, "Oh, Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" That terrible Lord L— ndh— rst, 
' Not old Scratch 
Himself could match 
" That terrible Lord L— ndh— rsL" 



THOUGHTS ON THE LATE DESTRUCTIVE 
PROPOSITIONS OF THE TORIES.* 



BY A COMMON-COUNCILMAN. 



And never, till now, a movement made 
That wasn't mos' manfully retrograde! 
Only think — to sweep from the light of day 
Majors, maces, criers, and wigs away; 
To annihilate — never to rise again — 
A whole generation of aldermen, 
Nor leave them ev'n the' accustom'd tolls, 
To keep together their bodies and souls ! — 
A' a time, too, when snug posts and place* 

Are f.lling away from us, one by one. 
Crash — crash— Tike the mummy-cases 

Belzoni, in Egypt, sit upon, 
Wherein lay pickled, in state sublime, 
Conservatives of the ancieut time ; — 
To choo>e such a moment to overset 
The few snug nuisances left u~ yet ; 
To add to the ruin that round us reigns, 
By knocking nut mayors' and n.wi. -clerks' brains ; 
By dooming all corpoiate bodies to fall, 
Till they leave, at last, no bodies at all — 
Nought but the ghosts of by-gone glory, 
Wrecks of a world that once was Tory ! — 
Where pensive criers, like owls unblest. 

Robb'd of their roosts, shall still hoot o'er them ; 
Nor may'rs shall know where to seek a nut, 

Till Gaily Knight shall find one for them ; — 
Till mayors and kings, w i h none to me 'em, 

Shall perish all in one common plaeue; 
And the sovereigns of Belfast and Tuam 

Must join their brother, Charles Dix, at Prague. 

Thus mu-'d I, in my chair, alone, 

(As above de.-crib'd) till dozy grown, 

And n dding a-s^nt >o my own opinions, 

I found myself borne to sleep's dominions, 

Where, lo, before my dreaming eyes, 

A nr» House of Commons appear'd to rise, 

Whose living contents, lo fancy's survey, 

Seem'd lo me all turn'd topsy-urvy — 

A jumble of polypi — nobody knew 

Whch was the head or which the queue. 

Here, Inglis, turn'd to a saos-culo te. 

Was dancing the h.y* with Hume and Grote; 

7'Aere, ripe for riot. Recorder Miaw 

Was learning from Roebuck " Ca-ira ;" 

While Stanley ad Graham, as yoistarcU wenches, 

Scream 'd •' a-bas .'"» from the lory benches; 

And Feel and n'Conoell, cheek by jowl, 

Were dancing an Irish 



The Lord preserve us ! — if dreams come true, 
What u this hapless realm to do? 



I sat me down in my easy chair. 

To read, as usual, the morning papers; 

who shall describe my look of despair. 



But- 



When I came to Lefroy's •• destructive" capers ! 
That he — that, of all live men, Lefroy 
Should join in the cry " Destroy, destroy !" 
Who, ev'n when a babe, as I 've heard said, 
On Orange conserve was chiefly fed, 

J Referring to the line taken by Lord L — ndh— rst, 
OB vbc question of Municipal Reform. 

• These verses were written iu reference lo the Bill 
brought in at this time, for the reform of Corporations, 
and the sweeping amendments proposed by L rd Lynd 
nursi and other Tory Peers, in order to obstruct the 
measure 



ANTICIPATED MEETING OF THE BRITISH 
ASSOCIATION IN THE YEAR 2836. 

1836. 
After some observations from D--. M'Grig 
On that f ssile reliquium call'd Felntitd "Wig, 
Or Ptrruifuolithus — a specimen rare 
Of those wigs, made for an ediluv.an wear, 
Which, il seems, stood the Flood without turning a 

hair — 
Mr. Tomkins rose up, and requested alt 
To facts no less wondrous which ht bad to n. 



Some large fossil creatures had lately been found, 
Of a species no 1 >nger now seei above ground. 
But the same (as to Tomkins mos cearty api-ears) 
With those animals, lost now for tun 
Which our ancestors us d to call " Bishops" ai 

••lee.s," 
But which Tomkins m re erudite names has b 

stovrM on. 
Having cali'J he Peer fossil the' AnV 
And. finding much fo d und 
Has christen'd that crtaiure th( 



a A term formed on 



the ni.del of (to MastndoB, *c i 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



435 



Lest the savantes and dandies should think this all 

fable, 
Mr Tomkins most kindly produc'd, on the table, 
A sample nf eacu of these species i f creatures, 
Both lol'iably human, in structme and features, 
Except thai the' Episcopus. seems, Loid deliver us! 
To 've been carnivorous as well a- granivorous ; 
Aid 1 1 nikins, on earching its sumach, found there 
Large lumps, such as no modern stomach could bear, 
Of a substance c I I'd Tithe, upon which, as 'tis said, 
The «h le Genu- C ericuiu formerly fed ; 
And * bicn having la.ely himself decompounded, 
Jusi to -ee » hat 'f u as made of, he actually found it 
Compos'd of all possible c> okablc things 
That e'er tripp'd upon t.otteis or soar'd upon wings — 
All produc s of ear h, both gramineous, herbaceous, 
Hordeaceuus, liliaceous, and eke la inaceous, 
All clubbing their quo as, to glut the ce> pbagus 
Uf this ever g eedy aud grasping Tilhophagus.i 

"Admire," exclaim'd Tomkins, " (he kind dispensa- 

" By Prm idence shed on this much-fa vour'd nation, 
" In sweeping so r venous a race f om (be earih, 
" That might else have occasion d a general dearth — 
"Aud thus burymg 'em, deep as ev'u Joe Hume 

would sii.k 'em, 
"Willi the Ichthyosaurus and Palceorynchum, 
'' And oilier queer ci-devant things, under ground — 
<■■ Not forgetting that lo silr-ed youth,* -o reunuu'd, 
" Who liv'd jusi to wi ness the Deluge— was gratified 
" Much by the sight, and has since been fouud strati- 
fied!" 

This picturesque t uch — quite in Tomkins's way — 
Call'd firtli from the savantes a general hurrah; 
While inquiries anion* them went rapidly round, 
As to where this young stialihed man could be found. 
Ihe "leam'd I hebau's" discourse next as livelily 

fTwdim, 
To sketch t'other wonder, the' Arivtncrafodnn — 
An animal, differing f.om most human crealuies 
Mot jo much m speech, in»a>d s ructuie, or features, 
As in hav.ng a certain excrescence, 1 . said, 
v\ hich in f i in nf a coronet grew from its head, 
And devolv'd to its heirs, when the creature was 

dead; 
Normatierd it, while this heir-loom was transmitted, 
How until were the heads, so ihe coronet htted. 

He then menlion'd a strange zoological fact, 

Whose announcement appear d much applause to 

attract. 
In France, said Ihe learned profe-sor, this race 
Had so noxious become, in some ceniui ies' space, 
From their numbers aud strength, Hut Ibe laud was 

o'eriuu u iih 'em, 
Every one's question being, "What's to be done 

with 'dll :>' 

When, lo ! certain knowing ones — savans, mayhap, 
"Who, like buckland's deep followers, understood 

trap? 
Slily hinted that nought U| on earth was so good 
For Arislncratodons, when rampant and rude, 
As to s op, >r cmtail, their allowance of food. 
I his expedient was tried, and a proof il affords 
Of the effect that short commons will have upon 

lords ; 
For this whole race of bipeds, one fine summer's 

morn, 
Shed their coronets, just as a deer sheds his horn, 



And the moment these gewgiws fell off, they became 
Quite a new sort of creature — so h.rmless and tame, 
That zoologists might, fo, the first lime, maintain 'em 
To be nea/ akin lo the genus humanum, 
And the' expeiiment, tried so successfully then, 
Should be kepi in lemembrance, when wanted again. 



t The zoological term for a tithe eater. 

*The man found by Scheuchzer, and supposed by 
him to have witnessed the Deluge ('homo diluvii 
testis"), but u ho turned out, I am sorry to say, to be 
merely a great lizard. 

■ Particularly ihe formation called Transition 
Trap. 



SONGS OF THE CHURCH. 

NO. J . 

LEAVE ME ALONE. 

A PASTORAL BALLAD. 

We are ever standing on Ihe defensive. All that we say 
to them is, 'leave us alone.' The Established Church 
is pait and pared ol the constitution of this country. 
You are bound to conform to this constitution. We ask 
ot you nothing more;— let us alone." — Letter in The 
Times, Nov. 1638. 

1838. 
Come, list to my pastoral tones, 

In clover my shepheids 1 keep ; 
My slalis a:e uell fumisn'd with drones, 
Who-e preachii g invites one to sleep. 
At my spirit let mfiJe s scoff, 

So thry leave but the substance my own; 
For, in soolh, I'm extiemely well off, 
If Ihe world will but let me alone. 

Dissenters are grumblers, we know ; — 

Though excellent men, in their way, 
They never like things to Le so, 

Let things be houever they may. 
Butdisseniug'sa trick 1 de est; 

And, besides, 't is an axiom »ell known, 
The creed that 's best p .id is the best, 

If Ihe unpaid would let it alone. 

To me, I own, very surprising 

Your Newmans and Puseys all seem, 
Who s'art first with rationalizing, 

Then jump to Ihe other extreme. 
Far bet er, 'Iwixt nonsense and sense, 

A nice noi/-waj concern, like our own, 
Where piety 's mix'd up with pence, 

And the latter are ne'er left alone. 

Of all our tormentors, the Press is 

The one that most teats us to bits ; 
And now, Mrs. Woolfrey's 'excesses," 

Have brown all its imps into fits. 
The dev'ls have been at us, for weeks, 

Aud there's no saying when they'll have 
done ; — 
Oh, dear, how 1 wish Mr. Breeks 

Had left Mrs. Woolfrey alone ! 

If any need pray for the dead, 
T is thi se to whom post-obits fall ; 

Since wisely hath Solomon said, 
' T is " money 'hat answereth all." 



iut 



Hie i; 



• hoiiue; — 



For, once in their glebe they are thrown, 
The de.d have no living lo give, 
And therefore we leave them alone. 

Though in morals we nny not excel, 

Such perfection is rare to be had ; 
A good lite is, of course, very well, 

hut good living is also — not bad. 
And n hen, to feed earlh-worms, 1 go, 

Let this epitaph -tare from my stone, 
" Here lies ihe Right Rev. so and so; 

" Pass, stranger, and — leave him altine.* 



436 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF EX- 
JOHN OF TUAM. 



T-R TO 



Dear John, as I know, like our brother of London, 
Ycu've sipp'd of all knowledge, both sacred and 

mundane 
No doubt in sonie ancient Joe Miller, you've read 
What Catn, that cunning old Roman, once said — 
That he ne'er saw t«o rev rend soothsayers meet, 
Le' ii be where it might, in the shrine or ihe street, 
VVi'.hou 1 wondering the rogues, 'mid their solemn 

grimaces, 
Didn't burst ou' a laughing in each other's faces.* 
What Cato then meai.t, th. ugh 't is so long ago, 
Even we in the present times prety well know; 
H 'ving so"th-ayers also, who — sooth to say, John — 
i Are no better m some points than tho-e of d 'Ys g r rie, 
And a pair of whom, meeting between you and me), 
Might laugh in their sleeves, too — all lawn tb./Ugh 
' thevbe. 

Rut this, by the way — my intention being chiefly 
In this, my first letter, to hint tn yr>u briefly, 
That, seeing hnw fond you of Tuum * must be, 
Wlii e .Veum's at all imes he main point with me, ' 
We scarce could do better than form an alliance. 
To set these -ad Anti-Church times at defiance: 
You, John, recollect, being still to embark, 
With no -.hate in the firm but your title* and mark; 
Or ev'n should \ou feel in your giandeur inclin'd 
To call yourself Pope, why, I sf« uldnt much mind; 
While my church as usual bold* fast by your Tuum, 
And every one else's, to make it ail Suuoi. 

Thus allied, I've no doubt we shall nicely agree, 
As no twins can be liker. in most points, than we ; 
B th specimens choice of that mix'd sort of beast, ' 
(See Rev. x ii. I.) a p litical priest ; 
Both mettlesome chargers, b .th brisk pamphleteers. 
Ripe and ready for all tna^ sets men by the ears ; 
And I, at lea- one, who would scorn "to Mick ionger 
By any giv'n cau-e 'han I f. und it the s ronger. 
And who. smooth in my turning*, -> if on a swivel, 
When the tone ecclesiastic woVt do, try toe civil. 

In short (not to bore you, ev'n jure dioino) 

We've the >ame cause in common, John— all but the 

rhino ; 
And thai vulgar surplus, whate'er it may be, 
As you 're not us'd to cash, John, you 'd best leave to 

me. 
And so. without form— as the potman woVl tarry— 
I 'm, dear Jack of Tuam, Your*, 

EXETER HARRY. 



SONG OF OLD PUCK. 

■And those t nines do best please me, 
That befall prepo»leron-)y." 

Puck Junior, Midiummer Xigkt'i Dreem. 

Who wan's old Puck ? for here am I, 
A mongrel imp, 'twixt earth and sky, 
Ready alike to crawl or fly ; 



Now in the mud, now in Ihe air, 
And, so 1 is for mischief, reckless where. 
As o my knowledge, 'here's no end tot, 
For, where 1 haven t it, 1 pretend to't; 
At d, 'stead f taking a learn'd degree 
At some dull university, 
Puck f und it handier to commence 
Wi h a certain share of im| udence. 
Which pases one off' a* learn'd and clever 
Beyond all other degrees whatever; 
And enables a man r.f lively sconce 
To be Ma-ter r.f all the Arts at once. 
No ma ter wha r the sc ence may be- 
Ethics. Physics 1 I 
Mathematics, Hydr>s atics, 
.Srostitic- or PrieumaMcs — 
Whatever it be, I take my luck, 
'T is all the same to ancient Puck; 
Whrwe head 's so full of all sorts of wares, 
That a bn-iher imp, old Smugden, swears 
If I had but of law a lit le srm't ring, 
I 'd then be perfect « — which is flat: 'ring. 

My skill as a linguist all mus' know 

Who met me abroad u me months ago; 

(And heard me alrpad exceedingly too, 

In the moods a- d ten-es of parlez voia) 

When, as old Chamhaud'i sh-de stod mute 

I sp ke such French lo the Institute 

As puZ7led ttose learned Tbtb*ns much. 

To know if »t was Sanscrit or High Dutch, 

And might have ptv-s'd wrh the'un l.serv:=g 

As one of the U' known tongues of Irving. 

As to my taleir for ubiquity, 

There's n-'thing I ke i- in aM antiquity. 

Like Mungo (my peculiar care) 

"I'm hce. I'm dee. I 'm et>ery where."* 

If any one 's wanted to lake the chair, 

U|K>n any s hji-ct, anvwl err. 

Just look aro nd. and"— Puck is there • 

When slaug' ter's -t hand, y ur bird of prey 

Is never known tn be out i fine way ; 

And w herrver mis 

There 's Puck iialanttr, on the spot 

Onlv find me id negus and applause, 

And I "ni y ur ma>. for any cause. 

If icrong'the cause, the more my de'ieht; 

But 1 don't .ibjec! io it, ev'n when right. 

If I onlv can vex s -me old friend I | 

There's D— rh— m, for Instance ;— m worry kirn 

Fills up my cup of bliss to be brim '. 

(NOTE BY THE EDITOR.) 

Tlvse who are anxious to run a muck 

Can't do belter than join with Puck. 

They II find him ton diable— spite of bis phis— 

And in fact, his great an.: 

While t laving old Puck i> first-raie stvle. 

To be thought R bin Good-feilow all the while. 



POLICE REPORTS. 
CASE OP IMPOSTURE. 



« Mirari se, . 
per<ret a risu. 



augur augurem aspicie 



tibi tern- Among other stray fla-hmen, di p->s'd of, this week, 
Was a )■■ ung-ter, nam'd S:— nl— y, genteelly con 
nee'ed. 



» So spelled in those ancient versicles which John, „. .",.'. . . — 

. e understaud, fr nuemlj ct ants : - W . h ° h »? *!*** ^P 9 ""* "f *"'«*• ** '" "5 e ; 



Which have prov'd to be 
unsuspected. 



iham ones, though lone; 



" Had every ooe Sunra. 
You wouldn-I have T-jum. 
But I should have Mean, 
And tuug Te Deum." 
» For his keeping the title he imv quale classical ^r,!^ of r ***^* W h " n • ed ' c » , (neoi - ? ~ 1 
antho.ity, as Horace express says. - : Poeris servare " !em «" 1 en ,ou '; et nieme ua peacn P M l MMftW 
t Tuaai." — DeJtn Poet. v. 329. — Chronicle. * Song in ■ The Padlock." 



i Verbatim, as said. This tribute is only 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



437 



The ancients, our readrvs need hirdly be told, 
Had a coin Ihey call'd "Talents," for wholesale 
demands ; » 

And 't was some of said coinage this youth was so bold 
As to fancy he'd got, God kuows how, in his hands. 

People took him, however, like fools, at his word ; 

And i he e talents (all pnz'd at his own valuation,) 
Woe bid for. » ith eagerness ev'n more absurd 

Than has often distiuguish'U this great thinking 
nation. 

Talk of wonders one now and then sees adverli-'d, 
" Black wans''— •• Queen Anne farthings"— or ev'n 
•'a chiki s caul'— 
Much and justly as all these rare objects are priz'd, 
" St — nl - y's talents'' oudid them— swans, farthings, 
and all! 

At length, some mistrust of this coin got abroad ; 

Even quoiidnin believers began much to doubi of it j 
Some rung it, some i ubb'd it, suspecting a fraud — 

And the hard rubs it got rather took the shine out 
of it. 

Others, wishing ti break the poor prodigy') fall, 
Said 1 was known well to all who had studied the 
matter. 
That the Greeks had not only great talents but 
small* 
And those found on the youngster were clearly the 
latter. 

While others, who view'd the grave farce with a 
grin — 

Seeing counterfeits pass thus for coinage so massy, 
By way of a hint to the dolts taken in, 

Appropriately quoted Budaeus de Asse. 

In short, the whole sham by degrees was found out, 
And this coin, which ihey chose by such fine names 
to call. 

Prov'd a mere lacker'd article — showy, no doubt, 
But, ye gods, not the irue Attic Talent at all. 

As th' impostor was still young enough to repent, 
And, he-ides, had some claims to a grandee con- 
nexion, 
Their Worships — considerate for once — only sent 
The young 1 himblerig off to the House of Correc- 
tion. 



Pours through the patient his black-coated pills, 
Hot cares" what their quality, so thft-e >s but quan- 
tity. 

I verily think, 't would be worth England's while 
To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether 

'T would nut be as well io give up the green isle 
To the care, wear and tear of the Chuich alto- 
geiher. 

The Irish are well us'd to treatment so pleasant ; 
The harlot Chuich gave Ihem to Henry Planta- 
genet," 
And now, if King William would make them a pre- 
sent 
To t'other chaste lady— ye Saints, just imagine it! 

Chief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Commanders-in-chief, 
Might I hen all be cull'd from the' episcopal 
benches ; 
While colonels in black would afford some relief 
From the hue that reminds one of the' old scarlet 
wench's. 

Think how fierce at a charge (being practis'd therein) 
i lie Kght Reverend Brigadier Pli— 11— tls would 
slash on ! 
How General Bl— mf— d, through thick and through 
thin, 
To the end of the chapter (or chapters) would 
dash on ! 

For, in one point alone do the amply fed race 
Of bishops to beggars similitude bear — 

That, set Ihem on horseback, in full steeple chase, 
And they'll ride, if not pull'd up in time — you 
know where. 

But, bless you. in Ireland, that matters not much, 
Where affairs have for centuries gone the same 



native's system is such 
Beelzebub's long-founded 



REFLECTIONS. 

ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE 
ARTICLE OF THE CHURCH IN THE LAST 
NUMBER OF THE 

QUARTERLY REVIEW. 

I'm quite of your mind; — though these Pats cry 
aloud 
That ihey 've jot "too much Church," 't is all non- 
sense and stuff; 
For Chuich is like Love, of which Figaro vnu'd 
That even loo much of it »s nut qui;e enough.3 

Ay, dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their 
ills; — 
Copy Morison's mode when from pill-box un- 
daunted he 



And a good stanch Con 
That he'd back ei 
sway. 



I am therefore, dear Quaiterly. quite of your mind ; 

Church. Church, in all shapis. into Erin let 's ^ou 
Anil the more she rejectedi our med'eine so kind, 

The more lei 's repeat it — "Black dose, as before." 

Let Coercion, that p°ace maker, go hand in hand 
With deinure-ey'd Conversion, fit sister and bro- 
ther; 

And, coveting with prisons and churches the land, 
All that wo'n't go 'o one, we '11 put into the other. 

For the sole, leading maxim of us who 're inclin'd 
To n:le over Ireland, not well, but religiously, 

Is to treat her like ladie-, who've just been coutin'd 
(Or who ought to be so) and Io church her piodigi- 
ously. 



NEW GRAND EXHIBITION OF MODELS OF 
THE TWO HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 

Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view 

An exact and nat'ial representation 
(Like Sibtirn's Model of Wate.loo S) 

Of ihe Lords and Commons of this here nation. 



i For an account of the coin called Talents by the 
ancients see Budaeus de Asse, and the other writers 
deRe Nummaria. 

* The Taleinum Magnum and the Talentum Atti- 
cum appear to have been the same coin. 

* En fait d'amour, trop meme n'est pas assez. — 
Barlier de Seoillc. 

37* 



There they are— all cut out in cork — 

I he '■ Collective Wisdom'' wondrous to see; 

My eyes: when all Ihem heads a'e at work, 

What a vastly weighty consarn it must be. \\ 

* Grant of Ireland Io Henry II. by Pope Adrian, 
s One of the most interesting and curious of all the \ 
exhibitions of the day. j I 



As for the " wisdom," — that may come anon ; 

Though, to Ay Irulh, we sometimes see 
(Acid 1 find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un) 

A man who >s M. P. with a head that's M. T. 

Our Lords are rather too small, 't is true ; 

But they do well enough for Cabinet shelves; 
And, be-ides,— whatH a man with creetuts to do 

That make such werry small figures themselves ? 

There — don't touch those lords, my pretty aears — 
(Aside.) 
Curse the children'. — this comes of reforming a 
nation : 
Those meddling young bra's have so damag'd my 
peers, 
1 must lay in more cork for a new creation. 

Them yonder 's our bishops — "to whom much is 

And who 're ready to take as much more as you 
please : 
The seeis of old times saw visions of heaven, 
But these holy sects see nolhing but Sees. 

Like old Atla* ' (the chap, in Cheapside, there below,) 
'T is for so much per cent, they take heav'n on their 
shoulders ; 

And joy 'I is to know that old High Church and Co., 
Though not capital priests, are such capital-holders. 

There's one on 'em, Ph— lip — ts. who now is away. 
As we're having hini fill'd with bumbus ible stuff, 

Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day, 
When we annually tire his Right Reverence off, 

'T would do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by. 
When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with bile, 

Crack, crack, eoes the bishop, while dowagers cry, 
" How like the dear man, boih in matter acid style!*' 

Should you want a few Peers and M.P.s, to bestow, 
As presents to friends » e can recommend these : 5 

Our nobles are come down to nine-pence, vou know, 
And we ch Tge Lu; a penny apiece for M P.s. 

Those of fcoK'e-corks made take most with the trade, 
(At least, 'niong such as my Irish writ summons,) 

Of old whiskey corks our 0'Coi.nell> are made, 

But those we make Shaws and Lefn.ys of, are rum 



So, step in, gentlefolks, &c. &c. 



Da Capo. 



ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW GRAND AC- 
CELERATION COMPANY' FOR THE PROMO- 
TION OF THE SPEED OF LITERATURE. 



Of too slack a supply, both of prose works and 

rhymes, 
A new Company, form'd on the keep-moving plan, 
First propo d b) hegieat arm of Ca'ch-'em-« hocm, 
Brg to say they 've mm ready in full u iud and speed, 
S me last-going authors, of quite a new breed — 
Such as not he u ho runs but who gallops may read— 
And who, if well curried and red, they 've no doubt, 
Will beat even Bemiey's su if: s tnd out and out. 
It is true, in these days, such a drug is renown. 
We've •' Immortals' as rife as M.P.s ab >ut town; 
And not a Blue's rut bu' can off-hand supply 
Some invalid bard who s insur'd " uot to die." 



» The sign of the Insurance Office in Cheapside. 
' Producing a bag full of lords and gentlemen. 



Still, let England but once try our authors, she '11 find 
How fast they II leave ev'n these lmn.orials behind ; 
And how truly the toils of Alcides were light, 
Compar'd with his toil who can read all they write. 

In fact, there 's no saying, so gainful the trade, 
How fast immortalities now niy be made; 
Since Helicon never will want an •' Undying One," 
As long as the public continues a Bu>ing One; 
And the company hope yet to wi uess ihe hour, 
When, by strongly applving the mare-motive3 power, 
A three-decker novel, 'midst oceans of praise, 
May be wiitten, launch'd, read, and — forgot, in three 
d.iysl 

In addition to all this stupendous celeri'y. 
Which — to the no small relief of posterity — 
Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame, 
Ivor troubles futurity ev'n with a name 
(A pr ject that wo'ci'i as much tickle Tom Tegg as ui, 
S nee '( will rob him at hi~ s<-cond-pnced Penasu- ) ; 
We, the Company— still more to show how immense 
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and 

pence; 
And 'h-ii not even Phoebus himself, in our day, 
Could get up a lay without first an outlaj — 
Beg to add, as our litcratme som may compare, 
In it? quick make and vent, with our Birmingham 

And it doesn't al all matter in ei her of thee lines, 

How sham is the article, so it bu: shines, — 

We keep authors ready, all perch'd, pen in hand, 

To write ott, iu any siv'n shie. al command. 

No matter what bard be he living or dead,* 

Ask a work from his pen. and 'I is done son as said : 

Theie beina. on th' establishment, six Walter Scot's, 

One capit«l Word-worth, and Sou'hevs in lots; — 

Three ch ice Mrs. N rt ns. all singing like syrens. 

While most of our pallid young decks are Lord 

Bjnmna. 
Then we've * * *s and •**« (for whom there's small 

call), 
And • * *s and * * *s (for whom no call at all). 

In short, w hosoe'er the last " Lio." may be. 

We've a Bolt in wh i 'II copy h s roar 5 to a T, 

And so well, that cot one of the buyers who've got 

'em 
Can tell » hich is lion, and which only Bottom. 

N. B. — The company, since 'hey set up in this line, 
H ve niov'd the.r concern, and are now at the sign 
Of >he Muse'- Velocipede, Fuel Sir, el. where all 
Who wish well to (he scheme are invited to call. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE DINNER 
TO DAN. 

From tongue to tongue the rumour flew; 
All ask'd/aghast, " Is t Iru 

Bu' none knew w hctber 't was fact or fable: 
And slill 'he unholy rumour ran, 
From Tor) w< man to Toiy man. 

Though no e to come at" the ruth was able — 
Till, to, at las' the f ci came out 
1 he h rrible f-c'. beyond all deb'. 

That Dan had din J at tie V emu's table" 

In the heart of th' Estab.ish'd mut on and pork ! 

» " T is money mikes the mare to go.'* 

« We have lodgings apart for our posthumous pec 

As we find tha', if lefl with the live ones, the 
kt c p>)\. 
s " B ttom : Let me play the Icon ; I will roar yo 
as 1 were any nighl 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



439 



Whn can forget The deep sensation 

That news pinduc'd in this orthodox nation? 

Deans, rectors, cuiates, all agreed, 

If Dan wis allow 'd at the Castle to feed, 

'T was clearly all up with the Protesant creed ! 

There hadn't, indeed, such an appaii ion 

Been heard of, in Dublin, since that jay 
When, during the first giand exhibition 

Of D n Giovanni, that naughty play, 
There appeared, as if rais'd by necromancers, 
An extra devil among the dancers ! 
Yes — ev'ty one saw, with fea ful thrill. 
That a devil loo much had join'd the quadrille ; » 
And sulphur was smelt, and the lamps let fall 
A grim, green light o'er the ghastly ball, 
And the |ioor t/uitu dev'ls didn't like it at all ; 
For, they knew from whence th' intruder had come, 
Though he left, tliat night, his tail at home. 

This fact, we see, is a parallel case 

To the dinner thai, some week* since, took place. 

V'/th the difference slight of fiend and man, 

,t shows w hat a nest of Popish sinners 
That ci'y must be, where the devil and Dan 

May thus drop in, at quadiilles and dinners 1 

But, mark the end of these foul proceedings, 
These demon ho| s and Popish feedii gs. 
Some comfort 't will be — to those, at least, 

Who've studied this awful dinner question- • 
To know that Dan, on the night of that feast, 

Was seiz'd with a dreadful indigestion; 
That envoys were sent, post-haste, to his priest, 
To come and absolve the suffering sinner, 
For eating so much at a heretic dinner; 
And sjnie good peopie weie even afraid 
That Peel's old confectioner — still at t be trade — 
Had poisou'd the Papist with orangeade. 



NEW HOSPITAL FOR SICK LITERATI. 

With all humility we beg 

To infoim the public, that Tom Tegg — 

Known for his spunky speculations, 

la buying up dead reputations, 

And, by a mode of galv miziug 

Which, all must own, is qui e surprising-, 

Making dead authors move 'gain, 

As though they still were living men ; — 

All this, Ion, managd, in a trice. 

By those two magic words, " Half Price,'' 

Which brings the charm so quick about, 

That worn-out poets, left without 

A second foot »he<e>n to stand, 

Are made to go at >econd hand; 

'T will plra*e the public, we repeat, 

To learn that Tegg, who works this feat, 

And, therefore, knows what care it needs 

To keep alive Fame's invalids, 

Has op'd an Ho-pital, in town, 

For cases of knick'd-up renown — 

Fills, fractures, dangerous Epic/its 

(P,y some call'd Cantos), stabs from wits ; 

And. of all wounds for which they're nurst, 

Dead cuts from publishers, the worst; — 

All these, and other such fatalities, 

That happen to frail immortalities, 

By Teg< are so e xpertly treated, 

That oft-times, when the cure's completed, 

The patient 's made robus' enough 

To stand a few more rounds of puff, 

Till, like the ghost- of Dante's lay, 

He's puflfd into thin air away ! 

As titled poets (being phenomenon) 

Don't like tn mix with low and common "uns, 



» History of the Irish Stage. 



Tegg's Hospital has separate wards. 

Express for literary lords, 

Where prose-peers, of immoderate length, 

Arenurs'd, when they've outgrown their Strength, 

And poets, whom their friends despair of, 

Are — put to bed and taken care of. 



Tegg begs to contradict a story, 

Now current both with Whig and Tory, 

That Doctor W— rb— t— n, M. P., 

Well known for his antipathy, 

His deadly hate, good man, to all 

The race of poets, great and small — 

So much, that he 's been heard to own, 

He would most willingly cut down 

The holiest groves on Pindus' mount, 

To turn the limber to account ! — 

The st ry actually goes, that he 

Prescribes at Tegg's Infirmary ; 

And oft, not only stints, for spite, 

The patients in their copy-right, 

But that, on being call'd in lately 

To two sick poets, suffering greatly, 

This vaticidal Doctor sent ihecn 

So strong a dose of Jeremy Bentham, 

That one of the poor bards but cried, 

" Oh, Jerry, Jerry !" and then died ; 

While t' other, though less stuff" was given, 

Is on his road, 't is feai'd, to heaven ! 

Of this event, howe'er unpleasant, 
Tegg means to say no mote at present- 
Intending shortly to prepare 
A statement of the whole affair, 
With full accounts, at ihe same time, 
Of some late cases (prose and rhyme), 
Subscrib'd with every author's name, 
That 's now on the Sick List of Fame. 



RELIGION AND TRADE 

« Sir Robert Peel believed it was necessary to originate all 
respecting religion and trade in a Committee of the 
House."— CAtircft Extension, May 22, 1630. 

Say, who was the wag, indecorously witty, 
Who first, in a salute, this libel convey'd ; 

And thus slily referr'd lo the self-same committee, 
As matters congenhl, Religion and Trade? 

Oh, surely, my Ph— lip— ts, H was thou did'st Ihe 
deed; 
For none but thyself, or some pluralist brother, 
Accu-tom'd to mix up the cr.ift with the creed, 
Could bring such a pair thus to twin with each 
other. 

And yet, when one thinks of times present and gone, 
One is fore'd to confess, on malurer reflection, 

That 't isn't in the eyes of committees alone 
That the shrine and the shop seem to have some 
connection. 

Not to mention those monarchs of Asia's fair land, 
Whose civil list all is in ' god-money '♦ paid ; 

And where the whole people, by royal command, 
~ r their 
made ; 

There was also (as mention'd, in rhyme and in prose, 

is) 

Gold heap'd, throughout Egypt, on every shrine, 

To make rings fnr right reverend crocodiles' noses — 

Just such as, my Ph— lip— ts, would look well in 

thine. 



* The Birmans may not buy the sacred marble in 
mass, but must purchase figures of the deity already 
made. — Symes. 



440 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



But one needn't fly off, in this erudite mood ; 

And t ia clear, without going to regions so sunny, 
That priests love to do the lta\t possible good, 

For the largest most possible quantum of money. 

" Of him," saith the 'eat, «« unto whom much is given, 
"Of him much, in turn, will be also required :' — 

"By me, 1 ' quoth the sleek and obese man ol heaven— 
"Give a- much as you will — more will still be 
desir'd." 

More money! more churches! — oh, Nimrod, had'st 
'l.ou 
'Stead of Tower-extension, some shorter way gone — 
Had'st thou known by what melbods we mount to 
heav'n now, 
And tried C'AurcA-extension, the feat had been 
done ! 



MUSINGS, 

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE PROMOTION OF 
MRS. NETHERCOA.T. 

"The widow Netherroat n appointed gaoler of Loochrt-a. 
in the room of her deceased husband." — Limerick 
Chronicle, 

Whether as queens or subjects, in these davs, 

Women -eein lorm'd lo grace alike each station; — 

As Captain Flaherty gallantly says, 

"You, ladies, are the lords of .he creation !" 

Thus o'er my mind did prescient visions float 
Of all thai matchless unman yet may be; 

When, hark, in rumours Itss anl le s remote, 
Came the glad news o'er Erin's ambient sea, 

The important news — tint Mis Nethercoat 
Had been appointed ga ler of L ugh.ea ; 

Yes, mark it, History — Nethercoat is dead, 

And Mr*. N'. now rules his realm instead ; 

Hers the high task to wield the' uplocking keys, 

To rivet rogues and reign o er Rappareis! 

Thus, while your blust'rers of the Tory school 
Find Ireland'- sanes' sons so hatd lo rule. 
One meek ey'd m .iron in Whig doctrines nurst, 
Is all that's ask d 10 curb the nnddes , worst! 



Now, when her tempera, ce forms her sole excess ; 

When long-lov'd wliiske>. fating from her sight, 
"Small by deerees, and beautifully less" 

Will sion, like o'her spirin, vani-h quite ; 
When of red c>as the number 's giowu so small, 

Tha' soon, to cheer Ihe warlike pa's n's eyes, 
No glimpse of scarlet « ill he seen a' all, 

Save ih it w hich she of Pabyion supplies ; — 
Or, at the nvs', a cnrimral'. guard will be, 

Of Ireland's real defence 'he sole remains ; 
While nf its ia Is bright woman keeps Ihe key, 

And captive Paddirs languish in her chains! 
Long may such loi be Erin's, lone be mine ! 
Oh yes— if ev'n this world, though bright it shine, 

In Wisd "m's eyes a pri»nn-house mils' be, 
At lea^t let woman's hand our fetters twine. 

And blithe I'll sin», more joyous than if free, 

The Nethercoats, the Netheicoats for me ! 



Of all such dowagers — he or she — 
(No matter the sex, so they dowagers be,) 
Whose opinions, c nce.ning Church and Stale, 
From about the time of the Curfew d ile — 
Staunch s irklers sti.l f .r days by-gone, 
And admiring (htm for thei rust alone — 
To whom if we would a leader give, 
Worthy their tastes conservative, 
We need Lot some mummy-da e^man raise, 
Who was pickled and p Hed in Ptolemy's days ; 
For that 's the nian, if waked from h 
To co seive and swaddle this world, like bint* 
self. 

Such, we're happy to stale, are the old Ae-dames 
Who 've met iu committee, and given their 

names 
(In good hieroglyphics), with kind intent 
To pay some ha. dsome compliment 
To their si ter-attiior, the nameless he, 
Who wrote, i.. he last new Quarterly, 
That charm ng assault upon P (>eryj 
An ar'icle jusHv pr zed by them, 
A* a pe feet antediluvian g*-m — 
The work a- Sir Sampson Legend would say, 
Of some -'fellow the Flood couldn't wash away."'* 

The fund being rais'd, there remain'd but to see 
What ihe dowager-. u hor's gift was tv be. 
And herr I mu-t s.ay, ihe Sisters Blue 
Show-'d delicate 'a-te a. d judgment too. 
For, finding the poor man suffering greatly 
Fiom the awful stuff he has thrown op la;ely — 
So much so. indeed, 'n the alarm of all, 
As t-. br m on a tit of what d c or= call 
The A n'ip'pisticn- monomania 
(I 'in sorry »i h such a long word 'o detain ye), 
They 've acted the part of a kind physician, 

h~ir eifi to the patient's c ndi ion ; 
And as soon as *l is ready foi p esenl 
We s! all tubish the fac s for the grat ficion 
Of this highly-favour'd a. d Protesiaut nation. 



Meanwhile, 'o 'he grea' a'arm nf his ne 

He still con'inue- his Quarterly lal 

And • Hen has s'ro g N . P pery fits. 

Which frightet. h s old nurse uu' of her wi<s. 

Sometimes he screams. likeScruh in t. 

" Tl iries ! Jesuits poperi P nigh' an I dav ; 

Take, he Pr nn s Drv.l f r Doctor De -.3 

A'd shies a' him hea; is nf Hgh-c' urch pens ; « 

Which the Devil thim-eif a ouch) Disneuter) 

Feels all in hts hi le, like arrows, enter. 

"Stead f swall nvinj wholesome sii.ff from the 

drugget's, 
He will keep raving of " Irish Thuggists ;" * 
Tells us they all g > nm'derine, for fuo, 
From ri-e of morn 'ill ~et of sun. 
P p, pop, uj fast as a minute-gut. !* 
If askM, how comes it he gown and cassock are 
Safe and lat, 'mid this grneral massacre — 
Hon hai s it tint Pa' - 
But s > arms the m re for tins I: ucida on — 



INTENDED TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR OF 
AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST NUMBER OF 
THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, ENTITLED 
-ROMANISM IN IRELAND." 

It glids us much to be able to say, 

Thit 1 meeting is fix'd, for some early dar, 

i ' , 



t See Congreve»s Love for Love. 

3 Beaux S ra'agem. 

3 The writer of the artie'e has groped slv>ut. with 
nnic'i success, in wha' he -cesses of 

Dr. Dens' disquisitions." — Quarterly Reoieto. 

* '• Pny mav weasfc. has litre been aiy rebel'it>us 
movement of Paper) i Ireland si ce he | 

the riser c 1 lies, in which something of the kind 
visible among the i'resbucnan> of the 
N rhr-lbid 

* " I ord I/<nnn. for instance, wh<\ for clearing h s 
es'ate of a village of Irish I huggi-ts ■ tc. &c Ibid. 

8 " Ob-erve how murder after murder is committed 
like mo.u'eguiis." — Iuid. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



441 



He refers you, for m 11 such memoranda, 
To the " archives of Hie Propaganda ! 



This is all we've got, for (he present, (o say — 
But snail take up the subject some future day. 



GRAND DINNER OF TYPE AND CO. 

A POOR POET'S DREAM. 2 

A3 I sate in my study, lone and still, 
Thinking of Sergeant Talfourd's Bill, 
And the speech by Lawyer Sugdeu made 
In spirit congenial, for " the Trade,' 1 
Sudden I sunk to sleep, and, lo, 

Upon Fancy's reinless night-mare flitting, 
I f> unci myself, in a second or so, 
At the table of Messrs. Type and Co. 

With a goodly group of diners sitting ;- 
All in the printing and publishing line, 
Diest, 1 thought, extremely tine," 
And sipping, like lotds, their rosy wine; 
While I, in a slate near inani i D, 

With c at that hadn't much nap to spare 
(Having just gone into its second edi ion), 

Was the only wretch of an author ihere. 
Hut think, how greal wis my suipiise, 
When I saw, in casting iound my eves. 
That the dishes, se.it up by Type's she-cooks, 
Bore all, in appearance, the shape of books ; 
Large folios — God knows where they got 'em, 
In these small limes — at lop and bottom 
And quartos (such a- Ihe Press provides 
For no one lo read them) down Ihe sides. 
Then rlasli'd a horrible thought on my brain, 
And I said to myself, "'T is all mo plain, 
" Like those, well known in sch iol quotations, 
" Who a e up for dinner their own relalions, 
'• I see now, before me, smoking here, 
" The bodies and bm.es of my \ir. thren dear; 
'' Bright sons of the lyric and epic Mu-e, 
" Ail cui up in Ctille's, or hash'd in slews; 
"Theii works, a light through axes lo go, — 
" Themselves, eaten up by Type and Co. !' 

While thus 1 moralized, on they went, 

Finding the fare most excellent ; 

Ai d all so kindly, bioihei lo brother, 

Helping the lidlfils lo each other : 

" A slice of SouP ey lei me send you'' — 

•• This cut of Campbell I recommend you"— . 

"• And here, my friends, is a treat indeed, 

" The iiumoital Wordsworth fncassee'd !" 

Thus having, ihe cormorants, fed some lime, 
Upon joints of poetry — all of the prime — 
Wiih a'so (as Type in a « hi-per aven'd it) 



They rested awhile, to recruit their force, 
Then poune'd, like kites, on the second course, 
Which was singing-hirds merely— M>ore and others — 
Who all weal Ihe way of iheir larger brothers; 
And. num'rou* D iw though such songsters be, 
'T was really quite distress! g to see 
A whole dishful of Toms — Moore, Dibdin, Bayly, — 
Bolted by Type and Co. so gaily ! 

Nor was this the worst — I shudder to think 
What a -cene was disclos'd when they came to drink 
The warriors of Odin, as eve>y one knows, 
Used to diink out of skulls of slaughter'd foes: 



» " Might not the archives of the Propaganda pos 
•ibly supply ihe key?" 

" Written during the late agitation of the question 
of Copyright. 



And Type's old port, lo my honor I found 
Was in' skulls ot bards sent merrily round, 
sill as each weli-fill'd cranium came, 
A health was pledg'd to its owner's name ; 
While Type said s;iiy, midst general laughter, 
" We eat' them up hrsl, then drink to them alter." 

There was no standing this — incensed I broke 
From my bonds of sleep, and indignant woke, 
Exclaiming, " Uh shades of other times, 
" Whose voices slill sound, like dealiiless chimes 
" Could you e'er have lorelold a day would be, 

When a dreamer of dieams shouid live to see 
'' A party of sleek and honest John Bulls 
" Hobnobbing each i.ther in puets' skulls!" 



CHURCH EXTENSION. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING 
CHRONICLE. 

Sir — A well-known classical traveller, while em- 
ployed in exploring, some lime since, the supposed 
of the Temple ol Diana of Lphesus, was so fortu- 
nate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon 
a very ancient bark manuscript, which has turued 
ou', c'n examination, 10 be part of an old EpbesiaD 
newspaper ;— a new spaper published, as you will see, 
so fir hack as the lin.e when Demetrius, Ihe great 
Sliriue-Exteiider,^ nourished. 1 am, Sir, yours, &c. 

EPHESIAN GAZETTE. 

Second edition. 
Impor'ant event for the rich and religious 
Great Meeting of Silversmiths held in Queen 
Square ;- 
Church Extension, their object,— the' excitement 
prodigious ; — 
Demetrius, head man of the craft, takes the chair ! 

77iird edition. 

The Chairman still up, when our dev'l came away; 
Having prelac'd his speech with the usual state 
piayer, 
That the Three-headed Dian •» would kindly, this 
day, 
Take the Silversmiths' Company under her care. 

Being ask'd by some low, unestablish'd divines, 
"When your churches are up, where are flocks 
lo he got ?" 
He manfully answer'd, " Let UI build the shrines, & 
"And we care not if flocks are found for them or 
not." 

He then added— to show that the Silversmilhs' Guild 
Were above all confin'd and intolerant views — 

"Only pay through the nose to the altars we build, 
" You m y pray ihrough the nose to what altars you 
choose." 



3 "For a certain man named Demetrius, a silver, 
smilh, which mule shrines for Diana, brought no 
small gain unto Ihe craftsmen ; whom he called toge- 
ther with the workmen of like occupa ion, and said. 
Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth." 
— Acts, xix. 

* Tria Virginis ora Dianse. 

» The "shrines - ' are supposed to have been small 
churches, or chapels, adjoining lo the great temples; 

"aediculae, in quibus statuae reponebanlcr." — 



442 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



This tolerance, rare from a shrine-dealer's lip 
(Though a tolerance niix'd with due taste for the 



So much charm'd all the holders of 

Thai their shouls of " Hear 1" 

echoing still. 



icriptural scrip, 
1 Hear 1" are re- 



Fourth edition. 
Great stir in the Shrine Market ! altars to Phoebus 
going dog cheap — may be had for a rebus. 
an's, as usual, outsell all the rest ; — 
Venus's also are much in request. 



LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYMPUS. 

As news from Olympus has grown rather rare, 
Since bards, in iheir cruises, have ceas'd to touch 

I here, 
We extract for our readers the' intelligence given, 
In our la'est accounts from that ci-dtuanl Heaven — 
That realm of :he By-gooes, where -till si', in state, 
Old god heads and nod-heads, now long out of date. 



Jove himself, it appea's, since his lore-days are o'er, 

Seems io rind imnior aliiy raider a bore; 

Though he sull asks for news of earth's capers and 

crimes, 
And read- daily his old fellow-Thund'rer, the Times. 
He and Vulcan, it seems, by their wives still heu- 

p.ck'd are, 
And kept on a stinted allowance of nectar. 

Old Phccbus, poor lad, has given up inspiration, 
And pack'd oil to earth On a pi/J'-specula'iMn. 
The fact is, he found his old shrines had grown dim, 
Since har.ls look'd i" Bent ley 'lid Colburu, not hiin. 
So, he sold off his stud of ambrosia-fed nags. 
Came incog, down to earth, and now wri es for the 

Mags ; 
Taking cale that his work not a gleam ha'h to linger 

in 't, 
From v< hich men ould guess that the god had a 

linger in 't. 

There are other small facts, well deserving attentiou, 
Of which our Olympic despatches make mention. 
Poor B cchu- is s ill vm ill, they allege, 
Having nrver recovered the Temper • nee Pledge. 
'• What, the Irish :'' be cried—" those I look'd lo the 

most ! 
■" If they give up the spirit, I give up the ghost:" 
While M inu-, who usM of tl e g ida o make fun, 
Is turi/d Socialist now, and declares there are none ! 



But these changes, though curious, are all a mere 

farce 
Compared to the new 'casus belli" of Mars, 
Who, f r years, has been suffering the horrors of 

quiet, 
Uucheer d by one glimmer of bloodshed or riot! 
In vain from the clouds bis belligerent b'ow 
Did he pop forth, in hopes that somewhere or some- 
how, 
Like Pat at a fair, he might " coax up a row i» 
But the joke wouldn't lake — the whole world had 

goi wi>w; 
Men like I n»t to tike a Great Gun for adviser; 
And. s'ill less, to march in fine clothes to be shot, 
Without very well knowing for whom or lor what. 
The French" whe of slaughter had had Iheir full 

s»i.g, 
Were content with a shot, now and then, at their 

King ; 
While, in E gland, good fighting - s a pastime so hard 

to gain, 
Nobody "s left to fight with, but Lord C— rd— g— n. 



'T is needless to say, then, how monstrously happy 
Old Mars has been made by what s now on the tapis; 
How much it delights him to see the French rally, 
In Liberty's name, around Mehemet Ali; 
Well knowing that Satan himself could not find 
A confection of mischief much more to his mind 
Than the old Bonnet Rouge and the Bashaw com- 

bin'd. 
Right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were 

attackers, 
Whatever their cause, that they didn't find backers; 
While any slight care for Humanity's woes 
May be soothed by that "'An Diplomatique," which 

shows 
How to come, in the most approv'd method, to blows. 

This is all, for to-day— whether Mars is much veit 
At bis fneud Thiers'* exit, we '11 know by our next 



THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE. 

Our earth, as it rolls through the regions of space, 
Wears always two faces, the dark and the suuny ; 

And poor human life runs the same sort of race, 
Being sad, on one side — on the other side, funny. 

Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket hie, 

To weep o'er the woes of Macready ; — but scarce 

Hath the tear-drr>p of 1 ragedi p.ss'd from the eve. 
When, lo, we 're all laughing iu fits at the Farce. 

And still let us laugh— preach the world as it may— 
Where the cream of the joke is, the swarm will 
soon follow ; 

Heroics are very grand things, in Iheir way. 
But the laugh at the long run will carry it hollow. 

For instance, what sermon on human affairs 
Could equal the scene that took place t'other day 

Twixl Koineoaiid Louis Philippe, on the stairs — 
The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting half-way < 

Ye*. J'cus ! gay grd, whom the Gentiles supplied, 
And whose worship not ev'n among Christians de- 
clines, 

In our senate thou 'st languUh'd since Sheridan died, 
But Sydney still keeps thee alive in our shrines. 

Rare Sydney ! thrice honoured the stall where be 

sits, 
I And be his ev'ry honour he deigneth to climb at ! 
Had England a hierarchy InnnVJ all of wits, 

Who but Sidney would England proclaim as its 
pnoiite? 

And long may he flourish, frank, merry, and brave — 

A H race to hear, and a Paschal to r'eid ; i 
While he lauglu, all is safe, bu', w hen byduey grows 
g ave, 
j We si. all then think the Church is in danger in- 



Mean while, it much glads us to find he*s preparing 
To teach other bisli'ps to - seek the i ight way .'" 3 

And means shortly to ire.it the whole Bench lo an 
airi e. 
Just such as he gave to Charles James t'other day. 



1 Some parts of the Provijtciales may Be said to be 
of the highest oider of jtux d 

2 " This stroll in 'he melrop lis s extremely well 
contrived for year Lordship's sjeech; butjoppose, my 
dear Lord, that n.ste.J ot g i> g E and N F.' 

turned about.' &c &c. — Sydney Smith's LaU Letter 
to the Bishop of London. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



443 



For our par's, though gravity's gond f r the soul, 
Such a fancy have we f r the side that there's 
fun on, 
We M rather wi h Sydney souih-wes' Like a "stroll," 
Than a.ach it in rth-east with his Lordship of 
Lunnuii. 



HOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS 
AND OTHER MATTERS. 

IN AN EPISTLE FROM T. M. TO S. R. 

What, thou, my friend ! a man of rhymes, 

And, bet'er s ill, a man of guinea*, 
To talk (if "patrons." in these limes. 

When author- thrive like spinning-jennies, 
And Arkwright's twist and Bulwer's page 
Alike may laugh at pationage ! 

No, no — tho^e times are past away, 

Whm, doom'd in upper flonis to s'ar it, 
The baid in-crib'd to lords his lav,— 

Himself, the while, my L"rd Mountgarret. 
No more he begs iviih air depend' lit, 
His "lit'le bark may sa I attendant'' 

Under some lordly skipper's steerage; 
Pit launch'd triumphant in II. e Row, 
Or ta'en by Murray's sell in tow, 

Cut» b nil Star Chamber and the ] 



Patrons indetd ! when scarce a sail 
Is wln-k'd from England by the gale, 
But bears on boa d some authors, shipp'd 
For foreign shores, nil well equipp'd 
With propei b ok-making machinery, 
To sketch the morals manners scenery, 
Of all such lands as Ihey sha I see, 
Or >iof see, as the caBe may be : — 
l! being enjoin 'd on a I « ho jo 
To s udy fi.sl Miss m#*****##, 
And learn from her the method true, 
To do one's books — and readers, too. 
For so this nymph of nous and nerve 
Teaches mankind "How lo Observe;" 
And, lest mankind at ill should swerve, 
Teaches ihem also " What to Observe." 

N", no, my friend — it can't be blink'd — 
The Patron is a race extinc: ; 
As dead as any Meii herion 
'Thai ever Rockland built a theory on. 
Instead of bartering, in this age. 
Our praise for pence and pa muage, 
We. nil hor-, now. more prosperous elves, 
Have harn'd lo | atroni e ourselves; 
And since all-p tern Puffing's made 
The life of s"ng ihe soul of tmde, 
More f i - sal of our praises grown, 
We puff no merits but our own. 

Unlike Ihnse feeble gales of praise 

Which cii ics blew in foimerdays, 

Our modern puffs are of a kind 

That truly, real y raise the wind; 

And since they 've fairly set in blowing, 

We find them the be t trade-winds going. 

'Stead of Irequ n hit; paths so slippy 

As her old haunts near Aganippe, 

The Muse, now, lakii g to the till, 

Has open'd shop on Ludgate Hill 

(Far handier than Ihe H.ll of Pindus, 

As seen fnm haul's back aitic windows) ; 

And swallowing there without ces-a'ion 

Lirze dnuzhts (at sight i of inspiration, 

Touches the notes for each new theme, 

While still fresh " change comes o'er her dream. 

What Steam is on the deep — and more — 

If the vast power of Puff on shore; 



Which jumps to glory's future tenses 
Before the preseni ev'n commences ; 
And makes "immortal'' and "divine" of US 
Befoic the world has read one line of us. 

In old times, when the God of Song 
Drove his own two-horse team along, 
Carryinz inside a bard or two, 
Book'd for posterity "all through ;" — 
Their luggaze, a lew cl se-pack'd rhymes, 
(Like yours, mv friend ) for after-times — 
So slow the pull to Fame's ab de, 
That folks oft slept upon the road ;— 
And Homei's self, sometimes, ihey say, 
Took to his nighicap on the way.l 

Ye Gods ! how different is the story 
With our new gi Hoping sons of glory, 
Who, scorning all such slack and slow lime, 
Da h to posterity in no nme! 
Raise but one general blast of Puff 
To start your author — lh •! 's enough. 
In vain Ihe critics, set to watch him, 
Try at the startinz-pnsi lo calch him: 
He 's off— Ihe puffers cany it hollow — 
The ci'ics, if Ihey please, may follow. 
Ere they 've laid down then first positions, 
He's fairly blown through six editions 
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense 
Her blue and yellow pes ilence 
(That plague so awlul in my time 
To young and touchy sons of rhyme)— 
The Quarterly, at 'hree months' dale, 
To a ch the' Unread One, comes too late; 
And nonsense, liiter'd in a hurry, 
Becomes "immoral,'' spite of Murray. 

But, bless me ! — while I thus keep fooling 
1 hear a voice cry, " Dinner's cooling." 
That pos'man, too, (who, truth to tell, 
'Mong men of tellers bears the bell,) 
Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally 
That 1 must stop — 

Yours sempilemally. 



THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF 

BY LORD ST— NL-Y. 

(HIS FIRST ATTEMPT IN VERSE.) 

" Evil, be thou my good." — Milton. 

How various are (he inspirations 

Of different men, in different nations! 

As genius prompts to good or evil, 

Some call ihe Muse, some raise the devil. 

Old Socrates, that pink of sages, 

Kept a pet demon, on board wages, 

To go ab nit with him incog., 

And sometimes g'ne his wis a jog. 

So L — ud— st, in our day, we know, 

Keeps fresh relays of imps below, 

To forward, trom that nameless spot, 

His inspirations, hot and hot. 

But, neat as are old L— nd— st's d ings — 

Byond ev"n Hecate's ' hell-broth'' brewings— 

Had I, Lord Stanley; but my will, 

I >d show inn mischief prettier still ; 

Mischief, combining b 'yhood's tricks 

With age's souresi politics; 

Ihe uici.in's tteaks, Ihe '/et'ran's gall, 

Both duly niijt'd. and m? tchless all; 

A compound nouzhl ill ilistnry reaches 

But Machiavel, when first in breeches! 



Quandoque benus dormitat Homerus. — Horat, 



444 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Yes, Mischief, Goddess multiform, 

Whene'er thou, ivilch-lifce, rids'l the storm 

Le' Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee — 

No livelier lackey could they find thee. 

And. Goddess, as 1 'in well aware, 

So mischief's dmie, >ou caie not where, 

I own, 'I will mo*t my fancy tickle 

In Faddyland to play "the fickle; 

Having got credit for invennng 

A new, brisk method of tormenting - 

A way, they call the S auley fashion, 

Which puts all Leland in a passion; 

So neat it hits the mixture due 

Of injury and insult too J 

So legibly it bears upmi'i 

The stamp of Stanley's brazen front 

Ireland, we're told, means land of Ire, 
And why she 's so, none need inquire, 
Who see* her millions, Hurtial, manly, 
Spat upon llrus by me, Lord St— nl— y. 
Already in the breeze I scent 
The whir}' of coming devilment ; 
Of strile, 10 me more s irring far 
Than ihe' Opium or the Sulphur war, 
Or any such drug ferments are. 
Yes — sweeter 10 this lory soul 
Than all such pests, from pole to pole, 
Is the rich, "swehei'd venom" got 
By stirring Ireland's " charmed pot ;'♦ » 
And, hanks to pr.ctice i n hat laud, 
1 stir it with a master-hand. 

Again th >u 'It see, when forth hath gone 
'J he H'a -Church-cry, "On, Stanley, on !" 
How C<rav*ts and Shan . I 
Shall sua m Ir nil out thfii mountain nests, 
Willi all their merry moon light bro hers, 
To whom the Church (*(tn-dame to others) 
Hatti been Ihe best of nursing mothers. 
Again o'er Erin's rich domain 
Shall Rock lies and right reverends reign; 
And both, exempt from vulgar iBil, 
Between them sh.re that tiliieful soil; 
Puzzling ambition which to climb at, 
The post of Captain, or of Primate. 

And so, long life to Church and Co. — 
Hurrah for mischief! — here we go. 



EPISTLE FROM CAPTAIN ROCK TO 
LORD L— NDH— T. 

Dear L — ndh— t, — you 'II pardon my making thus 

free,— 
But form is all fudge 'twixt such "comrogue*" as we. 
Who, whale'er the smooth views we, in public, may 

drive at. 
Have both the same praiseworthy object, in private— 
Namely, never to let the o d regions of riot. 
Where' Rock hath long reign'd, have one in-taut of 

quiet, 
But keep Ireland still in thai liquid we've taught her 
To love moie than meat, drink, or cloihing — hot 

water. 

All the difference betwixt you and me, as I take it, 
Is sin\pl\, that you make ihe law and / break it; 
And never, of !ng-v\ igs and smalt, were there two 
Play'd so well into each Cher's ha' ds a, we d > ; 
Insomuch, that ihe laws you and y<> rs main.fac ure, 
Seem all mate expie-s for the kock-boys to fr c'ure 
Not Birmingham'* seif — to her shame "be it spoken— 
E'er made things mo.e neatly coniriv'd to be brukeu; 



And hence, I confers, in this Hand religious, 
The breakage of laws— and of heads is prodigious. 

And long may it thrive, my Ex-Bigwig, say I,— 
Though, of late, much I fea'r'd all our fun was gone bp; 
As, except when some tilhe-huDtuig parson shovi'd 

sport. 
Some rec'or — a cool hand at pistols and port, 
Who '• keens dry" his powder, but never himself — 
One who, leaving his Bible to rust on the shelf. 
Sends his pi us texts home, in Ihe shape of ball-car- 
tridges, 
Shioling his "dearly beloved," like partridges; — 
Except when some hero of this S'Tt turu'd out, 
Or, the' Exchequer sent, flaming, its tithe-writs 2 

about — 
A contrivnee more neat, I may say, without flattery, 
Than e'er yet was thought of for bloodshed and bat- 

te-y ; 
So neat, thai even /might be proud, I allow, 
To have bit olf so rich a receipt for a row; — 
Except for si.ch tigs turning up, now and then, 
I »as actually grow ing the dullest of men ; 
And, had this blank hi been allow'd to increase, 
Mght h ive simr'd myself down to a Justice of Peace. 
Like you. Reformation in Church and in Sale 
I- Ihe thing of a^ Tilings I m s cord ally hale. 
If once these cuts' Ministers do as the\ like, 
All 's o'er, my good Lo.d, with your « ig at.d my pike, 
And i ne m •%■ be hung up on t'o her. hencefor'h, 
Just to show «hat such Capains and Chauc'llors 
were worth. 

Bui we must not despair — ev'n already Hope see* 
V u 're a 1 <>u'. my b Id Raron, to kick up a breeze 
Of the true baffling *ort, such as suils me and you, 
Who have box'd the who e compass of party right 

ihr ugh. 
And care not one farthing, as all the uo'ld knows. 
So we but rai-e the wind from «hat quarier it blows. 
F rgivc me. clear Lord, hat thus rudely I dare 
My Own small resources with thine to compare: 
N'l ev'n Jerry Didler, in ■' raising the wind,'' dnrst 
Compe e, for one instant, with thee, my dear L — ud- 

h — t. 

But, hark, there's a shot: — some parsonic practi- 
tioner? 
No — merely a bran-new Rebellion Commissi -ner ; 
The Court- hav rig now, "i b true law erudition, 
Put even Ri-b^llion itself '• in commission." 
As -eldom, in this » ay, I'm ant man's debtor, 
1 'II just vay tuy shot, and then fo d up this letter. 
In the mean time, hurrtfi for the 1 1 ries and Hocks ! 
Hurrah for Ihe parsons who fleece wel! heir fl cks ! 
Hurrah for all mi chief in all ra ks 
And, above all, hurrah for thai dear House of Peers < 



CAPTAIN ROCK IN LONDON. 

LETTER FROM THE CAPTAIN" TO TERRY 
ALT, ESQ.* 

Here I am. at head-quarters, dear Terry, once more, 
Deep in Tory de-ig s, as I 've ofi been before : — 
For, bless them! if 'I wasn't far this wrvng-headed 

crew, 
You and I. Terry Al\ would sc rce know what to do ; 
So ready they're always, when dull we are i 
To set ou' old concert f di-co'd a-.: 
While L-nih-ts he Id » i'h his t orr-Whig face. 
To play, in -uch concert, the rue ch>uble-b«se. 
I hal fe»r'd this old pop f n y rea in was begnning 
To :ire of his c U'se of potit cal s: 



» "Sweller'd venom, sleeping got, 
Boil thou first i' the charmed pnt. r 



a Exchequer tithe pmce^-e-, served under a ion- 
mission of rebellion.— Chronicle. 

3 The subordinate officer or lieutenant of Captain 
Rock. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



445 



And, like Mo her Cole, when her heyday vfj< past, 
Mean 1 , by way of :i change, lo Irj virtue, at last. 
Hut i nroog'd 'he oil loy. w ho as staunchly derides 
All reform in himself as in in st things besides; 
And, by u-ing two faces thiough life, all allow, 
H..s acquir'd face sufficient for any thing now. 

In short, he 's all right ; and. if mankind's old foe, 
My -'Lord Harry" himself — who's the leader, we 

know, 
Of another red-hot Opposition, below — 
If that •' Lord," in his well-known discernment, but 

spares 
Me and I.— ndh-t, to look after Ireland's affairs, 
We sha I s on such a region of devilment make it, 
That Old >ick himself lor his own may mistake it. 

Ev'n already — long life to such Big-wigs, say I, 
For, as lo g as ihey flourish, we R cks cannot die — 
He has serv'd our right riotou- cause by a >peech 
Whose pei fee ion of mischief lie only could reach ; 
As il show's off both his and my men s alike. 
Both the swell of the wig, and he point of the pike j 
Mixes up, wi'h a skill which one can't but admire, 
The lawyer's cool craft with he' incendiary's fire, 



And enlis's, in ihe graves', most plausible manner, 
Seven millions of souls under Rockery's banner! 
Oh Terry, my nun. let this speech never die ; 
Through the regions of R. cklaud, like rlaine, et it 

"fly ; 
Let each syllable dark ihe Law-Orcle ntter'd 
By all Tipperary's wild echoes be mut'ei'd, 
Till nought shall be heard, over hill, dale, or flood, 
But •' Yuu 're aliens m language, t?» creed, and in 

blood f» 
While voices, from sweet C'nnnemara afar, 
Shall answer, like true Irish echoes, '• We are!" 
And, though false be ihe cr\, and though sense must 

abhor it, 
Still the' eclves may quote Law aulhori'y for it, 
And nought L— ndh — t ores for my spread of do- 
minion, 
So he, in ihe end, touches cash " for the' opinion." 

But I 've no time f r more, my deir Terry, just now, 
Being busy in helping these Lords through their roto. 
They're bad hands at mob-work, but, once they 

begin. 
They 'II have plenty of practice to break them well 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND; 

BEING A SEQUEL TO THE "FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS/ 



PRE FAC E. 

The name of ihe coun'ry town, in England — a 
well-known fashionable watering-place — in which 
the events that gave rise 'o Ihe follow ing correspon- 
dence occurred, is. for obvious reasons, suppressed. 
'Ihe interest attached, however, 10 the fac's and per- 
son iges of the story, renders it independent of all 
lime and place; anil when it is recollected that Ihe 
whole train of romantic circumstances so fully un- 
folded in hese Leilers has passed during ihe short 
period which has now elapsed sir.ee the great Meet- 
ings in Exeter Hall, due credit will, il is hoped, be 
allowed t i he Editor for the rapidity with which he 
has brought the de ails before the Pi.blic; while, at 
the same time any errors that may hive been the 
resji' of such hasle will, he trusls, with equal con- 
sideration, be pardoned. 



LETTER I. 

FROM PATRICK MaGaN, ESQ., TO THE 

REV. RICHARD , CURATE OF , 

IN IRELAND. 

Who d'ye think we've got here? — quite reformed 
from the giddy, 

Fani. stic young thing, that once made such a 
noise — 
Why, trie famous Miss Fudge— Iha' delectable Biddy, 

Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys, 
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs — 

Such a thing as no rainbow hath c dours to paint ; 
Ere time had reduced her to wrinkles and prayers, 

And the Flin found a decent retreat in the Saint. 
Poor " Pa" 1 hath popp'd off— gone, as charity judges, 
To some choice Elysium reserv'd for the Fudges ; 
And Miss, with a fortune, besides expectations 
From some much revered and much-palsied relations, | 



Now wants but a husband, with requisites meet,— 
Age thirty, or thereabouts — stature six feet, 
And warranted godly— lo make all complete. 
Nota bene — a Chmchmin would suit, if he 's high, 
But Socinians or Catholics need not apply. 

What say vou, Dick? doesn't this tempt your ambi- 
tion > 
The » hole wealth of Fudge, that reno« n'd man 
of pith, 

All brought to the hammer, for Church competi- 

Sole encumbrance, Miss Fudee lo be taken there- 
with. 

Think, my boy. for a Curate how glorious a calch ! 

While, instead of the ihousands of souls you how 
uatch, 

To save Biddy Fudge's is all you need do; 

And her purse will, meauwhile, be Ihe saving of you. 

You may ask, Dick, how comes it thai I, a poor elf. 
Warning substance ev'n more than \our spiritual self, 
Should thus generously lay my own claims on the 

shelf. 
When, God knows ! there ne'er was young gentleman 

yet 
So much lack'd an old spinster to rid him from debt, 
0' had cogenter reasons 'ban mine to a-sail her 
With tender love-suit — at Ihe suit of his laiior. 



But thereby there hangs a soft secret, my friend. 
Which thus to your reverend breast I commend : 
Miss Fudie hath a niece — such a creature! — with 

eyes 
Like those sparklers that peep oul from summer- 
night skies 
At astronomers-roval, and laugh with delight 
To see elderly gentlemen spying all night." 
While her 'figure — oh, bring all the gracefullest 

things 
That are borne through the light air by feet or by 
wings, 



38 



446 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND 



Not a single new grace 'o that fo r m could they teach, 
Which c.mbines in itself the perfection of e.ich ; 
While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feel fall, 
The mule music of symmetry modulates all. 

Ne'er, in short, was there creature more form'd to 
bewilder 

A Kay youth, like me, who of castles aerial 
(And only ot such) am, God help me! a builder; 

Still peopling eich mansion wiih lodgers ethereal, 
And now, to this nymph of the st-raph-l ke eye, 
Letting out, as you see, my first floor next ihe sky.l 

But, alas! nothing's perfect on earth — even she 

This divine li tie gipsy, do<s i.dd things sometimes ; 
Talks learning — looks wi-e (rather painful 10 see), 
Fiin s already in two Count) | ,ai,er 5 her rhymes ; 
And r.ves — the sweet, charming.' absuid little dear! 
About Amulets, Bijous, aid Keepsakes, next ye<r, 
In a manner which plainly bad symptoms portends 
Of that Annual blue fit, so distresses to fuends; 
A fit which, though lasting but one short edition, 
Leaves the patient long after in sad inanition. 

However, lei 's hope for the best — and, meanwhile, 
Be it mine still to bask in ihe niece s wami smile ; 
While you, if you 're wise, Dick, will play the gallant 
(Uphill wo k, I confess,) to her Saint of an Aunt. 
Think, my boy. for a youngster like you, who've a 
lack, 
A'ot indeed of rupees, but of all other specie, 
What luck thus to find a kind witch a' your bick, 
An old go i-e with g Id eggs, fioin all debts to re- 
lease ye ! 
Never mind, tho' the spinster be reverend and thin, 
What are all Ihe Three Graces to her Three per 
Cents? 
While her acres ! — oh Dirk, it don't matter one pin 
How she touches the' affections, so you touch the 
rents ; 
And Love never looks half so pleas'd as when, bless 

him, he 
Sings to an old lady's purse "Open, Sesame." 

By the way, 1 've just heard, in my walks, a report, 
Which, if true, will insure for your visit some sport. 
'T is rumour'd our Manager means to bespeak 
The Church tumblers from Exeter Hall for next 

week; 
And cer ainly ne'er did a queerer or rummer set 
Throw, for the' amusement of Christians, a summer- 
set. 
•T is fear'd their chief "Merriman," C— ke, cannot 

come, 
Being call'd off, at present, to play Punch at home;? 
And ihe loss of so practis'd a wag in divinity 
Will grieve much all lovers of Jokes on ihe Trinity ; — 
His pun on the name Dnigenitus. lately 
Having pleas'd Robert Taylor, the Reverend, greatly.a 

'Twill prove ■ sad drawback, if absent he be, 

Asa wag Presbyterian 's a thing quite t ■> see; 

Aud, 'ninng the Five Points of the Calvmisls, none 

of Vm 
Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 'em. 



» That floor which a facetious garreteer called " le 
premier en de-cend nt du cicl " 

« See the Dublin Evrnii.g Post, of the 9th of this 
month (July) for an account of a scene which lately 
took place at a meeting of the Synod of Uls'er, in 
which the performance nf the above-mentioned part 
by the personage in question appears to have been 
worthy of all his former repu'ainu in thai line. 

s " All are pun-ters if they have wit to be so ; and 
therefore when an Irishman has to commence with a 
Bull, you will naturally pronounce it a bull. (A 
laugh ) Allow me to bring bef >re y u ihe famous 
Bull that is called Unigeiii'us, referring to the only 
bego'len Son nf God.' - — Rtynrt of the Reo. Doctoft 
Speicti June 20 in the Record ffewtf 



But ev'n though depriv'd of this comical elf. 
We've a host of l/ujfvni in Mur'agh him-elf, 
Who of all the whole troop is chief mummer and 

mime, 
As C— ke takes the Ground Tumbling, he the Sub- 
lime ; * 
And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, come in 
time. 



LETTER II. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. ELIZA- 
BETH . 

Just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy, 
With godly concernments — and woildly ones, too; 
Thii gs catnal and s^iriual mix'd, my dear Liz7y, 
In this little brain, lilt bewildei'd and dizy, 
'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce kuow what 
I do. 

First, I 've been to see all Ihe gay fashions from Town, 
Which our favourite Miss Gimp fur the spring has 

had down. 
S'eeves still worn (which /think is wise), a la folle, 
Charming has, pvu de ioie — ibough the shape rather 

droll. 
But you cant think how nicely the caps of tulle lace, 
Wi h the nuntoMiitris. look on his |**r si:.ful face; 
And I mean, if he Lo d in his metcy thinks right, 
To we r one at M s. Fitz-n igraoil li 
The silks aie quile hea-.'nly : — I'm glad, tr, 
Gimp herself gr .ws more godly and good every day* ; 
Ha h had sweet experience — yea, ev'u doth begiu 
To turn from he Gen'iles. and put away sin — 
And all slice her last stock of goads waa laid in. 
What a ble-sing ones milliner, careless of ptlf, 
Shou.d thus ■' walk in newness'' as well as one's self! 

So much for the blessings, the comforts of Spiiil 
I've had since we met, and they're more than I 

merit '.— 
Poor, sinful, weak creature in every respect, 
Though ordaiu'd (God knows why) to be one of the" 

Elect. 
Bui n w for the pic'ure's reverse. — Tou remember 
Thai footman and co k-maid I hired las' December; 
Hi. a haj t st Paricular — the of some sect 
Not particular, I fane., in any rev 
But desirou«, poor thins, to be fed » itfi the Word, 
Aud " to wait," as she said, '' on Miss Fudge and the 

Lord." 

Well, mv dear, of all men. that Particular Baptist 
At preaching a sermon, offhand, was the ai • 
And, lone as he staid, do him justice, moie rich in 
Sweet savour- of d clrine. thee never «as kitchen. 
He pteach'd in the parlour, he peach'd in the hall. 
He preach'd to the chambe' maids, scullions, and alt 

All heard »ith deligh' his reproving* o| sin. 
But above all, Ihe CMok-maid ;— oh, ne'er would she 

tire — 
Though in leamir.e to save sinful souls from the fire, 

She" would oft let the sole* she was fryi. e fill in. 
(God forgive me for punning on points thus of 

piety '. — 
A sad trick I 've learn'd in Bob's heathen society.) 
But ah I there remains still the worst of my tale ; 
Come, Ast'risks, and help me Ihe sad truth to veil — 
Conscious -tars, that at ev'n your own secret torn 
pale! 



In short, dear, this preaching aid p aim-singing pair, 
Chosen " vessels of mercy," as / thought tbey were, 



« In the language of Ihe play-bills, 
Lofty Tumbling," 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



447 



Have together this last week ehped ; making bold 
To whip oil' as much goods as boih ve sels could hold — 
Not forgetting some scores of sweet Tracts from my 

shelves, 
Two Family Bibles as large as themselves, 
And besides, from the drawer — 1 neglecting to lock 

it — 
My ne.it "Morning Manna, done up for the pocket." > 
Was Ihere e'er known a case so distressing, dear Liz? 
It has made me quite ill : — and ihe worst of it is, 
When togues are all pious, : t is hard to delect 
Which rogues are the reprobale, which ihe elect. 
Ti.is man " had a call,'' he said— impudent mockery ! 
What call had he to my linen and ciockery ? 

I 'm now, and have been for this week past, in chase 
Of some godly young couple this pair 10 replace. 
The enclos'd two announcements have just met my 

eyes, 
In that ven'rable Monthly where Saints advertise 
For such tempoial comforts as i his world supplies; 3 
And the fruits of the Spirit are properly made 
An essential in every craft, calling, and trade. 
Where ihe' attorney requires for his 'prentice some 

youth 
Who has '• learn 'd to fear God and to walk in the 

truth;" 
Where the sempstress, in search of employment, de- 
clares, 
That pay is no object, so she can have prayers; 
An J the' Est 'blish'd Wiue Company proudly givesout 
That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, are devout. 

Hippy London, one feels, as one reads o'er the pages, 
Where Saints are so much more abundant than sages ; 
Where prisons may soou be all laid on the shelf, 
As eich Cit can cite chapter and verse for himself, 
And the serious frequen'ers of market and dock 
All lay in religion as part of their stock.* 



Who can tell to what lengths we may go on improv. 

i"S. 
When ihus thro' all London the Spir:* keeps moving, 
And heaven 's so in vogue, liiat each shop adver/ue- 

ment 
Is now not so much for the earth as the skies meant ? 

P.S. 
Have mislaid the two paragraphs— can't stop to look, 
But both describe charming — both Foctman and 

Cook. 
She, "decidedly pious" — with pathos deplores 
The' increase of French cook ry, and sin, on jur 

shores ; 
And adds— (while for further accounts she refer* 
To a great Gospel preacher, a cou-in of hers,) 
That "though fonts make their Sabbaihs mere mat- 

ter-of-fun days, 
She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on Sundays." 
The footman, too, full of the true saving know ledge ;— 
Has late been to Cambridge — to Trinity College; 
Serv'd las a young gentleman, studying divinity, 
But left — not approving the morals of Trinity. 

P.S. 
I enclose, too, according to prom'se, some scraps 
Of my Journal — that Day-book I keep of my 
heart ; 
Where, al some little items, (partaking, perhaps, 
More of earth than of heaven,) Ihy p.-ud'ry may 

start, 
And suspect something tender, slv girl -as thou art. 
For the pre-ent, I 'm mute— but, whaVer mav befall, 
Recollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4.) St. Paul 
Hath himself declar'd, "marriage is houourable in 
all." 



i " Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, neatly 
done up for the pocket," and chiefly intended to assist 
the members of the British Ver=e Association, whose 
design is, we are told, "to induce the inhabitants of 
Great Britain and Ireland to commit one and the 
same verse of Scripture to memory every morning. 
Already, it is known, several thousand persons in 
Scotland, besides tens of thousands in America and 
Afnca, are every morning learning the same verse." 
1 The Evangelical Magazine. — A few specimens 
taken at random from Ihe wrapper of this highly 
esteemed periodical will fully jusiify the character 
which Miss Fudge has here given of it. " Wanted, 
in a pious pawnbroker's family, an acive lad as an 
apprentice." " Wanted, as housemaid, a young female 
who has been broughi to a saving knowledge of Ihe 
truth." " Wanted immediately, a man of decided 
piety, to assist in the baking b siness." "A gentle 
man who understands the Wine Trade is desirous of 
entering into partnership. &c. &c. He is not desi 
of being connected with any one whose system of 
business is not of Ihe stride t integrity as in the sight 
of God, and seeks connection only with a truly pious 
man, either Churchman nr Dissenter.'' 

3 According to the late Mr. Irving, there is even a 
peculiar form of theology got up exp essly for " 
money-market. "1 know how far wide," he says, 
" of Ihe mark my views of Christ's work in the flesh 
will be viewed by those who are working with the 
stock-jobbing theology of the religious world." " Let 
these preacher-," he adds, "(for 1 will not call them 
theologians), cry up, broker-like, their article. 
Morning Watch.— No. iii. 442, 443. 

From the statement of another writer, in the same 
publication, it would appear that the stockbrokers 
have even set u;> a new Divinity of their own. ■•'I his 
shows," savs t he wriler in question, "that the doc- 
trine of the union between Christ a> d his members is 
quite as essential as that of substitution, by taking 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DUST. 

Monday. 
Tried a new chale gown on — pretty. 
No one to see me in it — pity ! 
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid ;— 
The Lord forgive me ! — she look'd dismav'd ; 
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, 
While she curl'd my hair, which made me calm. 
Nothing so soothes a Christian heart 
As sacred music — heavenly art ! 

Tuesday. 
At two, a visit from Mr. Magan — 
A remarkably handsome, nice young man; 
And, all Hibernian though he be, 
As civilis'd, slrange to say, as we! 

I own this young man's spiritual state 
Hath much engross'd my thoughts of late ; 
And I mean, as soon as my niece is gone, 
To have sometilk with him thereupon. 
At present, I nought can do or say, 
But that troublesome child is in the way: 
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he 

Would also her absence much prefer, 
As oft, while listening intent to me, 

He's fore'd, from politeness, to look at her. 

Heigho ! — what a blessing should Mr. Magan 
Turn out, after all, a " renewed" young man ; 
And to me should fall the lask, on earth, 
To assist at the dear youth's second birth. 
Blest thought ! and, ah, more blest the tie, 
Were it heaven's high will that he and I — 



which latter alone the Stock-Exchange Divinity his 
been produced."— No. x. p. 375. 

Among Ihe ancients, we know the money-market 
was provided with more than one presiding Deity — 
'■ I)iae Pecuniae (says an ancient author) comnienda- 
ban'ur ill pecuni' si essent." 



448 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



Bui I blush to write the nuptial woid 
Should wed, as St. Faul says, '■ ic ilie 
Wot tins world s wedlock — gross, gal 
Bui pure — as when Auirani mairied 



aunt. 



Our ages diifer — but who would count 

Cue's lialmal sn.ful life's amou. I, 

Or look in 1 lie Kesris er's vulgar page 

For a regular in ice-born Christian's age, 

Who, bles-ed privilege ! only hen 

Begins to live when lie's born again. 

And, c wiling in tlin way — let me see — 

1 my ell but bye \ears old shall be, 

And de.r Wagan, »heu Hie' event takes place, 

An ac u .1 new-born child of giace — 

Should Heav'n in uiercv so dispose — 

A six-foot baby, iu swaddling clothes. 

Wednesday. 
Finding rovself, bv some good fate, 
With Mr. Magan left (tte a-tetr, 
H <d just begun — having slirrd the fire, 
And dra«n iny chair ne,ir his — to inquire 
Wht Ins notions were of Uriginal Sin 
When ilia- i auili y fanny a;aiu boune'd in, 
Ami all the s»eel things 1 hal got to say 
Of the Flesh and ihe Devil we:e wbisk'd away ! 

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magaa 
Is actually pleased and amused wi'h Fan! 
What charms any sensible man can see 
In a child so lo .lishly >ouug as she — 
But ju-t eigh een, come i ell May-day, 
With eyes, like herself, full of nought but play- 
Is, 1 own, au exceeding puzzle to me. 



LETTER III. 

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COU- 
SIN, MISS KITTY . 

STANZAS (ENCLOSED) TO MY SHADOW; OR, 
WHV?-WHAT?-HOW? 

Dark comrade of my path ! while earth and sky 
Thus wed Iheir charms in bridal light array'd, 

Why in this bright hour, «alk'st >hnu ever n gh. 
Blackening my f mtsleps wi-h thy iengih of shade- 
Dai k comrade, Why? 

Thou mimic Shape thai, mid these fi iwery scenes, 
Glides! beside me oei each sunny spot, 

Sadd'uing Ihcm .s ihou goesi — say. what means 
So dark an adjunc hi so i.neht a lot — 
Grim g>blin, Wb.tr 

Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow, 
Thou bendesi, loo — then rises' when I ri-e ; — 

Sav, mute Biysteiioua Thing! how is 'i thai Ihou 
Thus coui'st be. ween me uid tho-e blessed skies — 
Dim shadow, How? 

(additional stanza, by another 

HAND.) 
Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge 

Thin gloom of *oul ; « hile, is I e ger cried. 
Oh, Why ? What ? How ? — a Voice, that one might 
judge 
To be some Irish echo's, faint replied, 

Oh, fudge, fudge, fudge ! 

You have here, dearest Coz, my last lyric effusion; 
And, with it, that odious ■'additional 811123." 

Which Auii will insist I must keep, as conclusion, 
And which, you'll at once see, is Mr. Magau's; — a 
Most crue". and dark-design'd extravaganza, 



And part of that plot in which he and my Aunt are 

To slit.e the Sights of my genius by banter. 

Just so 't was wilh Byron's young eagle-ey'd strain. 
Just so did they launt him ; — bul vain, critics, vain 
All your etfbits 10 saddle Wii's fire with a chain ! 
To blot out the splendour of Fancy's young stream, 
IT crop in lis cradle, her newly-riedg'd beam ! '. ! 
Thou perceiv'st, dear, lhat, ev'u while these lines I 

indite, 
Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, wrong or 

right, 
Aud I 'in all over poet, in Criticism's spite 1 

That my Aunl, who deals only in Psalms, and regards 
Mes=rs Meruhuld and Co. as Ihe first of ail bards — 
That she should make light of my works I cant 

bumc; 
But that nice, handsome, odious Magan — what a 

shame '. 
Do you know, dear, that, high as on most points I 

rate him, 
1 'm really afraid — af'er all, I — mutt ha'e him. 
He is so provoking — n'lughl 's safe from his tongue; 
He spares no one authoress, ancient or you g. 
V\ e;e y< u Sappho herself, and in Keepsake or Bijou 
Once shone as contributor, Lord how he 'd quiz yon! 
He laughs a' all Monthlies — 1 've acualh seen 
A sneer on his brow at the Court Magazine* ! — 

While of Weeklies, poor things, there's but one be 

peru es. 
And buys even book which lhat Weekly abuses. 
Hul I care n t how oiheis such sarca m in ij fear, 
One spirit, at leas', will not bend to his sneer; 
Aud though tried by the fire, my young genius shall 

I urn as 
Uninju ed as cucified gold in the furnace! 
(I susj ect the word "Ciucitied"' must be made " cr«- 

Cib.e. ' 
Before this fine image of mine is producible.) 

And now, dear — to (ell you a secret which, pray 
Di.lv 1 u-t such friends as with safety jou may — 
You know, aid n.decd Ihe whole county suspects 
(Though the Editor of en my best Ihings rejt ! 
That 11. e v r es sun' J to, \^', which you now and 

then see 
In our C unti Gazet e (vide latt) are by nie. 
But 't is dreadful lo Tni.k »< hal prmukiug mistakes 
T he vi e c untry Fres- iu one's pro-ody makes. 
F01 y"u know, dear— I may, without vanity, hint — 
Though an angel sh> uld virile, s ill 'lis dlcilt must 

priut ; 

And you cant think wlial havoc these demons some- 
times 
Choose h> make 1 f one's sense, and » hat 's worse, of 

oue's rhymes. 
Bul a »eek or two since in my Ode upon Spring, 
Which I tne ml hi have made a 11 <-s beautiful thing, 
Wbeie I lalk'd of the -dead. ops from 

LI wn roses," 
The n-siy thn.gs made it " from freshly-blown 

noses ." 
And once uhen, to pleise my cross Aun'. I had tried 
To comn.eu.'i.te Some saiul of hei clique, who'd 

just died, 
Having said he " had tak'n up in heav'n his position," 
They made i', he'd ■•lak'u up :o heav'n 1.. 
ciau !» 

This is very disheartei ing ;— bu> brighter days shine, 

I itj dee, love, to say. both for me 

F r, what do \ou think ■— so delighllul nea: vea\ 

Oh, prepare, dearest girl, for the grand news pre- 
pare — 
I'm to write in Ihe Keepsake — yes, KiUy, my dear, 

To write in the Keepsake, as sure as you're 



ihere ! 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



449 



T'other night, at a Ball, 't was my fortunate chance 

With a very nice elderly Dandy to dance, 

Who, 't was plain, from some "hints which I now and 

then caught, 
Was the author of something — one couldn't tell 

what ; 
But his satisfied manner left no room to doubt 
It was something that Colburn had lately brought 

out. 

We convers'd of belles-lettres through all the quad- 

rille,- 
Of poetry, dancing, of prose, standing still ; 
Talk'd of Intellect's march — whether right 't was or 

wrong — 
And then settled the point in a bold en avant. 
In the course of this talk 't was that, having just 

hinted 
That / too had Poems which — long'd to be printed, 
He protested, kind man ! he had seen, at first sight, 
I was actually Loin in the Keepsake to write. 

"In the Annals of England let some," he said, 

" shine, 
" But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be thine! 
" Even now future Keepsakes seem brightly to rise, 
"Through the vista of years, as I gaze on those 

eyes,— 
" All letter'd and press'd, and of large-paper size!" 
How unlike that Magan, who my genius would 

smother, 
And how we, true geniuses, find out each ether ! 

This, and much more he said, with that fine frenzied 

glance 
One so rarely now sees, as we slid through the 

dance; 
Till between us 't was finally fix'd that, next year, 

lu this exquisite task I my pen should engage ; 
And, at parting, he stoop'd down and lisp'd in my ear 
These mystical words, which I could but just hear, 
"Terms fur rhyme— if it's prime— ten and six- 
pence per page " 
Think, Kitty, my dear, if I heard his words right, 
What a mint of half-guineas this small head con- 
tains ; 
If for nothing to write is itself a delight, 
Ye Gods, what a bliss to be paid for one's strains! 

Having dropp'd the dear fellow a court'sy profound, 

Off at once, to ii. quire all about him, I ran ; 
And from what I could learn, do you know, dear, 
I 've found 
That he 's quite a new 6pecies of lit'rary man ; 
One, whose task is — to what will not fashion accus- 
tom u- ? — 
To edite live authors, as if they were posthumous. 
For instance — the plan, to be sure, is the odd- 
est ! — 
If any young he or she author feels modest 
In venturing abroad, (his kind gentleman-usher 
Lend-, promptly a hand to the int'resling blusher; 
Indites a smooth Preface, brings merit to light, 
Which else might, by accident, shrink out of sight, 
And, in short, renders readers and critics polite. 
My Aunt says — though scarce on such points one 

can Ci edit her 
He was Laily Jane Thingumbob's last novel's editor. 
Tis certain the fashion 's but newly invented ; 
And quick as the change of all things and all 
names is, 
Who knows but, as authors, like girls, are presented, 
We, girls, may be edited soon at St. James's ? 

I tnust now close my letter — there's Aunt, in full 

screech, 
Wants to take me to hear some great Irvingite 

preach. 
God forgive me, I 'm. not much inclined, I must say, 
To go and sit still to be preach'd at, to-day. 

32* 



And, besides — 't will be all igainst dancing, no 
doubt, 

Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such hatred de- 
vout, 

That, so far from presenting young nymphs with a 
head, 

For their skill in the dance, as of Herod is said, 

She'd wish their own heads in the platter, instead. 

There, again — coming, Ma'am ! — I'll write more, if 
I cm, 

Before the post goes, 

Your affectionate Fan. 

Four o'clock. 
Such a sermon! — though not about dancing, mj 

dear; 
'T was only on the' end of the world being near. 
Eighteen Hundred and Forty's the year that some 

state 
As the time for that accident — some Forty Eight : » 
And 1 own, of the two, I 'd prefer much the latter, 
As then I shall be an old maid, and 't wo'n'i matter. | 
Once more, love, good-bye — I've to make a new | 

cap ; 
But am now so dead tired with this horrid mishap 
Of the end of the world, that I must take a nap. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ. TO THE REV. 
RICHARD . 

He comes from Erin's speechful shore 
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er 

With hot effusions — hot and weak ; 
Sound, Humbug, all your h'dlnwest drums, 
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms 

To Britain's well-fed Church to speak. 

Puff him, ye Journals of the r.nrd.l 
Twin prosers, Watchman and Record ! 
Journals reserv'd for realms of bliss, 
Being much too good to sell in this. 
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your dinners, 

Ye Spinsters, spread your tea and crumpets; 
And you, ye countless Tracts for Sinners, 

Blow all your little penny trumpets. 
He comes, the reverend man, to tell 

To all who still the Church's part take, 
Tales of parsonic woe, that well 

Might make ev'n grim Dissenter's heart ache: — 
Of ten whole Bishops sna'ch'd away 
For ever fimin the light of day ; 
(With God knows, too, how many more, 
For wh m that doom is vet in store) — 
Of Rectors cruelly compel I'd 

From Bath and Cheltenham to haste home, 
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld, 

Will not to Bath or Cheltenham come; 
Nor will the flocks consent to pay 
Their par-ons <hus to stay away ;— 
Though, wiii such parsons, one may doubt 
If 't isn't money well laid out ; — 
Of all, in short', and each degree 
Of that once happy Hierarchy, 

l With regard to the exact time of this event, there 
appears to be a difference only of about two or three 
yeirs among the respective calculators. M. AlpNmse 
Nicole, Docteur en Droit, et Avocat. merely dnubti 
whether it is to be in 1846 or 1847. "A cette epoque," 
he say, " les fideles peuvent espererde voir s'effectuer 
la purification du Sanctuaire." 

i " Our anxious desire is to be found on the tide of 
the Lord." — Record Newspaper. 



2d 



450 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND 



Which us'd to roll in wealth so pleasantly; 
Bui now, alas, is doom'd to see 
Its surplus brought 10 nonplus presently ! 

Such are the Ihemes this man of pa!hos, 
Prie-t of prose and Lord of bathos, 

Will preach and preach I've, til) you're dull again] 
Then, bail him, Saints, with join:' acclaim 
Shout to the s'ars his tuneful moie, 
Which Murtagh was, ere known to fame, 

But now Ls Mortimer (J'Mulligan ! 

All true, Dick, true ?.s you 're alive — 
1 've seen hmi, some hours since, arrive. 
Murtagh is come, ihe great Itinerant — 

And Tuesday, in the market-place, 
Intends t e try aint and dinner in 't, 

To state what Ac calls Ireland's Case; 
Meaning thereby the case of hit shop, — 
Of curate, vicar, rec or, bishop, 
And all those other grades seraphic. 
Thai make men's souls their special traffic, 
Though caring not a pin which way 
The" erratic souls so, so they pay. — 
Just as some roguish country nurse, 

Who takes a foundling babe to sockle, 
First pop- the payment in her purse, 

Then "leaves poor dear to — suck its knuckle : 
Ev'n so these revereud rigmaroles 
Pocket the money — starve the souls. 
Murtagh, however, in his elory, 
Will tell, next week, a different s'oiy; 
Will make out all these men of barter, 
As each a saint, a downright martyr, 
Brought to the stake — i. e. a beef one, 
Of all their martyrdom- the chief one; 
Though try them ev'n at ihis, they 'II bear it, 
If lender md wash'd down wilb claret. 

Meanwhile Miss Fudge, who loves all lions, 
Your saintly, next to grea' and high 'uns — 
(A Viscount, be he what he may, 
Would cut a saint out, any day,) 
Has just announe'd a godly rout. 
Where Murtagh 's to lie first brought out, 
And shown in his ame, wteh day stale: — 
"Pray'rs. half-past seven, tea at eight." 
Ev'n so the circular mi>sive orders — 
Pink cards, with cherubs round the I 



Haste, Dick — vou 're lost, if you lose time;— 

Spinsters at l >rty-five grow giddy, 
And Murtagh with his tropes sublime, 

Will surely carry off , Id Bi dy, 
Unless some spark at once propose, 
And distance him by downright pr'se. 
That s ck, rich squire, whose wealth and lands 
All pass, Ihey say, to Biddy's hands, 
(The patron,' Dick, of three fat rectories!) 
Is dying of angina pectoris ;— 
So that, unless you "re stirring soon, 

Murtagh, that priest of puff and pelf, 
May crime in foi a honey-moon. 

And be the man of it, bin. self ! 

As for me, Dick — 'tis whim, 'tis folly, 
But this young niece absorbs me wholly. 
Tis true, the girl 's a vile verse-maker — 

Would rhyme all na'ure, if you 'd let her;— 
But ev'n her oddities, plague lake her, 

But make me love !er all the better. 
Too true H is, she 's bitten -ailly 
Wi h this new rage for rhyming badly. 
Which la'e hath seiz'd all ranks and classes, 
Down to that new Estate, •' the masses;" 

Till one pursuit all tastes combines — 
One common rail-road o";r Parnassus, 
Where, sliding in those t meful gro.ves, 
Call'd couplets, all creati.in moves. 

And the whole world runs mad in Una. 



Add to all this — what 's even still wcrse, 
As rhyme itself, though still a curse, 
Sounds better to a chinking purse — 
Scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, 
While I can muster just a groal ; 
So that, computing self and Venus, 
Tenpence would clear the amount between \ 

However, things may yet prove better: — 

Meantime, what awful lengih of letter ! 

And how, while heaping Ihus with gibes 

The Pegasus of modern scribes, 

My own small hobby of farrago 

Haih beat the pace at which ev'n they go! 



LETTER V. 

FROM LARRY O'bRANIGAN, IN ENGLAND, TO 
HIS WIFE JfDY, AT >1 LLLINAFAD. 

Dear Judy, I Bind you this bit of a letther. 

By mail-coach conveyance — for want of a betlher — 

To 'ell you what luck in this world I have bad 

Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullinafad. 

Ocb, Judy, that night! — when the pig which we 

meant 
To dry-nurse in the parlour, to pay off the rent, 
Julianna. the crayihur — that name was the death of 

h*r»— 
Gave us the shlip, and we saw the last breath of her! 
And there were the childher, six innocent sowls. 
For their nate little play-fellow tuning up howls; 
While yourself, my dear Judy (though grieTin* a 

folly), 
Stud over Julianna's remains, melancholy — 
Cryin', half for the craythur, and h.lf fur the money, 
" Arrab, why did ye die till we 'd sowld you, my 

houey ?" 

But God's will be done! — and then, faith, sure 

enough, 
As the pig was desaiced, 't was high time to be off 
So we gother'd up all ihe poor duds we could catch, 
Lock'J the owld cabin door, put the kay in Ihe thatch, 
Then uk laave ot each others sweet lips in the dark, 
And set off like the Christians turn'd out of the 
Ark; 

i The six childher with you. my dear Judy, ochoue ! 

| And poor 1 wid myself, left condulin' alone. 

How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er lands, 
j And what cruel bar ! wa!k<u' I ve hid on my bauds, 
' Is, a' this present writiu', too ladkiua ■ 
So I 'II niimi in it all in a postscript, next week : — 
Only starv'd 1 »as, surely, as thin as a lath, 
Till I came >o an up-and-down place 'h.-y c • ll Ba'h, 
Where, a* luck was, I manag'J to mase a meal's 

meal, 
By dhraggin owld ladies all dav through the street 
Which their doc'hors (who jiocket, like fuir, the 

pound starlins,) 
Have brough - into f ishion to plase the owld darlins. 
Div'l a boy in all Bath, though /say it. could carry 
The grannies np hill half so handy as Larry ; 
And the higher they liv'd, 'jk-e owld crow-, 'in the air, 
'1 he more / was wanted to lug 'bem up there. 

But luck has two handles, dear Jjdv. they >ay. 
And mine hisoij/i handles put on 
F"r, | ondherin'. one morn, on a drame I \i just had 
Of yourself a> d the babbies, at Mu liiufad. 
Och, there came o'er my sinses so pi sir. a flutther. 
That I spilt an owld Counte-s right clane in the 
guther, 



i The Irish peasantry are very fond of giving fine 
names to their pigs, i have heard of oue ins'ance im 
which a couple of young pigs were named, at their 
birth, Abelard and Eloisa. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND 



451 



Muff, feathers and all ! — the descint was most aw ful, 
And — wliat »as still worse, kith— I knew 'twas 

unlawful 
For. though, with mere women, no very great evil, 
T» upset au owld Countesi iu Bath is the divil ! 
So, lifii..' the chair, « lib herself safe upon it, 
(For nothin ah lul hei was hilt, but her bonnet,) 
Without even menli did' " By > ur lave, nia'ain," 
I tuk to my heels and — heie, Judy, 1 am ! 

What 's ihe name nf this town I can't say very well, 
But your heart sure will jump when you hear what 

betel I 
Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day, 
(And a Sunday it was. shinin" out mighty gay,) 
When his br.gues 10 this city of luck found their 

Bein ; hungry. Grd help me, and happenin' to stop, 
Just to dine on the shmell <>f a pa-.thry-cook s shop, 
1 saw, in the w i dow. a large printed paper. 
And read there a name, och ! that made my heart 

caper — 
Though priired it was in some quare ABC, 
rha might b Iher a -chooimas'her, let alone me. 
Bv gor, you 'd have laugned, Judy, could you've but 

listen'J, 
As, douttn.', I cried, " why it t>.' — no. it isn't:" 
But it was, after all — for.' by syellin' quie slow, 
First I nnde out "Rev. Mortimer" — theu a great 



And, God knows, between us, a comie'ler pair 
Ot tw in Protestants couldn't be seen any w here. 

Next Tuesday (as tovrld in the play-bills I lnin- 
tiou'd, 

' Address'd to the loyal and godly intintion'J,) 

; His riverence, my mas'er. comes forward to preach, — 

Myself doesn't know whether sarmnn or speech, 
j But it 's all one to him, he 's a dead hand at each ; 
Like us. Paddys, in gin'ral, nho.-e skill iu orations 
tiuite bothers the blarney of all other nations. 

But, whisht! — there's his Rivirence, shoutin' out 
'• Larry," 
! And sorra a word more will this shmal! piper carry; 
I So, here, Judy, ends my short bit of a lether, 
Which, faix,'l'd have made a much bigger and 
betlher, 
[ But div'l a one Post-office hole in this town 
Fit to swallow a daceut siz'd billy-dux down. 
So good luck to the cl.ilder ! — tell M lly, I love her; 
Ki s Oonagh's sweet mouth, and kiss Ka ty all over — 
Not forget in' ihe n.aik of he red-cuirao' whiskey 
She goi at the fair when yourself was so frisky. 
'Ihe beav'ns be your bed : — 1 will w rite, when I can 

again, 
Yours to the woild's end, 

Larry OBranigan. 



'(); 



And. 



it las', by hard readin' aid rackin' my skull 
agaiu. 
Out it came, nate as imported, " O'Mulligan V 

Up I jump'd, like a sky-lark, my jew'], at that 
name,— 

Div'l a doubt on my mind, but it must be the same. 
•• Masther Murthagh, himself,'' says I, '• all the wor.d 

over! 
My nun f sther-brother — by jinks, I'm in clover. 
Though there, in ihe piny-L.il 1, he figures >o grind, 
One wet-nurse it was brought us both up by band. 
And he'll not let me shtai ve in the memy's land!" 

Well, to make a long hishtory short, niver doubt 
But 1 man.g'd. in no time, to rind the lad out ; 
And the joy of the mectiu' bethuxi him aid me, 
Such a pair ofowld cumrogues — was charm in' o see. 
Nor is Murthagh less pku'd with the' evint than /am, 
As he jus- then wis wanting a Valley -de-sham ; 
And, for dressin' a ginlemau, one way or l' other, 
Your na:e Irish lad is beyaut every o her. 

But now, Judy, comes the quare par' of the case ; 
And, iu throih, it 's the only drawback on my place. 
T was Murtlrigh's i:l li.ck to be cro-s'd, asy u know, 
With an awkward mishforiuue s me short lime ago ; 
That's to say, he turn'd Proliant — why, 1 can't 

larn; 
But, of coorse. he knew best, an' it 's not my consirn. 
All 1 know i-, we b>th we e good CiUi'lics, a: nursej 
And myself am so still — nayfher betther nor » rse. 
Well, our bargain was all right nd tight iu a jiffey, 
And lads niore contint never yet left the Liffey, 
When Murha-h— or Morthmier, as he's now 

Chnsheu'd, 

His name being convarted, at hist, if he isn't 

Lookiu' sly a' me (lai h. - t was divarlin" to see) 
"0/ coarse, you 'ie a Protestant, Lam," savs he. 

ich siys my elf, n id a wink j isl as shly, 
" Is 'I a Pro estari' } — oh. yes. / am, sir," says 1 ;' — 
And here the chat ended, at'd div'l a more word 
Coutrovarsul betwecu us has since then occurr'd. 

What Murthagh could mane, and, in troth, Judy 

dear, 
Wha' / myself meant, doesn't seem mighty clear; 
But the Hi. nth is, though still for the 0«ld Light a 

stickler, 
I was just then too shtarv'd to be over particlar : — 



LETTER VI. 

FROM MTSS BIDDY Fl'DGE, TO MRS. 
ELIZABETH . 

How I grieve you're not with us! — pray, come, if 

y u can, 
Ere w e =re robb'd of this dear, oratorical man, 
Who combines in himself all ihe multiple glory 
Of Orangeman. Saint, quojidam Papist and lory; — 
(Choice mixture! like that from which, duly'con- 

fouuded, 
The best sort of trass was, in old times, com- 

poun led) — 
The sly ai d the saintly, the worldly aid godly, 
All fused down in brogue so deliciously oddly ! 
In -h ri, he 's a dtnt — and such audiences draws, 
Such loud peals of laugh'er and shouts of applause, 
As can't but do good to the Pn testa nt cause. 

Poor dear Irish Church!— he to-day sfcetch'd a 

view 
Of her his 'ry and prospects, to me at least new, 
And which (if it takes as j- ough') must arouse 
Ihe whole Christian wo- id hei-jus- rights to espouse. 
As to reasoning — you know, dear, tint 's now of no 

use, 
People still will their facts and dry figures produce, 
As if saving the souls of a Prote tan: flock were 
A thing to ue mainged -'accordim; to C cker !" 
In vain Jo we say, (when rude radical* hector 
At paying some tho. smds a ye>r to a Rec'or, 



And gran ing such accident, thii.k, whit a shame. 
If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when they 

came ! 
It is clear iha', wi'hnnt such a s'aff on fuM pay, 
These li tie Church embry s mint go as'ny ; 
And, nli Ie fools are computing what Parsons would 

c st, 
Precious souls are meanwhile to the' Establishment 

lost ! 
In vain do we put the case sensibly thus ;— 
They 'II s'ill wiih their figures and facts make a fuss, 
And'ask " if, while all, choosing each his own road, 
Journey on, as we can, tow'rds the Heav'nly Abode, 



452 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



It is right that levtn eighths of the t av'llers should 

pay 
For one eighth that goes quite a different way ':" — 
Just as if, foolish people, tliis wasn't, in reality, 
A pn of of the ChurciA extreme liberality, 
'1'hat, though hating Pnp'ry in other re-pects, 
She to Catholic money in no way ot.jecs; 
And »o lib'ral her very best Saints in this sense, 
That they ev'n g . lo heav'n at the Cath'lic s expense. 

But, though clear to our minds all these arguments be, 
People cannot or will not thei' cogency see; 
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish Church 
Stand on reasoning alone, she 'd be left in the lurch. 
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sincere, 
That 1 hear! this nice Rev' rend O' something we've 

here, 
Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and 

reading, 
A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding, 
In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought, 
All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er taught. 

Looking through the whole history, present and 

past, 
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the last; 
Considering how strange its original birth — 
Such a tl,ing having never before been on earth — 
How oppos'd to the" instinct, the law. and the force 
Of nature and reason has been its whole course; 
Through centuries encounl'ring repugnance, resist- 
ance, 
Scorn, hale, execration — yet still in existence! 
Considering all this, the co elusion he draws 
Is that Nature exempts this one Church from her 

laws — 
That Reason, dumb-founder'd, gives up the dispute, 
And befote the porien'ous anoni'ly stands mute . — 
That, in short, 'I is a Miracle ! — and, once begun, 
And transmitted through ages, from father to sou, 
For the honour of miracles, ought to go on. 

Never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound, 
Or so fi'ted the Church's weak foes to confound. 
For, obseive, the more low all her merits they place, 
The more they make out the miraculous case. 
And the more all good Christians must deem it pro- 
fane 
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reign. 

As for scriptural proofs, he quite plac'd beiond 

doubt 
That the whole in the Apocalypse may be found on', 
As clear and well-prov'd, he would venture to swear, 
As any thing else has been ever found there : — 
While the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, he 

deals 
With that whole lo: of vials and trumpets and seals, 
And the ease with which vial on vial he strings, 
Shows him quite a first-rate at ali these sort of 

things. 

So much for theology : — as for the' affairs 

Of ibis temporal world — the light, drawing-room 

And gay toils of the toilet, which, God knows, I seek, 
From no love of such things, but in humbleness 

meek, 
And to be, as the' Apostle was, " weak with the 

weak.'' 
Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat less 

busy) 
In the' extracts enclosed, my dear news-loving Lizzy. 

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Thurtday 
Last night, having nought more holy to do, 
Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Agnew, 
About the " Do-nothing-on-Sunday Club," 
Which we wish by some shorter name to dub : — 



As the use of more vowels and consonant! 
Than a Christian, on Sunday, really wants, 
Is a grievance lhal ought to be d'>ne away, 
And the Alptnbet left to rest, that day. 



Sir Andie>v's answer ! — but, shocking to say, 

Being franked un'hinkingly yesterday, 

To the horror of Agnews yet unborn. 

It arrived on this ble:.sed Sunday morn ! ! — 

How shocking ! — the postman's -elf cried "shame 

on t," 
Seeing the' immacula'e Andrew's name on t ! ! 
What will the Club do ?— meet, no doubt. 
>T is a matter that touches the Cla-s Devout, 
And the friends of the Sabbath must speak out. 

Tuesday. 
Saw to-day, at the raffle — and saw it with pain — 
That those - 1 y I i > h Fitzwigrams begin to dress plain. 
Even gay little Sophy smart trimmings ren unces — 
She, who long has stood by me through all sorts of 

floui ce«, 
And showed, by upholding the toilet's sweet rites, 
That we. girls, may be Christians, without being 

frights. 
This, I oun, much alams me; for though one's 

religious. 
And strict and — all that, there 's no need lo be 

hideous ; 
And why a nice bonnet should stand in the way 
Of one's going lo heav'n, 1 isn't easy to say. 

Then there's Gimp, the poor thing — if her custom 

we drop, 
Pny, » hat 's to become of her soul and her shop ? 
If by saints like ourselves no more orders are given, 
She'll I'Seall the interest she now mkts in heaven; 
And this nice littie "fire-brand, pluck'd from the 

burning.'' 
May fall in again at the very uext turning. 

Wednesday. 
Mem.— To write to the India-Mission Society; 
And seud 201. — heavy tax upon piety ! 

Of all Indian lux'ries we now-a-days boasl. 

Making "Company's Christians"' pertaps costs the 

mo-t. 
And the worst of it is, that these converts full grown, 
Having lived in our faith mostly die in their ovm* 
Praying hard, at the last, to some god, who, they say, 
When "incarnate od earth, used to steal curd's and 

« hey. 3 
Think, how horrid, my dear ! — so that all 's thrown 

away ; 
And (what'is still worse) for the rum and the rice 
They consum'd, while believers, we saints pay the 

price. 

Still 'tis cheering to find that we do save a few — 

The Report gives six Christians for Cunnangeadoo; 

Doorkotchum reckons seven, and four Trevandrum, 

While but one and a hall's left a' Coor 

In this Ust-meution'd place 'tis the baibers enslave 

' 'em, 

For, once they turn Christians, no barber w ill shave 



i The title given by the natives to such of their 
countrymen as become converts. 

t> Of such rehises we find innumerable instances 
in the accounts of the Missionaries. 

» The god Krishna, one of the incarnations of the 
god Vishnu. "One day (sa\s Bhagivata) Kri-hnm* 
plavfellows complained "to Tasuda that he had pilfere 
and ate their curd- 

* "Roteen wants shaving; but the barber 
will not do it. He is run away, lest be abou 



ed , 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



453 



To atone for this rather small Heathen amount, 
Some I apis's, turn'd Chiisliaus' are lack'd to the 

account. 
And though, t > each Papists, one needn't go so far, 
Such rish are worth hooking, wherever Ihev are ; 
j And now, when so gieat of such converts the lack is, 
One Papist well caught is worth millions of Blackies. 

Friday. 
Last night had a dream so odd and funny, 

1 cannot reist recording it here.— 
Me. nought that (he Oenius of Matrimony 

Before me stood, with a joyous leer, 
Leadii ga husband in e>ch hand, 

And both for me, which look'd rather queer;— 
One I could perfectly understand 

But why theie were two wasn't quite so clear. 
■Twas meant, however, 1 soon c uld see, 

Toatfoid me a choice— a most excellei.t plan; 
And — who should this biace of ca didates be, 

Hut Messrs. O'Mulligan and Magan: — 
A thing, 1 snppo-e, unheard of till then, 
To dream, at once, of twj irishmen ! — 
That handsome Magan, too, with wings on his 
shoulders 

(For all this pass'd in the realms of the Blest,) 
And qui e a creature to dazzle beholders; 

While even O'Mul'igan, feather'd and drest 

As an elderly chei ub, w as looking his best. 
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scree can doubt 
As to which of the two 1 singled out. 
But — awful to tell — when, all in dread 

Of losing so bright a vision's chums, 
I giasp'd it Mag in, his nna^e fled. 
Like a n is', away, and I found but the head 

Of U'Mulligan,' wings and all, in my arms 
The Angel h id flown to some nest divine, 
And the elderly Cherub aloi e was mine ! 
Heigho ! — it is certati that foolish Magan 
Either can't or wo n't sei that he mi%ht be the man ; 
And, perhaps, dear— who knows ? — if nought better 

befall, 
But — O'Mulligan may be the man, after all. 

N. B. 
Next week mean to have my first scriptural rout, 
For the special discu?si >n of mailers devout ; — 
Like those soirees, at Pow'rscourt,* so justly re-re- 

now n'd, 
For the zeal with which doctrine and negus went 

lound ; 



compelle I. He says he will not shave Yesoo Kreest' 
people."— Baft. Mission Society, vol. ii. p. 493. 

i In the Reports of the Missionaries, the Romai 
Catholics are almost always classed along with the 
Heathen. " 1 have ex ended my labouis, (says James 
Venning, in a Report for 1831,) to the Heathen, Ma 
homedans, and Roman Catholics." " The Heather 
and Roman Catholics in this neighbourhood (says 
another missionary for the year 1S32) are not indiffe- 
rent ; but withstand, rather than yield to, the force of 
truth." 

3 An account of these Powerscourt Conversaziones 
(under the direct presidency of Lord R' den , as well 
as a list <-f the snbjec s discusstd t the different meet- 
ings, may be found in the Christian Herald for the 
month of December, 1832. The following is a spec 
men of the nature of the questions submitted to the 
company :— " Monday Evening, Six aPcli/ck, Septem- 
ber 24th, 1832 — ' All examination inio the quo a iom 
given in the New Testament from the OIJ, with >heii 
connection and explanation, viz.' &c. &c. - IVednes- 
day.— ' Should we expect a personal Antichrist? and 
to whom will he be revealed?' &c. &c— Friday.— 
'Wha light does Scripture throw on present events, 
and their m"nl chaiac er? What is next to be looked 
for or expected <" " &c. 

The rapid progrrss made at these tea-parties in set- 
tling points of Scripture, may be judged from a paia- 



Those theolosy-routs which the pious Lord R— d— n, 
That pink nf Christianity, lirst set the mode in ; 
Where, h e^sed dowu-p uring |3 from tea until nine, 
I he subjecs lay all in the Prophecy line ; — 
Then, supper — and then, if for topics hard driven, 
From thence until bed-time to Satan was given; 
While R — d— n, deep read in each topic and tome, 
On all subjects (especially the last) was at home. 



LETTER VII. 



FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, 
MISS KITTY . 

IRREGULAR ODE. 

Bring me the slumbering souls of flowers, 
While yet, beneath some northern sky, 

Ungilt by beams, ungemin'd by showers, 

They wait the breath of summer hours, 
To wake to light each diamond eye, 
And let loose every florid sigh '. 

Bring me the first-born ocean waves, 
From out those deep primeval caves, 
Where from the dawn of Time they've lain — 
The Embryos of a future Main ! — 
Untaught as yet, young things, to speak 

The language of their Parent Sea 
(Pohphly-baeau * nmi'd, in Greek), 
Though soon, too soon, in bay and creek, 
Round startled isle and wondering peak, 

They 'II thunder loud and long as He ! 

Bring me, from Hecla's iced abode, 
Young fires 

I had got, dear, thus far in my Ode, 

Intending to fill the whole page to the bottom, 
But, having invok'd such a lot of tine things, 
Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, rainbows and 
wings, 

Didn't know what to do with 'em, when I had got 
'em. 

The truth is, my thoughts are too full, at this minute, 
Of past MSS. any new ones to try. 

This very night's coach brings my destiny in it — 
Decides the great question, to live or to die! 

And, whether I 'in henceforth immortal or no, 

All depends on the answer of Simpkins and Co. ! 



graph in the account given of one of their evenings, 
by the Christian Herald: 

" On Daniel a good deal of light was thrown, and 
there was -oine, I think not so much, perhaps, upon 
Revelations; though particular parts of it were dis- 
cussed with considerable accession of knowledge. 
There was some very interesting inquiry as to the 
quotation of the Old IVs anient in the New ; p<r'icu- 
larly on the point, whether there was any 'accommo- 
dation,' or whether they were quoted according to 
the mind of the Spiiit in the Old; this gave occi-ion 
to some very imeres'ing development of Scripture. 
The progress of the Antichi istian powers was very 
fullv discus-ed." 

3 " About eight o'clock the Lord began to pour 
down his spirit copiously upon us — for they had all 
by this time assembled in my room for the purpose of 
prayer. This d wn-pourine continued till about ten 
o'clock. — Le ter from Mary Campbell to the Rei . John 
Campbell, of Rant, (dated Feinicarv, April 4th, 1830), 
giving an account of her "miraculous cure.'' 

« If you guess u hat this wcrd means, 't is more 
than / can : — 
I but give't as I got it froa, Mr. Magan. 

F. F. 



454 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



You '1! think, love, I rave, so 't is best fo lei out 
The whole secret, at once — 1 have publish'd a 

Bo'.k ! ! ! 
Yes, an actual Book : — if the marvel you doubt, 

Yc;u have only in last Monday's Courier lo look, 
And you'll find "This day publish'd by Simpkins 

and Co. 
A Romaunt, in twelve Cantos, entitled ' Woe, Woe!' 
By Miss F.mny F , known njore commonly 

so £#=.'' 

This I put hat my friends mayn't be left in the dark, 
But may guess at my writing by knowing my mark. 

How I manag'd, at last, this great deed to achieve, 
Is itself a "Romaunt" which you'd scarce, dear, 

believe ; 
Nor can I ju-t now, being all in a whirl, 
Looking out for 'he Magnet," explain it, dear girl. 
Suffice it to -ay, thai one half the expense 
Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries hence — 
(Though "God knows," as aunt says, my humble 

ambition 
Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition.) — 
One half the whole cost of ihe paper and printing, 
1 've inanag'd lo scrape up, this year past, by stinting 
My own In tie wans in gloves, riband-, and shoes, 
Thus defrauding the toilet to tit out Ibe Muse ! 

And who, my dear Kitty, would not do the same? 
What 's eau dt Cologne lo ihe sw eel breath of fame ? 
Yards of riband soou end — but the measures of 

rhyme, 
Dipp'd in hues of the raiubow, stretch out through 

all lime. 
Gloves languish and fade away, pair after pair, 
While couplets shine out. bui the Irighter for 
And the dancing-shoe's i;lo-s in a I evening is i 
While light-fooled lyr 



The remaining expense, trouble, risk — and, alas ! 
My poor cnpyiisht ioo — into other hands pass; 
And my fuend, the Head Dev'l of the " Coucly 

Gazette" 
(The only Mecasnas I 've ever had yet), 
He who set up in type my first juvenile lays, 
Is now se' up by tlieni fur the irsi of his days; 
And while Gods (as my •• Heathen Mj [oology" says) 
Live on nought but ambrosia, his lot how much 

sweeter 
To live, lucky dev'l, on a young lady's metre! 

As for puffing — that first of all lit'rary boons, 
And essential alike both to bard- and balloons 
As, unless well supplied wi h inflation, 1 is found 
Neiiher bards nor balloons budge an inch fiom the 

ground ; — 
In thii respect, nought could more prosp'rous befall ; 
As my friend (for no less this kind imp can I call) 
Knows the whole world of critics — the hyperi 

and al' 
I suspect he h.mself. indeed, dabbles in rhyme, 
Which, for imps diabolic, i- not the first time; 
As I've heard uncle Bob say, 'twas known among 

Gno-tics, 
That ihe Uev'l oa Two Sticks was a dev'l at 

Acrostics. 



But hark! thert's the Magne' just dasb'd in from 

Town — 
How my heart, Kitty, beats! I shall surely drop 

down. 
That awful Court Journal, Gaze-'e, Athenaeum, 
j All full of mv book — 1 shad sink when 1 see 'em. 
Aud then the great point — whether Simpkins and 

Co. 
Are actually pleas'd with their bargain or no ! — 



A dav-coach of that i 



Five o'clock. 
All 's delightful — such praises! — I really fear 
That this poor little head will turn giddy, my dear, 
I 've bui time cow to send you two exquisite scraps — 
All the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, perhaps. 

FROM THE " MORNING POST." 
'Tis known that a certain distinguish'd physician 

Presciibes, lot dyspepsia, a courseof light reading; 
And Rhymes by young Ladies, Ihe first, fresh ediiion 
(Ere critics have injurM their powers of nutrition), 

Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, the best sort of 
feeding. 
Satires irritate — love songs are found calorific; 
But smooth, female sonnets he deems a specific, 
And, if taken at bed-time, a sure soporific. 
Anion' works of this kind, the most pleasing we 

Know, 
Is a volume just published by Simpkins and Co. 
Where all such ingredients — the flowery, the sweet, 
And thegen'ly rare tic — are mix'd per receipt, 
With a hand so judicious, we've no hesitaion 
To say that — 'hove all, for he young generation — 
'T is an elegant, soothing, and safe prepaia.ion. 

Nota bene — for readers, whose object 's to sleep, 
Ard who read, in 'heir nigh'caps, ihe publishers keep 
Good fire-proof bind uig, which comes very cheap. 

ANECDOTE — FROM THE "COURT JOURNAL." 
T'other night, at Ihe Countess of * * "s rut, 
An amusing event was much whisper'd about. 

It was said that Lord , at the Council, lhat day, 

Had. moie than once, jump'd from his seat, like a 
r cket, 
And flown lo a corner, where — heedless, they say. 
How the countryS res urces were squandered away — 
He kepi reading some pipers he 'd brought in bis 
pocket. 
Some th ught them despatches from Spain or the 
Turk, 
Others swore they brought word we had lost the 
Mauritius; 
But it turnM ou 't was only Miss Fudge's new work, 
Which his Lordsh.p de'vour'd with such leal es- 
I editi us — 
Messrs. Simpkms and Co., to avoid all delay, 
Having seal it in sheets, tint his Lordship might say, 
He had distaue'd Ihe whole reading world by a 
day ! 



LETTER VIII. 

FROM BOB FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE REV 
MORTIMER O'MULLIGAN. 
Tutiday 
I much regret, dear Rererei d Sir, 

I could not come to * * • to meet you ; 
But this curs' gout wo'n't let me stir — 

Ev'u now 1 but ty proxy gi 
As this vile scrawl, » hMe'er i s sense is, 
Owes all to an munuensis. 
Most other :c. urges of disease 
Reduce men to extremities — 
But gout wo'i.'t leave one even that. 

From all my sis'er writes, I see 

That you and I will quite - 

I 'm a plain man. w I, i s, eak the 'ruth, 

And trust you 'll think me not uncivil, 
When I declare thi , from mv you'h, 

I've wisl.'d yourcuti rv at the devil: 
Jsor can 1 doubt indeed, from all 

I 've heard of your hhrh patriot fame — 
Fr m every wort your lip- le' fall — 

That vou most truly wish If e same. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



455 



It plagues nne's life out — thir'y years 
Have 1 had dinning in my ears. 

"Ireland wants this, and that, and t'other," 
An i, lo this hour, one mulling hears 

But Ihe same viie, eternal ho'her. 
While, of (hose countless things she wanted, 
Thank God, but little has been granted, 
And t-v'n that li lie, if we're men 
And Britons, we'll have back again! 

I really think that Catholic question 
Was «i. at brought oa n.y inJigestion; 
An i ^lill each year, as Popery's curse 
Has ga'l.ered round us 1 've jot wor.-e ; 
Till ev'n mv pint of port a dav 
Can't keep the Pope and bile away. 
And whereas, tili the Catholic bili, 
I never wanted draught or pill, 
The settling of that cursed question 
Has quite u/isetiled my diges ion. 

I.onk what has happen'd since — the Elect 
Of all the bores of every -ect. 
The chosen triers of men's patience, 
Fmm all the Tinee Denominations, 
Let loose upon us. — even Quakers 
Turu'd into speechers and law makers, 
Who'll move no question, stiff-rump'd elves, 
Till first the Spirit moves themselves; 
And » hose shrill Yeas and Nays, in chorus, 
Co querinir our Ays and Nos sonorous, 
Will soon to dea h's own >1 umber snore us. 
Then, too, those Jews ! — I really sicken 

To think of such abomination ; 
Fellows, «h> wo'ri'l eat lam with chicken, 

To legislate for this great nation ! — 
Depend upon 't, when once they 've swav, 

With rich old Gold-md a' Hie head o' (hem, 
Th' Excise laws will be done a»ay, 

And Circumcise ones pass'd instead o' them t 

In short, dear sir, look where one will, 
Things all goon o devilish ill, 
Tint, 'pon my soul, I rather fear 

Our reverend Rector may be right, 
Who tells me the Millennium 's near; 
Nay. swears he knows the very year, 

And regulates his leases by 't ; — 
Meaning their terms -hould end, no doubt, 
Before the world's own lea^e is out. 
He thinks, too, that the whole thing's ended 
So much more soon than was intended, 
Purely to scourge those men of sin 
Who brought th' accurst Reform Bill in.l 

However, let 's not yet desp ir ; 
Thoutth Toryism's eclips'd, at present, 

And — like mvself, in this old chair- 
Sits in a state by no me.ns pleasant ; 

Feet crippled — hands, in luckles~ hour, 

Dis bled of their grasping power ; 

And all that rampant e'ee, which revell'd 

Ir. this world's swee's, be-dull'd. bedevil'd 

Yet, though coridemn'd to frisk no mote, 
And both in Chirr of Penance set, 

There's something tells me, all's not o'er 
With Toryism or R bbv yet; 

Thar though, between us. Tall w 

We 've n. .t a leg to stand on now ; 

Though curst Reform and cnlclu'cum 

Have male u< borh lo k deuced slum, 

Yet still, in spile of Grote and Gout, 

Again we'll shine triumphant nut ! 

1 This appears to have been (he opinion also of an 
eloquent writer in the Morning W.iich. " One great 
object of Christ's second Advent, as the Man and as 
the Kins of the Jews, is lo punish the Kines who do 
not acknowledge that their authority is derived fiom 
him, and who submit to receive it from that many- 
headed monfter, the mob."— No. x. p. 373. 



Yes — back again uhall come, egad, 
Our turn for sport, my reverend lad. 
And then, O'Mulligan — oh then, 
When mounted on our nags again, 
You, on your high-flown Rosiuan'e, 
Bedizeu'd out, like Show-Gallaniee 
(Glitter great from substance scanty) ; — 
While I, Bob Fudge, Esquire, shall ride 
Your faithful Sancho, by your side ; 
Then— talk of tilts and tournaments! 
Dam'me, we 'M 



'Squire Fudge's clerk presents 
To Reverend Sir, his compliments; 
Is griev'd to say an accident 
Has just occun'd which will prevent 
The Squire — though now a little better — 
From finishing this present letter. 

Just when he'd got to " Dam'nie, we'll " 

His Honour, full of mar.'i.l zeal, 
Grasp'd at his crutch, but not being able 
To keep his balance or his hold, 
Tumbled, both sell and cru'eh, and roll'd 
Like ball and bal, beuealh the table. 

All's safe — the table, chair, and crutch; — 

Nothing, thank God, is broken much. 

But the'Squire's head, which, in the fall, 

Got bump'd cnsid'rably— thai 's all. 

At this no great alarm we feel, 

As the Squire's head can bear a deal. 

Wednesday Morning. 
Squire much the same — head rather light — 
Rav'd about '• Barbers' Wigs" all night. 

Our housekeeper, old Mrs Griggs, 
Suspects that he meant "barbaious Whigs." 



LETTER IX. 

FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN, TO HIS WIFE 
Jl'DY. 

As it was but last week thai I sint you a letther, 
You'll wondher, dear Judv, what this is about; 

And, throth, it 's a letther myself would like betther, 
Could I manage to lave the continrs of it out ; 

For sure, if it makes even me onaisy, 

Who takes Ihings quiet, 't will dlirive you crazy. 

Oh, Judy, that river ind Murlhagh, b id scran to him ! 
That e'er I should come to've been sai vant-mau to 

him, 
Or so far deniane the O'Branigan blood, 
And mv Aunts. Ihe D.luvians (whom not ev'n the 

Flood 
Was able lo wash away clane from the earth)2 
As lo sane one whose name, of mere yeslherday's 

birth. 
Can no more to a great 0, before it, purtend, 
Than mine can to wear a grear Q at ils end. 



Rul that's now all over — last night I gev warnin', 
And, masth'r as he is, will dischaige him this mnrnin'. 
he thief of (he world! — but it's no use balrag- 
gin';-3 
All I know is, I'd fifty times rather be dra?g:n' 



" I am of your Patriarchs, I, a bianch of one of 
your antediluvian families — fellows that the Flood 
could not wash away." — Conereve. Love for Love. 

3 To bulrag is to abuse — Mr. Lover makes it bal- 
lyrag, and he is hizh authority: but if I remember 
rightly, Curran in hi^ national stories used to employ 
the word as above-. — See Lover's most amusing and 



456 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND 



Ould ladies up hill to the ind of my days, . Couldn't he call iDto coort some Hvin' men ? 

Than with Murthagh to row! in a chaise, at my aise, " No, thank you"— he M stick to Docthor Den — 
And be forc'd to discind thro' the same dirty ways. An ould gimleman dead a cemury or two, 
Arrah, sure, if I'd heerd where he last show'd his Who all about us, live Cath'lics, k:.ew; 

ph.z, And of coorse was more hand*, to call in a harry 

I 'd h.ne known what a quare sort of monsther he is ; Than D.icthor Mac Hale or Dbcthor Murray ! 
For, by gor, 'twas ai Exether Change, sure enough, I 
'that himself and his oiher wild Irish sbow'd off; 
And it 's pity, so 'I is, that they hadn't got no man 
j Who knew the wild craythurs to act as their show 
man — 



Sayin', ''Ladies and Gintlemen, plaze to take notice, 



But, throth, it 's no case to be jokin' upon. 
Though myself, from bad habits, is makin' it one. 
Even you, had you witness'd his grand climactherica, 
Which actially threw one ould maid in hysterics 



' *arasr=a w» rasa ?^K^ : ^5,^ h » 



All by iaison, we're towld, that the nathur 
tlie basle 
" Is to change its coat once in its lifetime, at laste ; 
"And sueh objks, in our coumhry, not bein' common Eve.Tyou*,'Judy"1ru'e'as"you I 



" Ris'n"— but, by dad, I 'm afeard 1 can't give it ye — 
" Ris'n from the sepulchre of — inactivity ; 
" Jind, like owld corpses, dug up from antikity, 
" Wandrin' about in all sorts of inikily .'." •» — 

to the Uwld Light, 
''Arewl4<up,asthiswa S ,by way of Fine Nome-; Would flj J^ e lau S h ' d ' out aDd out ' at ,his '"S" 1 

- In re«rd of it. mm— wh>, in throth, I 'm con- j 0f that <* ure of s P eech calPd ,be Bla.herumskite. 

sai u'd 
* To differ on this piint so much wi h the Larn'd, 
" Who Call it a ' Morthimer,' whereas the cr„ylhur 
" Is plainly a ' Murthagh,' by name and by uatbur." 



This is how I 'd have towld them the rights of it all 

Had / been their showman at Exether Hall — 

Nut forgettin' 'hat other gre.it wondher of Airin 

(Uf lb' owld bhther breed which they call Prosbe- I cock'd up my head, div'l a sinse remaind in it 



As for me, though a funny thought now and then 

came to me, 
I Rage got the betther at last— and small blame to me ! 
' So, shipping my thigh, " bv the Powetsof Delf," 
Says I bowldly, " 1 II n.ake a noraion myself." 
I And with that up I jumps — but, my dar.int, the 
minit 



tairm), 



Though, sailed. I could have got beautiful on, 



The fam'd Daddy C— ke — who, by gor, I'd have When I tuk to my legs, faith, the gab was all gone:— 
shown 'em , Which was odd, for us, Fats, who, whate'er we've a 



As proof how such bastes may be tam'd, when you've 

throw n 'em 
A good frindly sop of the rale Raigin Donern.l 



But, thio'h, I 've no laisure just now, Judy dear. 
For anything, Damn' our own dungs here, 
And the cumin', and dammin', and thund'rin' 

mad, 
We Papis's, God help us, from Murthagh have had. 
He says »e ie ill wuitherers —div'l a bit less — 
And th it even our priests, when we go to confess, 
Give us lessons in luurth'ring and wish us success ! 



At laste in our legs show a s'hrong understanding 



Howsumdever, detarmin'd the chaps should pursaive 
What 1 thought of their doin's, before I tuk lave, 
"In regard of all that," says I — there I siopp'd 
ike short — 

| Not a word more would come, though I shtruggled 

hard for 't. 
So, shnapping my fingers at what's call'd the Chair, 
And the owld Lord (or Lady, I b'lieve) that sat 

there — 
" In regard of all that." says I bowldly again — 
When ax'd how he daar'd, by tongue or by pen, " To owld Nick I pitch 'Mortimer — and Docthor 

To belie, in this way, seveu mi lions of men, Den ;" — 

Faith, he said 't was ail towld him by Ducihor Den '. * Upon which the whole company cried out "Amen ;» 
" And who ihe divTs ht? r was the question tha' flew And myself was in hopes t was to what / had said. 
From Chrishtian to Cbrishtian — but not a sowl Bui, by gor, no such thiug — they were not so well 

knew. bred : 

While mi went Murthagh, in iligant style, 
Bla-phaiiiing us Cath'lics all the while. 
As a pack of desaiver-, parjurer-, villians. 
All the whole kit of th' aforesaid millions, 3 — 
Yourself, dear Judy, as well as the re-t, 
And i he innocent craythur that 's at your breast, 
All rogues together, in word and deed, 
Uwld Den our insthructur and Sin our creed ! 



When ax'd fat his proofs again and again, 
Div'l an answer lie d give but Ducthor Den. 



For, 



was all to a pray'r Murthagh just had read 
out, 

By way of fit finish to job so devout ; 

That is— afther well damning one half the com- 
munity, 

To pray God to keep all in pace an' in unity ! 

This is all 1 can shtuff in this letther, though plinty 
Of news, faith, 1 've got to fill more — if 'I was tw uity. 
Bu' I Ml aid, on the outside, a line, should I need it, 
(Writin' - Frhale ' upon it, that no one may read 



enumely Irish work, the "Legends and Stories of To le n vou how Mortimer (as the Saints cbrishten 

him) 
Beirs the big shame of his sarvant's dismisshiu" him. 
a sum coniributed by r lie government auuualiy to the — — 



Ireland. 1 

Larry evidently means the Rcgium Donum : 
in coniributed bv 'he government annually t 
supp,r. of the Presbyterian c.urches in Ireland. , „ „ Ru( she _ m lntant of Jht 

a Correctly, Dens; Larry not being very particular lep ulchre of tnaetioity. 
in his noineiicla'ure. burial-place, walking f«>rih a in. a 

s " The deeds of darkness which are reduced to of evil had corniped the care:- 
ho. rd , r ic'ice over the drunken debauch of the mid- humanity ; noxious and 
night assassin are debated, in principle, in the si ber rence and dismay la all « ho arc n 
morning religious conferences of the priests." — in iniquity.'' — Report of tne Rev. Gentleman's 
Speech of the Rev. Mr. M Ghee. — '• The character of Sj eech. June 20. in the Ke 

the Irish people generally is, that they are given to ' We may well ask, afer reading this and other such 
Iving and to acts of theft." — Speech of the Rev. j reverend ravings. •• Quis dubitat quia omne sit nc- 
Rubtrt Daly \ ratimis egev 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



45' 



(Private outside.) 
Just come from his riv'rence— the job is all dnne — 
By the powers, I ve dischaig'd him as sure as a gun ! 
And now, Ji.dy dear, what on earth 1 'm to do 
With myself and my appetite— both good as new— 
Without ev'n a single traneen in my pocket, 
Let alone a go.id, daceut pound-stirlin', to stock it — 
Is a mysht'ry I lave to the One that >s above, 
Who fakes care of us, dissolute sowls, when hard 
dhrove ! 



LETTER X. 

FROM THE REV. MORTIMER o'MDLLIGAN, 
TO THE REV. . 

These few brief lines, my reverend friend, 

By a safe, private hand I send 

(Fearing lest some low Catholic wag 

Should pry into the Letter-bag), 

To tell you, far as pen can dare 

How we, poor errant martyrs, fare; — 

Martyrs, not quite to fire and rack, 

As Saints were, some few ages back, 

But — scarce less trying in its way — 

To laughter, wheresoe'er we stray ; 

To jokes, which Providence mysterious 

Permits on men and things so serious, 

Lowering the Church still more each minute, 

And — injuring our preferment in it. 

Just think, how worrying 'tis, my friend, 

To find, where'er our footsteps bend, 

Small jokes, like squibs, around us whizzing ; 
And bear the eternal toituring play 
Of that great engine of our day. 

Unknown to the Inquisition — quizzing! 

Your men of thumb-screws and of racks 
AinVd at the body their attack* ; 
But modern torturers, more refin'd, 
Work their machinery on the mind. 
Had St Sebastian had* the luck 

With me to be a godly rover, 
Instead of arrows, he'd be sti.ck 

With stings of ridicule all over; 
And poor St. Lawrence, who was kill'd 
By being on a gridii'n grill'd, 
Had he but shar'd my errant lot, 
Instead of grill on gndir 1 !! hot, 
A moral roasting would have got. 
Nor should I (trying as all this is) 

Much heed the suffering or the shame — 
As. like an actor, used to'hisses, 

I long have known no other fame, 
But that (as I may own to you, 
Though to the world it would not do,) 
No hope appears of fortune's beams 
Shining on any of my schemes ; 
No chance of something more per anru 
As supplement to K— Uym— n ; 
No prospect that, by fierce abuse 
Of Ireland, I shall e'er induce 
The rulers of this thinking natioD 
To rid us of Emancipafi n ; 
To forje anew the sever'd chain. 
And bring back Penal Laws again. 

Ah happy time! when wolves and priests 
Alike were hunted, as wild beisfs ; 
Aid five pounds was the price, per head, 
For bagging either, live or dead ; — i 



* "Among other amiable enactments against the 
Ca'holics at this period (1649), the price of five pounds 
was set on the head of a Romi-h priest — being ex- 
actly the same sum offered by the same legislators for 
the head of a wolf."— Memoirs of Captain Rock, 
book i. chap. 10. ^ 

~~ 39 



Though oft, we're told, one outlaw'd brother 

Sav'd cost, by eating up the other. 

Finding thus all those schemes and hopes 

I built upon my flowers and trop 

All scatlert), one by one. away, 

As flashy and unsound as they, 

The qne-tion comes— what's to be done? 

And there 's but one course left me — one. 

Heroes, when lir'd of war's alarms, 

Seek sweet repose in Bi^uity's arms. 

The weary Dav-God's la-t retreat is 

The breast of silvry-footed Thetis ; 

Aid mine, as mighty Love 's my judge, 

Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge ! 

Star! not. my friend, — the tender scheme, 

Wild and romantic thounh it seem, 

Bevond a parson's fondest dream, 

Yet shines, too, with (hose golden dyes, 

So pleasing to a parson's eyes — 

That only gilding which the Muse 

Cannot around her sons diffuse ; — 

Which, whencesoever flows its bliss, 

From wealthy Miss or benefice, 

To Mortimer indiff'rent is, 

So he can only make it his. 

There is but one slight damp I see 

Upon this scheme's felicity, 

And that is, the fair heroine's claim 

That I shall take her family name. 

To this (though it may look henpeck'd), 

I can't quite decently object, 

Having myself long chos'n to shine 

Conspicuous in the alias* line ; 

So that henceforth, by » ife's decree, 

(For Biddy from this point wo'n't budge) 
Yoi.r old friend's new address must be 

The Rev. MorUmer CPFudge — 
The '"()" being kept, that all may see 
We 're both of ancient family. 
Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you, 
My public life's calm Euthanasia. 
Thus bid I long farewell to all 
The freaks of Exetei's old Hall — 
Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, 
And rivalling i's bears in breeding. 
Farewell, the platform fill'd with preachers — 
The pray'r giv'n out, as grace 3 by speechers, 
Ere thev cut up their fellow-creatures :— 
Farewell to dead old Dens's volumes, 
And. scarce less dead, old Standard's columns: — 
From each and all I now retire, 
My ta-k. henceforth, as spouse and sire, 
To bring up little filial Fudges, 
To be M.P.'s, and Pecs, and Judges — 
Parsons I 'd add too, if, alas ! 
There yet were hope the Church could pass 
The gu'lf now oped for hers and her, 
Or long survive what Exeter — 
Both Hall and Bishop, of that name — 
Have done to sink her reverend fame. 
Adieu, dear fiiend — you 'II oft hear/rom me, 

Now I m no more a travelling drudge ; 

Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge 
How well the surname will become me) 
Yours truly, 

Mortimer OTddge. 



* In the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson 
very significantly exemplified the meaning of the 
word '-alias" by" the instance of Mallet, the poet, who 
had exchanged for this more refined name his original 
Scotch patronymic, Malroch. " What other proofs he 
gave (says Johnson) of disrespect to his native coun- 
try, I know not; but it was remarked of him that he 
uas the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not com- 
mend.''— Life of Mallet. 

3 " I think I am acting in unison with the feelings 
of a Meeting assembled for this solemn object, when I 
call on the Rev. Doctor Halloway to open it by 
prayer." — Speech of Lord Kenyan. 



458 



SONGS FROM M.P.; OR, 



LETTER XI. 



FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. 
RICHARD . 



Dear Dick — just arriv'd at my own humble eite, 
I enclose you, post-haste, the accouut, all complete, 
Just arriv'd, ptr express, of our lale noble feat. 

[Extract from the " County Gazette."] 
This place is getting gay and full again. 



Last week was married, " in the Lord," 
The Reverend Mortimer (('Mulligan, 

Preacher, in Irish, of the Word, 
(He, who the I.ord's force lately led on — 
Exeter Hall his ArmarA-geddon,) i 
To Miss B. Fudge of Pi-g.h Pace. 
One of the cfios'n, as '• heir of grace," 
And likewise heire-s of Phil. Fudge, 
Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge. 

Same evening, Mi-s F. Fudge, 't is hin'ed — 

Niece of the ab <>ve, (whr.se "Sylvan Lyre," 
In our Gazete, last week, we printed,) 

Elop'd wilh Pat. Mann, E-quire. 
The fugitives were track'd. s<mie time, 

After they 'd left the Au -it's abode. 
By scraps of paper, scrawl'd with rhyme, 

Found strew'd along the Wes'ern road ; — 
Some of them, ci-devant curl-papers. 
Others, half burnt in lighting tapers. 
This clue, however, to their flight 

After some m I more; 

And, f.om inquiries made last night. 

We find they 've reach "d the Irish shore. 

Every word of it true, Dick — th' escape from 

Aunt's thrall — 
Western road — lyric fragments — curl-papers and 

all. 



i The rectory which the Rev. gentleman holds is 
situated in the county of Jrmagh ! — a most remark- 
able coincidence — and well worthy of the attention 
of certain expounders of the Apocalypse. 



My sole stipulation, ere link'd at the shrine 

(As some balance between Fanny's number* arjd 

mine). 
Was that, when we were one, she must give up the 

Kint ; 
Nay, devote to the Gods her whole stock of MS. 
With a vow never more against prose to transgiesa. 
This she did, like a heroine;— sm ck went to bits 
The whole pr duce sublime of her dear little wits- 
Sonnets, elegies, epigrams, odes, canzonets — 
ad up nealy. to form allumtttcs, 
Some turn'd into papiliotes, wor'hy to rise 
And enwieathe Berenice's bright locks in the skies ! 
While the rest, honest Larry (who's now in my 

pay)- 

Begg'd, as "lover of po'thry," to read on the way. 

Having thus of life's poetry dar'd to dispose. 

How we new, Dick, snail manage to get through 

its prose, 
With such slender materials for style. Heaven knows ! 
But — 1 'm call'd oft' abruptly — another Express ! 
What the deuce can it mean?— I'm alarm'd, I 

confess. 

P. S. 
Hurrah, Dick, hurrah, Dick, ten thousand hurrahs! 
I 'm a happy, rich dog to the end of my days. 
There — read the good news — and while glad, for 

my sake, 
That Wealth should thus follow in Love's shining 

wake. 
Admire als i the moral — that he, the sly elf, 
Who has fudg'd all the world, should be now fudg'd 

himself! 

EXTRACT FROM LETTER ENCLOSED. 

With pain the mournful news I write, 
Mia F:. dee's uncle died last night ; 
And much to mine and friends' surprise, 
By will doth all his wealth devise — 
Lands, dwellings — rectories likewise — 
To his '■ belov'd grand-niece,"' Miss Fanny, 
Leaving Miss Fudge herself, who many 
Long years hath waited — not a penny 1 
Have notified the san.e to latter. 
And wait iuttrucions in the matter. 

For self and partners, &c ic 



SONGS FROM M. P. ; OR, THE BLUE STOCKING. 



SUSAN. 

Toung Love liv'd once in an humble shed, 

Where ro«es breathing. 

And woodbines wreathing 
Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 
As wild and sweet as the life he led. 

His garden flourish'd. 

For Young Hope n wish' J 
The infant buds with beams and showers; 
But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, 
And not even Love can live on flowers. 

Alas! that Poverty's evil eye 

Sh uld e'er come hither, 

Such sweets to wi'lier ! 
The flower- laid down their heads to die. 
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh. 

She came one mnrni g, 

Ere Ln-e had warniug, 



And rais'd the latch, where the young god lay; 
' Oh ho "' sai-J Love — " is it you ? good-by ;" 
So be oped the window, and flew away ! 



To sigh, yet feel no pain. 

To weep, yet scarce know why ; 
To s: ort an h"ur with Beauty's cha; 

Then Ihrow it idly by. 
To kneel at many a'shrine. 

Yet lav the heart on none ; 
To think all other charms divine, 

But those we just have won. 
This is love, faith!- 
Such as kmdletb hearts that rove. 

To keep one sacred flame, 

Through life unchill'd, unmoVd, 
To love, in wintry age, the same 

As first in youth we lov'd ; 



THE BLUE STOCKING. 



459 



To feel that we adore, 

Ev'n 10 such fond excess, 
Thai, though ihe heart would break, with more, 

It could not live with less. 
This is love, faithful love, 
Such as saints might feel above. 



Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies 

In youthful hearts lhat hope like mine; 
And 't is the light of laughing eyes, 

Thai leads us to thv fairy shrine. 
There if we Bnd the sign, the lear, 

They are not th >se to Sorrow ki^own; 
But breath so soft, and drops so clear, 

That Bliss may claim ihem for her own. 
Then give me, five me, while 1 weep, 

The sanguine hope lhat brightens woe, 
And teaches ev'n our tears lo keep 

The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 

The child, who sees the dew of night 

Upon the spangled hedge at morn, 
Attempts to catch 'he drops of light, 

But wounds his finger with the ihorn. 
Thus oft the brightest jays we seek, 

Are ln,t, when louchtt, and turn to pain; 
The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, 

The tears they waken long remain. 

But give me, give me, &c 4c. 



When Leila touch'd the lute, 

Not then alone 't was felt, 
But, when the rounds were mute, 

In memory still they dwelt. 
Sweet lute! in nigh ly -lumbers 
Still we heard thy morning numbers. 

Ah, how could she, who s'ole 
Such breath from simple wire, 

Be led, in pride of soul, 

To string with gold her lyre? 

Sweet Iu e ! thy choids she breikdh ; 

Golden now the strings she waketb! 

But where are all the tales 

Her lue so sweetly old ? 
In lofty themes she fails, 

And >of[ ones suii not gold. 
Rich lute '. we see thee glisten, 
But, alas ! no more we lis en 1 



BOAT GLEE. 

The song that lightens our languid way 
When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing, 
Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 
The beams that flash on the oar awhile, 

As we row along through waves so clear, 
Illume its spray, .like the fleeting smile 
That shines o'er Sorrow's tear. 

Nothing is lost on him who sees 

With an eye that Feeling gave; — 
For him there "s a story in every breeze, 

And a picture in every wave. 
Then sing to lighten the languid way; — 
When brows are glowing, 
And fiint with rowing: 
T is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 



Oh, think, when a hero is sighing, 

What danger in such an adorer ! 
What woman coujd dream of denying 

The hand thai lays laurels before htr. 
No heart is so guarded around, 

But the smile of a victor would take it; 
No bosom c hi slumber so sound, 

But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. 

Love sometimes is given to sleeping, 

And woe to the heart that allows him; 
For soon neither smiling or weeping 

Will e'er fr m such slumber arouse him. 
But though he were sleeping so fast, 

That the life almost seem'd to forsake him, 
Ev'n then, one soul-thrilling blast 

From the trumpet of Glory would wake him. 



CUPID'S LOTTERY. 

A Lottery, a Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court there used to be; 

Two roguish eyes 

The highest prize, 
In CupidS scheming Lottery; 

And kisses, (00, 

As good as new, 
Which weren't very hard to win, 

For he, who won 

The eyes of fun. 
Was sure to have the kisses in. 

A Lottery, a Lottery, &c 

This Lo'tery, this Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court went merrily, 

Arid Cupid play'd 

A Jewish rade 
In this his scheming Lottery; 

For hearts, we're told, 

In shares he sold 
To many a fond believing drone, 

And cut the hearts 

So well in parts, 
That each believ'd the whole his own. 

CAor. — A Lottery, a Lottery, 

In Cupid's Court there used to be 

Two roguish eyes 

The highest prize 
In Cupid's scheming Lottery. 



S N G .1 



Though sacred the tie that our country entwinefh, 

And dear to the heart her remembrance remaius, 
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, 

And sad the remembrance that slavery stains. 
Oh Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant, 

But dying of languor in luxury's dome, 
Our vision, when absent — or glory when present — 

Where thou art, Liberty ! there is my home. 

Farewell to the land where in childhood I wander'd! 

In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave ; 
Unble-'d is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd, 

And Fame has no wreaths f >r the brow of the slave. 
But hail to thee. Albion ! who meet'st the commotion 

Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foa n ; 
With no bonds but the law, and no slave but !he 
ocean, 

Hail, Temple of Liberty ! thou art my home. 



1 Sung ii. the character of a Frenchman. 



460 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



AT NIGHT.i 

At night, when all is still around, 
How sweet to hear the distant sound 

Of too step, coming snft and light ! 
What pleasure in the anxious beat, 
With which the bosom flies to meet 

That foot that comes so soft at night ! 

And then, at nigh', how sweet 'o say 
" T is late, my love ! ' and chide delay, 

Though still the western clouds are bright; 
Oh ! happy, too, the silent press, 
The eloquence of mute caress. 

With those we love exchanged at night ! 



TO LADY HOLLAND. 
ON NAPOLEON'S LEGACY OF A SNUFFBOX, 

Gift of the Hero, on bis dying day, 
To her, whose pity watch'd, for ever nigh ; 

Oh ! could he see the proud, the happy ray, 
This relic lights p in her generous eye, 

Sighing, he 'd feel bow easy >t is to pay 
A friendship ail his kingdoms could not buy. 
Paris, July, 1821. 



EPILOGUE. 

WRITTEN FOR LADY DACRE'S TRAGEDY 
OF ISA. 

Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat. 

Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and — all that, 

And wondering much what lifle knavish sprite 

Had put it fi'st in women's heads to write: — 

Sudden I saw — as in some witching dream — 

A bright-blue flory round my book ca-e beam. 

From wh' se quick-opening f'lds of azure light 

Out flew a liny form, as small and bright 

As Puck the Fairy, when be p^ps his head, 

Some sunny morning from a violet bed. 

" Bless me !" I starting cried, •' what imp are 

you 7' — 
"A small he-devil, Mi'am — my name Has Bleu — 
"A bookish sprite, much given to roatl and reading; 
" ' I is I who teicd your spinsters of good breeding, 
" The reigning taste in chemistry and caps, 
" The last new b lundi of tuckers and of map*, 
" And. when the waltz has iwirPU her giJdy brain, 
"With metaphysics twirl it back a. 

I view'd him, as he sp-'ke — his hose were blue, 
His « inirs — the covers of the last Review — 
Cerulean, borderd with a jaundice hue. 
And tiiisell'J pail v o'er, for evening wear. 
Till the next quarter brings a new-fledg'd pair. 

! by me — (pursued this waggish Fairy) — 
«■ That best of wives and Sappho*, Lady Mary, 
"Wary alike of Crispin and the Muse, 
" Makes her own splai-foot epigr«ms and shoes. 
"For me the eyes of ynung Camilla shine. 
" And mingle Love 's'blue brilliances with mine ; 



1 These lines allude to a curious lamp, which ha< 
for its device a Cupid, with the words •' at night' ; 
written over him. 



" For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking, 
"Looks wise — the pretty soul! — and thinks she's 

thinking, 
"By my aJvice Miss Indigo attends 
" Lectures on Memory, aDd assures her friends, 
" * Ton honour ! — {mimics) — nothing can surpass 

the plan" 
" ' Of that professor — {trying to recoiled) — psha ! 

that mem ry-man — 
" That— what's his name?— him I attended lately— 
""Pon honour, he improved my memory greatly.'" 

Here, curtseying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd sprite, 

What share he had in this nur play to night. 

"Nay, theie — (he cried) — there 1 am guiltless 

qui'e — 
" What ! choose a heroine from that Gothic time, 
" When no one waltz'd, and none but monks could 

rhyme ; 
" When lovelv woman, all unschool'd and wild, 
" Blush'd without art. ai d withoal culture smil'd — 
"Simple as flowers, while vet unclas-'J lhev shone, 
" Ere Science call'd their brilliant world her own, 
" Rang'd the wild, rosy 'hi- gs in lear: c 
"And fill'd with Greek the garden's blushing bor- 
ders:— 
"No, no — your gen'le Inas will not do — 
"To-morrow evening, when tie lights burn blue, 
" I 'II come— (pointing downwards)— jou understand 
— till then a:. 

And has the sprite been here ? No —jests apart — 
Howe'er man rules in science and in ar, 
The sphere of woman's elories is the heart. 
And, if our Muse have sketch'd with pencil true 
The wife — the mother — firm, yet jentle 'no — 
Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun, 
Trembles, if touch'd in ihe remotest one ; 
Who loves — yet dares even Love himself disown 
When Honour's broken shaft supports his throne: 
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evil-, 
Dire as they are, of Critics and — Blue Devils. 



THE DAY-DREAM.S 

They both were hu«h'd, the voice, the chords,- 
I heard but once that witching lay ; 

And few the notes, and few the words, 
My spell-bound memory brought away ; 

Traces, remember'd here and there. 
Like echoes of some tr ken strain; — 

Links of a s» ee'nes- I *• in air, 
That nothing n: * could join again. 

Ev'n these, too, ere the moraine, fled ; 

And. though the charm s'ill linger'd on, 
That o'er each sense h-r song had shed, 

The song itself wa» faded, gone; — 

Gone, like the thoughts that ome were ours, 
On summer days, ere youth had set ; 

Thoushts > u summer flowers, 

Though what they were, we now forget. 



- In these stanzas I have done little more than 
relate a fact in verse ; and the lady, whose singing 
gave rise to this f 'he power of 

memory in sleep, is Mrs. Robert Arkwr.ght. 





MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 461 




Id vain, with hints from other strains, 


That noblest gem that decks a crown, 




I woo>d this truant air to come — 


The People's Love— We care not. 




Is birds are taught, on eastern plains, 






To lure their wilder kindred' home. 


For slavish men, who beD-1 beneath 
A despot yoke, yet dare not 




In vain : — the song that Sappho gave, 


Pronounce the will, whose very breath 




In dying, to the mournful sea, 


Would tend its links— We care not. 




No muter slept beuea h the wave, 






Than this within my memory. 


For priestly men, who covet sway 
And we.lth, though they declare not ; 




At length, one morning, as I lay 


Who point, like finger-posts, the way 




In that half-waking mood, when dreams 


They never go — We care not. 




Unwillinglv at last give way 






To the "full truth of daylight's beams, 


For martial men, who on their sword, 
Howe'er it conquers, wear not 




A face — the very face, methought, 


The pledges of a soldier's word, 




From which had breath'd, as from a shrine 


Redeem'd and pure — We care not. 




Of song and soul, the notes I sough 1 — 






Came with its music close to miDe ; 


For legal men, who plead for wrong, 
And, though to lies thev swear not, 




And sung the long-lost measure o'er — 
Each note and word wj h every tone 


Are hardly better than the throng 
Of those who do— We care not. 




And look, that lent it life before, — 






All perfect, all again my own ! 


For courlly men, who feed upon 
The land, like grubs, and spare not 




Like parted souls, when, mid the Blest 
They meet again, each widow'd sound 


The smallest leaf, wheie thev can sun 
Their crawling limbs — VVe care not. 




Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest 






Of its sweet mate, till all were found. 


For wealthy men, who keep their mines 
In darkness hid, and share not 




Nor ev'n in waking did the clue, 


The paltry ore with him who pines 




Thus strangely caught, escape again ; 


In honest want — We care not. 




For never lark is ma ins knew 






So well as now 1 kuew this strain. 


For prudent men, who hold the power 
Of Love aloof, and bare not 








And oft. when memory's wondrous spell 


Their hearts in any guardless hour 




Is talk'd nf in our tranquil bower, 


To Beauty's shaft — We care not. 




I sing this lady's song, and tell 
The visiou of that morning hour. 






For all, in short, on land or sea, 






In camp or court, who are not, 






Who never were, or e'er will be 
Good men and true — We care not. 








SONG. 


o 




Where is the heart that would not give 
Ytar* of drowsy dais and nights, 






ANNE BOLE FN. 




One little hour, like this, to live — 






Full to the brim, of life"s delights? 


TRANSLATION FROM THE METRICAL "HIS- 




Look, 1 *k around, 
This fairv ground, 


TOIRE D'ANNE BOLEYN." 




With love-ligh's glittering o'er; 
While cups tint shine 
With freight divine 

Go coasting round its shore. 


- S'elle estoit belle el de taille elegante, 
Estoit desyeulxencor plus attirante, 
L*squelz scavoit bien conduyre a propoa 
En Ifs tenant quelquefoys en repns; 
Aucunef.,ys euvcyaut en message 




Hope is the dupe of future hours, 


Porter du cueur le secret teemoignage." 




Memory lives in those gone by; 






Nei'her can see the moment's flowers 


Much as her form sedue'd the sight, 




Springing up fresh beuea h the eye. 


Her eyes could ev'n more surely woo; 




Wonldst thou, or thou, 


And when, and how 'o sho.t their light 




Foiego what's now. 


Into men's hearts full well she kuew. 




For all that Hope may say ? 


For someimes, in repose, she hid 




No — Joy's reply, 


Their rays beneath a downcast lid ; 




From every eye, 


And then again, with wakening air, 




Is, "Live we while we may." 


Would send their sunny glances out, 
Like heralds of delight, to bear 










Her heart's sweet messages about. 




SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY. 




Haud curat Hippoclides. 

Eratm. Adag. 


THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS. 




To those we love we've drank to-night; 


FROM DANTE. 




But now attend, and stare not, 






While 1 the ampler list reci'e 
Of tho e for whom We care not. 


Nell ora. credo, che dell' oriente 




Prima raggio net moDte Citerea, 

Che di fuoco d' arnor par sempre ardtnte, 




For royal men, howe'er they frown, 


Giovane e bella in sogno mi patea 
Donna vetlere andar per una hinda 




If ou their fronts they bear not 


Cogliejdo tiori ; e caniando di^ea : — 



39* 



PREFACE TO THE TENTH VOLUME. 



Bappia qualunque '1 mio norae dimanda. 
Ch' 10 mi sou Lia, e vu muvendo 'utorno 
Le belie mam a armi uoaghirlanda — 

Per piacermi alto apecchio qui m' adorao; 
Ma mia suora Racbel mai wn si ima^i 
Dal buo amiairaglio, e siede tutto il giorno. 

EH' e de'sooi begli occhi vedervaga, 
Com' io dell' adnrnarmi con le maiii; 
Lei Io Tedere e me l'ovrare ;irp.ga. 

Dante. Purg. canto xxvii. 

'T was eve's soft hour, and bright, above, 

The star of Beauty beam'd. 
While lull'd by light so full of love, 

Id slumber thus 1 dream'd — 
Methought, at that sweet hour, 

A nymph came o'er Ihe lea. 
Who, gath'riug many a .iow'r, 

Thus said and sung to me : — 
" Should any ask wb «t Leila loves, 

'• S<y thou, To wieathe her hair 
" VVith flow'rets cuil'd from gleus and groves, 

" Is Leila's only care. 

u While thus in quest of flow'rets rare, 

'•O'er hill and dale 1 roam, 
"My sister, Rachel, far more fair, 

"Sits lone and mute at home. 
" Before her glass untiring, 

" With thougtvs thai never stray, 
M Her own bright eyes admiring, 

" She sils the live-long day ; 
" While I ! — oh, seldom ev n a look 

" Of self salutes my eye; — 
"My only glass, the limpid brook, 

" That shines and passes by." 



SOVEREIGN WOMAN. 
A BALLAD. 

The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams, 

That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds still flush'd with daylight gleam* 

Though day itself is gone. 
And gracefully to music's sound, 
The same bright nymphs went gliding round : 
While thou, the Queen of all, »ert there — 
The Fairest Mill, where all were fair. 

The dream then chang'd — in halls of s'ate, 

I saw thee high euthron'd ; 
While, rang'd around, the wise, the great 

In thee their mistress owu'd : 



And still the same, thy gentle sway 
U'ei wiiline -uLjects won is way — 
Till all eonfe.sd the Right Divine 
To rule o'er man »as only thine! 

But, lo, the scene now chang'd again — • 

And b irne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o'er the battle-plain 

Our land s defeuders lead : 
At d stronger in thy beauty's charms, 
1 ban man, with coui.tless "hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like mu^c, cheer'd the Free, 
Thy very smile was wc ory ! 

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone — 

In cot and conrt the same, 
Wherever woman's smile is known, 

Victoria 's still her name. 
For though she almost blush to reign, 
Though Love's own flow'rets wreath the d 
Disguise our bond <gt as we will, 
'T is woman, woman, rules us stiiL 



COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR AGAIN. 

A BALLAD. 

Come, play me that simple air again, 
1 us'd so to love, in life's young day, 
And biing, if :hou canst, the dreams" that then 
Were naken'd by hat swee 1 lay. 
The :e der gloom its strain 

Shed o'er the hear» and brow, 
Grief's shadow, without its pain — 
Say wticre, where is it now? 
But play me the well-known air once more, 

For though s of y uth still haunt its strain, 
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see again. 

Sweet air, how every note brines back 

Some sunny hope, some da> -dream bright, 
That, shining o'er life's early track, 
FiU'd ev'D Us tears with light. 
The new- fouid life thai came 

Willi love's first echo'd vow ; — 
The fear, the bliss, the shame — 
Ah — wbe e. w here are thev now ? 
But. still the same lov'd notes | ' 

For sweet 't w ere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of you h >rd I'-ve and song, 
To breathe lite't hour aw ay. 



END OF VOL. IX. 



PREFACE TO THE TEXTH VOLUME. 



The Story which occupies Ibis volume was intended I which I have 
orieinally to be told in verse ; and a g eat portion of ' Julv 25. 1>20. 
it was at first written in Ifaal form. This fact, as 
as the charae'er, perhaps, of the whole work, which a 
a good deal partakes of the cast and c louring of poe- , out this design 
try, have been thought sufficient to e title it lo a | 
place in this general collection of my poetical writ- 



How lit'le akin to romance or poesv were some of 
the circumstances under which ih's work was first 
projeced by me. the reider may have seen ttxm a 
preceding preface; * and Ihe following rough 



Preface to the Eighth Volume, p. 360. 



| " Beean mv Tz wro'e about thir- 

; teen or fourteen lines of it. The stnry to be told in 
letters :r can philosopher, who, in 

the second cent \ ■« to Eeypt 

e elixir of inustor- 
- 

lri*J*J a fecial on the Nile, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



463 



he meets with a beauiiful maiden, Hie daughter of one 
of the priests lately dead. She enters the catacombs, 
and disappears. He hovers around the spot, and at 
last finds the well and secret passages, &c. by which 
those who are initiated enter. He sees this maiden 
in one of those theatrical spectacles which formed a 
part of the subterranean Elysium of the pyramids- 
finds opportunities of conversing with her— their 
intercourse in this mysterious region described. They 
are discovered ; and he is thrown into those subterra- 
nean prisons, where they who violate the rules of 
Initiation are confined. He is liberated from thence 
by the young maiden, and taking flight logethe:, they 
reach some beauiiful region, where they linger, for a 
time, delighted, and she is near becoming a victim to 
his arts. But taking alarm, she flics ; and seeks refuge 
with a Christian monk, in the Thebaid, lo whom her 
mother, who was secretly a Christian, had consigned 
her in dying. The struggles of her love with her 
religion. A persecution of the Christians tikes place, 
and she is seized (chiefly through the unintentional 
means of her lover), and suffeis mar yrdoin. The 
scene of her martyrdom described, in a letter from the 
Solitary of the Thebaid, and (he attempt made by the 
young philosopher to rescue her. He is cained oft 
from thence to the cell of the Solitary. His letters 
from that retreat, alter he has become a Christian, 
devoting his thoughts entirely to repentance and the 
recollection of the beloved saint who had gone before 
him. — If 1 don't make something out of all this, the 
deuce is in't." 



According to this plan, the events of the story were 
to be told in Letters, or Epistolary Poems, addressed 
by the philosopher to a young Athenian friend ; but, 
for greater variety, as well as convenience, I after- 
wards distributed the task of narration among the 
chief personages of the Tale. The great difficulty, 
however, of managing, in rhyme, the minor details of 
a story, so as to be clear without growing prosaic, 
and still more, the diffuse length lo which I saw nar- 
ration in verse would extend, deterred me from fol- 
lowing this plan any further; and I then commenced 
the tale anew in its present shape. 

Of the Poems written for my first experiment, a 



few specimens, the best I could select, were intro- 
duced into the prose story ; but the remainder I had 
thrown aside, and nearly forgotten even their exist- 
ence, when a circums:auce somewhat chaiacleri-tic, 
perhaps, of that trading spirit, which has now con- 
verted Parnassus itself into a market, again called my 
attention to them. The late Mr. Macrone, to whose 
general talents and enterprise in business all who 
knew him will bear ready les imony, had long been 
anxious that I should undertake for him some new 
Poem or Story, affording such subjects for illustration 
as might call into pi .y the fanciful pencil of Mr. 
Turner. Other tasks and ties, however, had rendered 
my compliance with this wish impracticable; and he 
was about to give up all thoughts of attaining his ob- 
ject, when on learning from me accidentally that the 
Epicurean was still my own property, he proposed to 
purchase of me the use of the copyright for a single 
illustrated edition. 

The terms proffered by him being most liberal, I 
readily acceded to the proposed anangemerit ; but, on 
further consideration, there arose some difficulty in 
the way of our treaty— the work itself being found 
insufficient to form a volume of such dimensions as 
would yield any hope of defraying the cost of the nu- 
merous illustrations then intended for it. Some modi- 
fication,iherefore, of our terms was thought necessary ; 
and then first was the notion suggested to me of bring- 
ing forth fiom among my papers the original sketch, 
or opening of the story, ami adding these fragments, 
as a sort of make-weight, in the mutual adjustment of 
our terms. 

That I had myself regarded the first experiment as 
a failure, was sufficiently shown by my relinquish- 
ment of it. But, as the published work had then 
pa~sed through several editions, and had been trans- 
lated into most of the languages of Europe, it was 
thought that an insight into the anxious process by 
which such success had been attained, might, as an 
encouragement, at least, to the humble merit of pains- 
taking, be deemed of some little use. 

The following are the translations of this tale which 
have reached me: viz. two in French, two in Italian, 
(Milan, 1836 — Venice, 1835), one in German (Ins- 
pruc, 1S28), and one in Dutch, by M. Herman van 
Loghem (Deveuter, 1829). 



THE EPICUREAN: A TALE. 



TO LORD JOHN RUSSELL, 
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 

IB WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER AND TALENTS, 
AND IS PROUD OF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 



A LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR, 



FROM 



-, Esq. 



Cairo, June 19, 1800. 
My dear Sir, — During a visit lately paid by me to 
the monastery of St. Macarius— which is situated, as 
you know, in the Valley of the Lakes of Natron — I 
was lucky enough to obtain possession of a curious 
Greek manuscript, which, in the hope that you may 
be induced to translate it, I herewith transmit to you. 
Observing one of the monks very busily occupied in 
tearing up into a variety of fantastic shapes some 
papers which had the appearance of being the leaves 



of old books, I inquired of him the meaning of his 
task, and received the following explanation : — 

The Arabs, it seems, who ate as fond of pigeons as 
the ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious notion 
that, if they place in theii pigeon-houses small scraps 
of paper, wri ten over with" learned characters, the 
birds are always sure to thrive ihe better for the 
charm ; and the monks, who are never slow in profit- 
ing by superstition, have, at all limes, a supply of 
such amulets for purchasers. 

In general, the fathers of the monastery have been 
in the h'bit of scribbling these fragments themselves ; 
but a discovery lately made by them, saves all this 
trouble. Having dug up (as my informant stated) a 



464 



THE EPIC UREAN 



chest of old manuscripts, which, being chiefly on the 
subject nf alchemy, must have been buried in ■ he time 
of Dinclesian, " we thought," added the monk, "that 
we couid not employ such rubbish more properly, 
than in tearing it up, as you see, for the pige Jii-houses 
of ihe Arabs." 

On my expressing a wish to rescue some part of 
these treasures from the fate to which his indolent 
fraternity had consigned them, he produced the manu- 
script which I have now the pleasure of sending you 
— the only one, he said, remaining eni>e — and 
very readily paid the price which he demanded for it. 

You will find Ihe story, I think, not altogether unin- 
teresting; and the coincidence, in many respects, of 
the curious details in Chap. VI. with ihe description 
of the same ceiemonies in Ihe Romance of Sethos,' 
will, I have no doub', strike you. Hoping that you 
may be induced to give a translation of this Tale to 
the world, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Very truly yours, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



CHAPTER I. 

It was in the fourth year of the reign of the late 
Emperor Valerian, that the followersof Epicurus, who 
were at that time numerous in Athens, proceeded to 
Ihe election of a person to fill the vacant chair of 
their sect; — and, by the unanimous voice of the 
School, I was the individual chosen for their Chief. 
I was just then entering on my tweniy-fourib year, 
and no instance had ever before occurred, of a person 
so young being selected for that high office. Vouih, 
however, and 'he personal advan ages that adorn it, 
could not but rank among the most agreeable recom- 
mendations to a sect thai included within its circle 
all the beautva- well as the wit of Athens, ai d which, 
though dignifying its pursuits wi h the name of philo- 
sophy, was little else than a plausible pie cxi for the 
more refined cultivation of pleasure. 

Thecharac'erof 'he sect had, indeed, much changed, 
since Ihe time of its wise and virtuous founder, who, 
while he asserted that Pleasure i» the only Good, in- 
culcated also thai Go >d is the only source of Plea-uie. 
The purer part of this d ctrine had long evaporated, 
and the temperate Epicurus would have as lit le re- 
cognised his own sect in Ihe assemblage of refined 
voluptuaries who now u-urped its name, as he would 
have known his own quiet Garden in ihe luxurious 
groves and b iwers among which the meetings of the 
School wee now held. 

Many causes concurred, at this period, besides the 
attractiveness of its d ctrines, to render our school by 
far the most popular of any that still survive.! the 
glory of Greece. It may generally be ob-erved, that 
the prevalence, in one half of a community, of very 
rigid notions on ihe subject of religion, pioJuces Ihe 
opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity in the other ; 
and this kind rf re-action it was lhal now mainly 
contributed lo render the doctrines of the Garden Ihe 
most fashionable philosophy of ihe day. The rapid 
prog-ess of ihe Christian fai'ih had alarmed all those 



who believed in the Deities of Olympus, and all who 
lived by them. The natural consequence was, a con- 



t The description, here alluded to, may also be 
found, copied verbatim from Sethos, in the ' Voyages 
d'An'en r.'' — " In that philosophical romance, called 
•La Vie de Sethos."' s>ys Warburton, "we find a 
niuch jusler account of old Egyptian w isdoni, than in 
all the preleuded ' Histoire du Ciel. "' — Dio. Leg. 
book iv. sect. 14. 



siderable increase of zeal and activity, throughout t] 
constituted authorities and priesthood of the whole 
Heilhen world. Wbai was wau'ing in sincerity of 
belief was made up in rigour,— the weakest parts of 
the .Mythology were those, of course, most angrily 
defended, and any reflecions, tending to bring Saiurn, 
or his wife Ops, into contempt, were punished with 
the utmost severity of ihe law. 

In this sate of affairs, between the alarmed bigotry 
of the declining Faith and the simple, sublime auste- 
rity of her rival, it was not wonderful that those 
lovers of ease and pleasure, who had no interest, re- 
versionary or otherwise, in the old religion, and were 
loo indolent to inquire into ihe sanctions of the new, 
should lake refuge from the severities of bo h in the 
arms of a luxuri us philosophy, which, leaving to 
others the task of disputing about the future, centred 
all its wisdom in Ihe full enjowuent of the pre-ent. 

The sectaries of the Garden bad, ever since the 
death of ibeir founder, been accustomed to dedicate 
to his memory ihe twentieth day of even' month. 
To these monthly ries had, for some lime, been added 
a grand annual Festival, in cnmmemoraliou of bis 
bir h. The feasts, given on this occasion by my pre- 
decessors in the Chair, had been invariably distin- 
guished for their taste and splendour; and it was my 
ambition, nit merely to imitate this example, but 
eveu to render the anniversary, now celebrated under 
my auspices, so lively and brilliant as to etlace the 
recollecti n of all that had preceded it. 

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed so bright a 
scene. The ground- that formed the original site of 
the Garden had received, from time to time. onsiJe- 
rable additions ; and the whole exent was now laid 
out with that perfect taste, which understands how to 
wed Nature with Ail, without sacrificing any of her 
simplicity to the alliance. Wa.ks. leading through 
wildernesses of shade aud fragrance — glades, open- 
ing as if to afford a play-grouud for the sunshine — 
temples, rising on Ihe very spots where Imaginatirn 
herself would have called them up, and foon'ains aid 
lakes, in alternate motion and repose, either wantonly 
courting Ihe verdure, or calmly sleeping in it- eo,- 
brace— such was Ibe variety of feature that diversified 
these fair gardens; and. animated a- they were on 
this occasion, by all the living wit and loveliness of 
Athens, it afforded a scene such as my own youthful 
fancy, rich as it was then in images of luxury and 
beauty, could hardly have anticipated. 

The ceremonies of ihe day began with the very 
dawn, when, according to ihe form of simpler and 
Defer times, iho e among 'he disciples who had apart- 
ments within the Garden, bore the image of our 
Founder in procession fiom chamber to chamber, 
chanting verses in praise of w hat had long ceased to 
be objects of our imitation — bis frugality and tempe- 
rance. 

Round a beautiful lake, in Ihe centre of the Garden, 
stood four white Doric temples, in one of which was 
collected a library containing all 'he flowers of Gre- 
cian literature; while, in Ihe remaining three, Con- 
versation, the Snug, and Ihe Dance, held, unin errupt- 
ed by each other, their respective rites. In the 
Library stood busts of all the most illustrious Epicu- 
reans, both of Rome and Greece — Horace, Aniens. 
Pliny the elder, the poel Lucreiiu-, Lucian, and the 
lamented biographer of the Philosophers, lately lost to 
us, l)i genes Laenius. There were als i the portraits, 
in marble, of all ibe eminent female votaries of the 
school — Leontium and her fair daughter Danae, The- 
mi-ta. Phi aenis, and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of Heresiarch, on 
the morning of the Festival, I received the felicita- 
tions of the day from some of the fairest lip; of 
Athens ; and, in pronouncing the customary oration 
to the memory of our Mas'er i,in which it was usual 
to dwell upon the doctrines he had inculcated) en- 
dtav ured lo attiin that art, so u«eful before such an 
audience, of lending to the gravest subjects a cha m, 
which secures them listeners eveu among the simplest 
aud most volatile. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



465 



Though studv, as may be supposed, engrossed but 
little Ihe nights or mornings of the Garden, yet all 
the ligh'er parts of learning— that portion of its at'ic 
honey, for which the bee i- not compelled to go very 
deep in o Ihe flower— was somewhat zealously culti- 
vated by us. Even here, however, the young student 
had to encounter that kind of distraction, which is, of 
ail others, Hie least favourable to composure of 
thought; and, with more than one of my fair disci- 
ples, there used to occur such scenes as the following, 
which i poet of the Garden, taking his picture from 
Ihe life, thus described : — 

"Ah o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 

That tempi- threw i(s lengthening shade, 
Upon the inaible steps below 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 
Gracefully o'er some volume bending; 

While, by her side, the youthful Sage 
Held back her ringlets, lesl, descending, 
They should o'ei-sliacow all the page." 
But it was for the evening of that day, that the 
richest of our luxuries were reserved. Every part of 
the Garden was illuminated, with the most skilful 
variety of lustre ; while over ihe Lake of ihe Temples 
were scattered wreaths of flowers, throuzh which 
boats, filled with beautiful children, floated, as 
through i liquid parterre. 

Between two of these boats a mock combat was 
perpetually carried on ;— their respec'ive command- 
ers, two biooming youths, being habited to represent 
Eros and Anleros: the former, the Celestial Love of 
the Platonis's, and the latter, lhat more earthly spirit, 
which usurps the name of Love among the Epicu- 
reans. Throughout Ihe whole evening their conflict 
was maintained with various success; the limid dis- 
tance at which Eros kept aloof from his lively anta- 
gonist being his only safeguard against those darls of 
fire, with showers of which the other assailed him, 
but which, falling short of their mark upon the lake, 
only scorched ihe few flowers on which they fell, and 
were extinguished. 

In another part of the gardens, on a wide glade, 
illumina'ed only by the moon, was performed an imi- 
tation of the torch-race of the Panathenaea by young 
boys cho-en f"r their fleeiness, and arrayed with 
Wings, like Cupids; while, not far off, a group of 
seven nymphs, with eich a star on her forehead, re- 
presented the movements of ihe planetary choir, and 
embodied the dream of Pythagoras into real motion 
and song. 

At every turning some new enchantment broke 
unexpec edly on the eye or e r; and now, from the 
depih of a dirk grove, from which a fountain at the 
same time issued, there came a strain of sweet music, 
winch, mingling with Ihe murmur of Ihe water, 
seemed like the voice of thespiiit thai presided over 
its flow ;— while, at other times, the same strain ap- 
peared 'o c me breathing from among flowers, or was 
heard -uddenly from under ground, as if the foot had 
just touched some spring that set its melody in mo- 
tion. 

It may seem strange that I should now dwell upon 
all these trilling details ; but they were to me full of 
Ihe fn'urc ; and every ilimg connected with thai 
moralile night — even its long-repented follies — must 
for ever live fondly and -acndlv in my memory. 
The festival conducted wiih a bnquet, at which, 
master of Ihe Sect, I presided ; and being, myself, in 
every sense. Ihe ascendant spirit of ihe whole sc 
gave life t all around me, and saw my own happiness 
reflected in that of others. 



CHAPTER II. 

The festival was over;— Ihe sounds of the song and 
dance had cease], and I was now left in those I 
rious gardens, alone. Though so ardent and active a 
votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a disposition full 



of melancholy ;— an imagination that, even in the 
midst of mirth and hap, iness, presented saddening 
houghts. and threw the shadow of the future over the 
gayest illusions of ihe piesent. Melancholy was, in- 
twin-born in my soul with Passion; and not 
even in Ihe fullest fervour of the latter were they ever 
separated. From ihe first moment that I was con- 
scious of thought and feeling, the same dark thread had 
run across the web ; and images of death and annihi- 
lation came to mingle themselves with even the most 
iling scenes through which love and enjoyment led 
me. My very passion for pleasure but deepened 
these gloomy thoughts. For, shut out, as I was by 
my creed, front a future life, and having no hope 
beyond ihe narrow horizon of this, even minute of 
fthly delight assumed, in my eyes, a mournful pre- 
ciousness; and pleasure, like 'he flower of the ceme- 
ry, grew bu' more luxui lant fiom the neighbourhood 
of dea'h. 

This very night my triumph, my happiness had 
seemed complete. I had been the presiding genius of 
that voluptuous scene. Both my ambition" and my 
love of pleasure had drunk deep of the rich cup for 
which they thirs'ed. Looked up to as I was by the 
learned, and admired and loved by the beautiful and 
the young, I h d seen, in every eye that met mine, 
eilher the acknowledgment of bright triumphs already 
won, or the promise of otheis, still brighter, that 
awaited me. Yet, even in the mid-t of all this, the 
: dark thoughts had presented themselves; — the 
perishableness of myself and all around me had re- 
curred every ins ant to my mind. Those hands 1 had 
prest — those eyes, in which I had seen sparkling a 
pirit of light and life that ought never to die — those 
voices, that hid spoken of eternal love — all, all, I 
felt, were but a mockery of the momen',and would 
leave nothing eternal but the silence of their dust ! 
Oh, were it not for this sad voice, 
Stealing amid our mirth to say. 
That all, in which we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey ; — 
Bui for this bitter— only this — 
Full as the world is hrnnm'd with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its depth ihe whole, 
I should turn earth to heaven, and be. 
If bliss made gods, a deity ! 
Such was the description I gave of my own feelings, 
in one of those wild, passionate songs, to which this 
mixture of mirth and melancholy, in a spirit so 
buoyant, naturally gave birth. 

And seldom had my heart so fully surrendered itself 
to Shis sort of vague sadness as at that very moment, 
when, as 1 paced thughtfully among the fading lights 
and flowers of the banquet, ihe echo of my own step 
was all hat now sounded, where so many gay forms 
had la ely been revelling. The moon was still up. the 
morning had not yet glimmered, and the calm glories 
of ihe night slill rested on all around. Unconscious 
whither my pathway led, I continued to wander 
along, I ill I. at le gth. found my-elf before that fair 
statue if Venus, with which the chisel of Alcamenes 
had embellished our Garden ; — that image of deified 
woman, the only idol to which I had ever yet bent 
Ihe knee. Leaning again-t Ihe pedestal of the sta'ue, 
1 raised my eyes to heaven, and fixing them sadly and 
intently on the ever-burning -tars, as if seeking to read 
the mournful seciet in their light, asked, wherefore 
was it lhat Man alone mus' fade and perish, while 
they, so much les wonderful, less godlike than he, 
thus sill lived on in radiance unchangeable and for 
ever'. — "Oh, that there were some spell, some talis- 
man," I exclaimed, "to make the spirit that burns 
within us deathless as 'hose stars, and open to i' a 
career like theirs, as bright and inextinguishable 
throughout all time !'' 

While ihus indu'ging ii wild and melancholy fan* 
cies. I fell (hat lassitude which earthly pleasure, how- 
ever sweet, slill leaves behind, come insensibly over 
me, and at length sunk at the base of the statue to 
sleep. 

2e 



466 



THE EPICUREAN. 



But even in sleep, the same fancies continued to 
haunt me; and a dieam, 1 so distinct and vivid as to 
leave behind it the impress.oo of reality, thus pre- 
sented itseif to my muid. I found myself suddenly 
transported to a wide and desolate plain, where nothing 
appeared to breathe, or move, or live. The very sky 
that hung above it looked pale and ex'inct, giving the 
idea, not of darkness, but of light ilia: had bee me 
dead; — and hsd that whole region been 'he remains 
if some older world, left broken up and sunless, it 
could not have presented an aspect more q'.e: ched and 
des late. The only thing that besp ke life, through- 
out this melancholy waste, was a small spark of light, 
that at first glimmered in the distance, but, a' length, 
slowly approached the bleak spot where I stood. As 
it drew nea er, I could see that its small but steady 
gleam came fiom a taper in the hand of an ancient and 
venerable man. who now stood, like a pale messenger 
f cm the giave, belore me. Af er a few moment- of 
awful silence, during which he looked at me with a 
sadness that thrilled my very soul, he said, ''Thou, 
who seekest eternal life, go unto the shores of Ihe dark 
Nile — go unto the shores cf the dark Nile, and thou 
wilt find 'he eternal life thou seekest \ n 

No sooner had he ut ered these words than the 
deathlike hue i f his cheek at once brightened in'o a 
smile of moie than earthly promise; while the 'mall 
torch he held in bis hand sent (or h a glow of radiance, 
by which suddenly the whole surface of the desert 
wis illuminated; —the light spreading even to ihe 
dis'ant horizon's edge, aloug whose line 1 could now 
^ee gardens, palaces, and spires, all as bright as the 
lich architecture of 'he clouds at sunset. Sweet mu- 
sic, too, came floating in every direction through the 
air, and. Irom all sides, such varieties cf enchan menl 
broke upon me, Uia', with the excess alike of harmony 
and of ladiance, 1 aw ke 

That infidels should be suj ers'itious is an anomaly 
neither unusual nor slra. ge. A belief in superhuman 
aseucy seems na'ural and i.ece-sary o the muid ; and, 
if nut suffered to fl >.v in the obvious channels, it will 
liud a vent iu some other. Hence, many who have 
d iub id the exi-tence of a God, have ye; implicitly- 
placed themselves under the pationage of F.te or the 
stars. Much he same inconsistency I was 
of in my on n feelings. Though rejecting all belief in 
a Divine Providence, I had yei a faith in drems, that 
all my philoa phy could not c nquer. Nor was expe- 
lience wanting to confirm me in my delusion ; for. by 
some of loose accidental coincidences, which make 
the fortune of s othsayers and prophets, dreams, 
more than once, bad been to me 

Oia. le» truer far than cat, 
Or duve, or Uipod, ever spoke. 
It was not wondetful, therefore, that ihe vision of that 
night — touching, as it did, a chord so ready to vibrate 
— should have affected me frith more than oidinary 
power. and even >uuk deeper into my memory with 
every effort I made to f rgel it. In vai'u d.d 1 in ck at 
my own weakness ; — sue! Join iu- 

ceie. In ram did 1 pursue my accustomed pleasures 
I heir zest was, as usual, for ever new; bul still, in 
the midst of all my enj nyroen', came the cold and sad- 
dening c nsciousiies- of mortali y, and, wi h i . t,-.e 
recollection of that vision 
fancy, iu defiance of reas.m. ? 1 1 1 1 continued to c ing. 

At ti.. i ..me el-e 

than a < i .nam, I even contemplated 

the pasible ex s e . secie', by w hich 

youth, if not peipetuated, might be at leas: prolonged, 
and that dreadfui viciury of deatb, within whose cir- 
cle love pities and pleasure sicken*, might be for a 
while averted. "Who know-.f | would ask, 'but 
tint in Egipt, tti ■ l re;i n 
! liaih vet . 
remain, I ^cth. so 

i For the importance attached 'o deans by the 
ancients, see Jortin, Remarks on Ecc esiasticaf His 

, p. 90. 



many writ'en secre'.s of the antediluvian world — who 
can tell but that some powerful charm, some amulet, 
may there lie hid, whose discovery, as this 
bath promised, but awai s my coming — some 
pound of the same pure atoms, that form the 
of the living stars, and whose infusion into Ibe frame 
of man might render him also unfading and im- 
mortal !" 

Thus fondly did I sometimes specula'e, in those 
vague moods of mind, when the life of excitement in 
which 1 was engaged, acting upon a warm heart and 
vivid fancy, produced an in'oxication of spirit, during 
which I was not wt.o.ly myself. This bewilderment, 
too, was not a little increased by the constant struggle 
I experienced between mv ow n natural feelings, and 
the cold, mortal creed of my sect — in endeavouring 
to escape from whose deadening bondage I but broke 
loove into the realms of fantasy and romance. 

Even in my soberest moments, however, that 
Strange vision for ever haunted me ; and every effort 
I made to chase it fr m my recollection was unavail- 
ing. The deliberate conclusion, therefore, io which 1 
at last came, was, thst to visit Egypt was now my 
only res ur.e ; that, without seeing that land of won- 
ders, I could not rest, nor, until convinced of my folly 
I ointment, be reasonable. Without delay, 
accordingly, I announced to my friends of the Garden 
the intention I bad formed to pay a visit to the land of 
Pyramids. To none of them, how ever, did 1 dare to 
confess the vague, visionary impulse that actuated 
me ; — Knowledge being the object thai I alleged, 
while Pleasure was that for which they gave me 
credit. The in erests of the School, il v>a feared, 
might suffer by my absence; and here were some 
tenderer ties, w'hich had still more to fear from sep- 
ration. But for the former inconvenience a temporary 
remedy was provided; while the lattei a skilful dis- 
_ s alleviated. Beimr fur- 
ni-hed with recommenda'ory lexers to all parts of 
Egypt. I set s->il, in the summer of the year 237, A. D., 
for Alexandria. 



CHAPTER III. 
To one, who so well knew bow io ex'rac' 
from every moment on land, a sea-voyare, however 
smooth and iav urable, appeared the leist areeable 
mode of losing time that could be devised Often, in- 
deed, did my imagination, in past 
tb se -eas, people i « ih fair form- and loving beans, 
to which mo-t willingly would I have pause 
h ma;e. But the w iud blew direct towards Ihe land 
of Mys'ery ; and, still more, I beard a voice within 
me, whispering for ever '■ urn" 

As we approached >hr co st of Egvpt. out course 
became les not tbe 

1 benevolence i f the diviu'' - the shape 

of a storm, or rathe whirlwind, I 
i sunk our vessel, and which tbe 1 _ 
declared to be the work of thr.r 
After a day and ■ igh' o: 

; we e driven ou of our course to 'he ra-tnard. some 
! benuner influence prevailed above ; and, at lemrth, 
. as the morniug fresh v t r ke. we saw (he beauiifol 
-ra, »i h its pioud 
Palace of K:n;-. - bo dred c lumns, 

and the fair pillar of Pi.iars,* towering in the inidsl 
to heaven. 
| After passing in review this -pler:dil vrson, we 
' shct rapidlv round Ihe Rock of Phiros. and in a few 
| minutes, fouud ourselves in the haibcur of Eunottus. 

I » Mtve properly, perhaps 

und this 

•clumn i.iornely de-i;i : 'I now 

:.e tune of 






M. de Sacy say 



i I "aiif ia's TratxlM. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



467 



The sun had risen, tut (he light on Ihc Great Tower 
ct the Rock was s'ill burning; and there was a lan- 
guor in the first waking moments of thai voluptuous 
City — whoe houses and temples lay shining in silence 
around Ihe harbour — lhat sufficiently attested the fes- 
tivities if the preceding night. 

VVe were s"un la .ded on the quay ; and, as I walked 
through a line of palaces and shrines, up the street 
which leads fr ni he sea to the Gate of Canopus. fresh 
as I was from Jhe contemplation of my own lovely 
Athens, I yet fell a glow of admiration a' the scene 
around me, which its novelty, even m re than ■ 's 
magnificence, inspired Nor were the luxuries and 
delights, which such a city promised, among the least 
of the considerations upon which my fancy dwelt. On 
the contrary, everything around me seemed prophetic 
01' love and pleasure. The very forms of the archi- 
tecture, to my Epicurean imagination, appeared to call 
Uj- images of living grace; and even the dim seclusion 
of the temples and groves spoke only of tender myste- 
ries to my mind. As the whole bright scene grew 
animated aiound me, I felt that though Egypt might 
not enable me 10 leng'hen life, she could le.ch the 
next best an— (hit of multiplying its enjoj merits. 

The population of Alexandria,' at this period, con- 
sisted of ihe mos 1 motley miscellany of nations, reli- 
gion-, and sects, that had ever been brmght together 
in one city. Be-ide the school of the Grecian Plato- 
nist was seen the oratory of the crbalistic Jew ; while 
the chuch of the Christian stood, undis urhed, over 
the crypts pf the Eg.p'ian Hieiopbant. Here, the 
adorer' of Fne, fiotn the East, laughed at ihe less 
elegant supers ition of the worshipper of cats, from 
the West. Here Chrisianity. loo, had learned to 
emulate he pious vagaries of Fag-nism; and while, 
on one side, her Ophite pr fessor was seen bending his 
knee gravely before a serpent, on the Other, a Nicosia n 
Chii-tian was heard contending, with no less gravity, 
lhat there could be no char.ee whatever of silvation 
out of the pile t>f the Greek alphabet. Still woise, 
the unchiri:able.ues> of Chrisian schism was a 'ready, 
with equal vigour, distinguishing itself; and 1 heard 
every where, oo my arrival, of the fierce rancour and 
hate, with which the Greek and Latin churchmen 
weie then peisecu ing each other, because, forsooth, 
the one fasted on the seventh day of the week, aod the 
others fasted upon Ihe fourth ai d sixth ! 

To none, however, of these different creeds aid 
see's, e\cep> in as f<r as they fuinshed food for ridi- 
cule, had 1 time to pay much a:tention. 1 was now m 
the most luxurious city of the universe, and accord- 
ingly gave way wi'hout reserve, to the various seduc- 
tions that surrounded me. My repu a'lon, both as a 
philo.opher and a m n ' f pleasure, had preceded my 
coming; and Alexandria, the sec nd Alhei.s of Ihe 
world, welcomed me as her own. I found my Cele- 
bris, indeed, act as a talisman, th t opened all hearts 
and doors at my approach. The usual noviiiate of 
acquaintance was dispensed with in my favour, and 
not onlv intimacies, hut loves ™l friendships, ripened 
as rapidly in my path, as vegetation springs up where 
the Nile has ; owed. 'Ihe dark beauty of the Egyp- 
tian women 3 possessed a novelty in my eyes that 



enhanced ils other charms ; and the hue left by the 
on their rounded cheeks seemed but an earnest 
of the genial ardour be must have kindled in their 

hearis — 



Some weeks had now passed in such constant and 

er-changing pleasures, 'hat even the melancholy 

ice derp within my heart, though it still spoke, 

as but seldom listened io, and soon died away in the 

sound of the siren songs lhat surrounded me. At 

ng'h, as the novelty of these gay scenes wore off, 

the same vague and gloomy bodings began to mingle 

th all my jo\s; and an incident lhat occurred, at 

this time, during one of my gayest revels, conduced 

still more to deepen their gl om. 

he ceiehra :on of ihe annual festival of Serapis 
happened to take place during my slay, and 1 was, 
e lhan once, induced lo mingle with the gay mul- 
titudes that d .eked to the shrine at Canopus on the 
occasion. Day and night, as long as this festival 
lasted, the grea 1 canal, which led from Alexandria to 
Canopus, was cover- d with boais full of pilgrims of 
both sexes, all hastening to avail themselves of this 
pious license, which lent Ihe zest of a religi us sanc- 
tion to pleasure, and gave a holyday lo the follies and 
passions of earl h. in honour of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexandria. 
The north wind, thai welcome visiter, had cooled and 
freshened Ihe air, while the banks, on either side of 
the steam, sent forth from groves of orange and 
henna, the most delicious i douis. As 1 had left all 
Ihe crowd behind me at Canopus. there was not a 
boat to be seen on the canal b t my own ; and I was 
just yielding to the thoughts which solitude a such 
an hour inspires, when my reveries were suddenly 



l Ammian s thus speaks of the s'a'e of Alexmd ia 
in h.s ime which «as, I believe, as la e as the end of 
the f ur'h century :— "Ne nunc quidem in eadem urhe 
Doctunaa variae silent, non apud nos e.xaruii Musica 
nee H iimonia coniicuit." — Lib. 22. 

3 From Ihe charae'er of ihe fea'ures of he Sphinx, 
and a passage in Herrdotus. describing the Eg\p>iaus 
as nt\ayx9°£S *"■' ovKotoix i S Volney, Bruce a' d 
a few others, have concluded thai the ancient inhabi- 
tants of Egypt weie negrje-. But ibis opinion is con- 
Iradic'el by a host of auihori ies. Srre eastern's N des 
upon Brirwnr.'s Travels, for Ihe result of B'umen- 
bach*s dis ecti on if a variety of mummies. Denon, 
speaking of ihe character of Ihe heads iepresented in 
the ancient sculpture and painting of Egvpt, says, 
'•Celle des fenimes resemble entire a la figure de- 
.inlies feinmes d'aujouid hui de !a ronde;.r, de la 



volupte, le nez petit, Ies yeux longs, pen ouverls, r &c. 
&c. He could judge, too, he says, from the female 
mummies, '• que leurs cheveux ct ient longs oi li-ses, 
que le caraclere de tele de la pluparl 'euoit du beau 
s'yle.'" — " Je rappnrtai," he adds, " une lete de vieille 
fe'inniequi etoil au-si belle que celles de Michel-Ange, 
et leur re>embloit beaucoup." 

i a •' Description generate de rAeles," by Messrs. 
Jollois et Desvilliers, they say, " Tou'es Ies sculptures 
Egyptiennes. depuis des pius grands colosses de 
Thebes j squ'aux plus prtites idoles. ne rappellent en 
aucune inaniere le- traits de la figure des negres ; 
outre que Ies teles des mom ies des catacombes de 
Thebes presentent des prnfils droits." (See also M. 
Jomard's "Description of Syene a- d the Calancls," 
Baron Larr, y, on ihe"conf rma ion physique" of the 
Egyptians, &c ) But the most ~ a isfaclory refutation 
of Ihe opinion of Vo ney has been afforded within 
these few years, by Doctor Granville, who having 
been lucky enough to obtain possession of a perfect 
female mummy, has. by the d s-ecion and admeasure* 
men' of its form, completely es ablished the faci, lhat 
the ancient Egyptians were of the Caucasian race, not 
of the Elhi ipi n. See this gentleman's curious " Es- 
say on Egyptian Mummies," read before the Royal 
Societv, April Uth, If23. 

De PauM, he giva' depredator of everything Egyp- 
tiin, his, on he authori y of a passage in ^Elian, pre- 
sumed o affix to ihe countrywomen of Cleopatra the 
stigma of com. lete aid unredeemed ugliness. The 
following line of Euripides, however, is an answer to 
such charges : — 

NeiAod p.tv aide KaWiirapdevot poai. 
In addition to ihe celebrated instances of Cleopatra, 
Rhod pe, &c we are (old on the authority of Mane- 
tho las given by Zoegi from Georgius Syncellu-), of a 
beautiful queen of Memphis, Nilocris, of :he sixth dy- 
nasty, who, in addition to oilier charms and perfec- 
tions, was fra her inconsistently with the negro hypo- , 
thesis) lav&r) rtjv xpoiav, i. e , yellow-haired. 

See for a libit e lo ihe beany of !he Egyptian wo- ! 
men, Montesquieu s Temple de Guide. 



The memory of the dream now recurred to me 
more livelily than ever. The bright, assuring smile 
of that venerable S| irii. and his words, "Go to the 
shores of the dark Nile, and th u will find he eternal 
life th "U seekest,' 1 we e for ever present to my mind. 
But as ye:, al .-, I had done nothi g t wards realising 
the proud promise. Al-xandria was not Egypt; — 
the very soil on which it now Mood was i.ot in exist- 
ence, when aheady Thebes and Memphis had num- 
bered ages of glory. 

" No," I exclaimed ; 'it is only beneath 'he Pyra- 
mid- of Memph s, or in the Days ic Halls of the Laby- 
rinth. those h ly arcani are to' be 6 und, of which the 
antediluvian world has made Egypt its heir, and 
am ng which — blest thought! — the key to eternal 
life may lie." 

Having formed my de ermina'ion. I took leave of 
my many" Alexandrian friends and departed for Mem- 
ptlis. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Egypt was, perhaps, of all others, the couDtry most 
calculated, from that mixture of the melancholy and 
the vnluptu us, which marked the character of her 
people, her religion, and her scenery, to affect deeply 
a fancy and lemperuneBl like mine, ad keep both 
tar ever tremblingly alive. Wherever I turned, I 
beheld the desert and the garden, mingling 



broken by the sound of some female voices, coming 
mingled with aughter and screams from the garden 
of a pavilion, hat stood, brilliantly illuminated, upon 
the bank of the canal. 

On rowing nearer, I perceived that both the mirth 
and the alarm had been caused by the efforts of some 
playful giils ;o reach a hedge of jasmine which grew 
near the wa'er, and in bending toward- which they 
had nearly faileu into the stre m. H siening to 
proffer my assistance. I =■ on rec gtiised the voice of 
one of my fair Alexandrian friends, and, springing on 
the bank, was surrounded by the whole g'Oup, who 
insisted on my joining their party in 'he pivi lion, and 
having Hung around rue, as fetters, the tendrils of jas- 
mine, which they had ju t plucked, conducted me, no 
an willing captive, to the banquet-room 

1 found here an assemblage of the very flower of 
Alexandrian society. The unexpec edness < f the 
Dire ing added new zest to it on both sides ; and sel- 
dom had 1 ever felt more enlivened my elf. or suc- 
ceeded beter in infusing life and gaiety in o other-. 

Among the company w ere s ->me G eek women, who, 
according to the la hiou of their country, w 
but, as usual, rather to set off than to conceal their 
beau'y, some bright gleams of which were c 
escaping from under the cloud. There was, how- 
ever, one female, who par icularly a traded my atten- 
tion, on whose head was a chaplet of dark c loured 
flowers, and who sat veiled aid silent during the 
whole of the banquet. She look no share, I obi 

in what was pas-nig arm/lid : the viands and the wine . their desolation and bloom. 1 saw the love-bow 
went hv her untouched, nor did a word that was and the tmb standing si ;e by side, as if, in that land, 
spoken seem addressed to her ear. This abstraction Plea-ure and Death kept hourly wa'ch upon each 
from a scene so sparkling with gaietv. though 'pp>- other. In the very luxury of the climate there was 
reutly unnoticed by any one but myself, s'ruck me as the nine saddening influence. The monotns 
mysterious and stra ge. I inquired of my fa.r neigh- dour of the dns. ihc solemn radiance nf the nights — 
bour the cause of it, but she looked grave and was all tended hi cherish that ardent melarcholy, the off- 
silent, and of thought, which had been so 

In the mean lime, the lyre and the cup went round ; long the familiar inmate of my soul, 
and a young maid from Athens, as if inspired by ihe j When I sailed from Alexandri i, the inundation of 
presence of her countryman, look her lute, and sung the Nile was at its full. The whole valley of Egapt 
to it some of the songs of Greece, with a warmth of lay covered by its rior-d ; and. as, looking around me, 
feeling that bore me back to Ihe banks of the ll.ssus, ' I saw in the light of the setting sun, shrines, palaces, 
i aud, even in the bosom of (resent pleasure, drew a -. e circ.rd by the waters, I c uld 

sigh from my heart for that which had passed away, almost fmcy that I beheld the silking island of Ata- 
It was davb'reak ere our delighted parry rose, and lan'is, on The last evini.g its temples were visible 
most unwillingly re-embarked lo re urn to the city, j above the wave. Such v .rieties too, of animation as 

We were scarce arloat, w hen it was discovered that presented themselves on every side '. — 
the lute of the young Athenian had I 
and, wilh a heart s'ill full of its sweet s unds, I most 
readily sprang on shore to seek it I hastened at once 
lo the banquet-room, which was now dim and soli. 
tary, except that — there, to my utter ast nishmeut, 
was still seated that silent figure, which had a vakened 
so much my curiosity during Hie evening A Vague 
reeling f awe came over me, as 1 now si >wly ap- 
proached it. There w a, no moli n, no s 0u nd ,,f 
breathing in that form ;— not a leaf of the dark chap- 
let upon its brow sirred. By the light of a dying 
tamp winch stood on the table before the figure, 1 
raised, with a hesitating hand, he veil; and saw — 
what my fancy had already anticipated — thai the 
shape underneath w.s lifeless, was a skelefc u ! Star- 
tled and shocked, I hurried back with the lu'e o he 
bo it, and was almost as silent as that shape itself 
during the rema ndei of the I 

This custom among the Egyptians "f placing a 
mummy, or skeleton, at the banqiie' -table, 
f t some time d.sused. except at particular ceremo- 
nies ; and. even on sucii occasions, it had been ihe 
practice of the luxurious Alexandrians to disguise this 
memorial of mortality in the manner just descril ed. 
But to me, who was wholly unprepared for such a 
spec'acle, it gave a sh >ck from which my imagina'ion 
did not speedily reo'ver. '1 I. is silent and ghastly wit- 
ness of mirth seemed to embody, as it were, the sha- 
dow in my own hcait. The" features nf Hie grave 
were thus s'a nped upon the idea that had long haunted 
me, and this pic'ure of what I was to be now asso- 
ciated i'self constantly with the sunniest .- 
whit 1 wis 



Wbi:e, far as i 
And blue a he. 

And nigh-btiil 



glit i-ouk) reach, beneath as cleat 

!>!•». M this e| here, 
llar'd gi reel*, and i* • 
temples, fit to be the home* 



Then, loo. Ihe arel 
One theatre of i hi; 
Where all that l/i 
Of life at 

He'e. i.; 



Around two rooqurrors of the world wa 
But, (or a third loo feeble, broke at last ! 



THE EPICUREAN. 



469 



Enchanted with the whole scenj. 'ingered delight- 
edly on my voyage, visiting all rnrse luxurious and 
venerable places, whose names have been consecrated 
by the wonder of agei. At Sais 1 was present during 
her Fes'ival of Lamps, and read, by the blaze of innu- 
merable lights, those sublime words on the ten. pie of 
Nei ha : i — " I am all that has been, that is, and that 
will be, and no man haih ever lif:ed my veil." I 
wandeied among the prostrate i belisKsof fieli jpnlis,^ 
and SiW, not without a sigh, the s.n smiling over her 
ruins, as if in mockery of Ihe mass ol perishable g an- 
deur, thai had once called itself, in ils pride, " Ihe 
City of Ihe Sun." But to Ihe Isle of the Golden 
Venus 3 was, I own, my fondest pilgrimage; — and 
there, as I rambled through ils shades^ where bowers 
are the only temples, I tell how far more wo thy to 
form the shrine of a Deity are the overliving stems of 
the garden and the grove, than be most precious 
columns Ihe inanimate qu<rry can supply. 

Everywhere, new pleasures, new interests awaited 
me; and though Melancholy stood, as usual, for ever 
near, her shadow fell but half-way over my vagrant 
path, leaving the rest but mere welcomely brilliant 
from the contrast. To relale my various advemu.es, 
during this short voyage, would only detain me from 
events, far, far more worthy of record. Amidst all 
this endless vaiie'y of attractions, the great object of 
my journey had been forgotten ; — the mysteries of 
this land of the sun still remained, to me, as muoji 
mysteries as ever, and as yet I had been iniliated in 
nothing but ils pleasures. 

It was nm till that memorable evening, when I firs' 
stood before the Pyramids of Memphis, and beheld 
them towering aloft, like the watch-towers of 'lime, 
from whose summit, when abou : to exj ire, he will 
look his last — it was not till this moment tiiat ihe 
great secret announced in my dream again rose, in all 
its inscrutable darkness, upon my thoughts. There 
was a solemui y in Ihe sunshine resting upon those 
monuments — a stillness, as ol reverence, in the air 
that breathed ar und them, which seemed to steal, 
like the music of past time-, into my heart. I 
thought what myriads of the w ise, the be .utiful, and 
the brave, had sunk into dust since eanh lirsi saw 
those wondeis; and, in the s.dness of my s >ul, I ex- 
claimed, — -'Must man alone, then, perish? niusi 
minds and heans be annihilated, w lule'i yramids en- 
dure? Oh, Death, Death ! even upon these everlast- 
ing tablets — ihe only approach to immortality thai 
kings themselves could purch.se — thou ha I written 
our doom awfully, nd intelligibly, saying, 'There is 
for man no eternal man-inn but t lie gravel' '' 

My heart sunk at the thought ; and, for the mo- 
ment, I yielded to that desolate feeling, which over- 
spreads ihe soul lha 1 hath no light from the future. 
But again the buoyancy of my nature prevailed, and 
again, the willing dupe of vain dreams, 1 deluded 
myself into the belief of all th.t my heart most wish- 
ed, with ihat h.ppy facility which enables imagi- 
nation to s'and in the pi .Ce of happiness. •» Yes/' I 
cried, "immortality must be wi hin man's reach; 
and, a- wisdom alone is worthy of such a blcs-ii.g, t 
the wise alone must Ihe secret have been revealed. 
It is said, that deep, under yonder pyramid, has lain 



i To (?■ cv Eaa ttjs AOrjuac, f/v /car, Jciv vo/ii- 
$ov(riv, i<5oc, tmypa4>r)v tx iL TOtavrifv, Eyw upu 
itav to ytyovoc, kcu ov rear, cao/xevov, icai toi; 
t/iov ntKXov ovdcis JT<o axcKaXvipzv. — Plutarch. 
de Isid tt Osir. 

1 De-la, en remontant toujnurs le Nil, on trouve a 
deux cent cinquanle pas. ou envi on de la Mataree, 
les traces de l'ancienne Heliopolis, ou Vil| c de Soleil, 
a qui ce lieu e'oit particulieremenl consacre. C est 
pour cetie raison qu'on IVppetloit euc /re i'cEiI. ou [a 
Fonaine du Soleil. — Maillit. 
J 3 "On trouve une ile appelee Venus-Doree. o u le 

| champ d'or, avant de remonter jusqu a Memphis." 

Voyagts de Pythagore. 

40 



for ages concealed the Table of Emerald, * on which 
the 1 hrice-Grea: He mes, in tunes before Ihe flood, 
engraved 'he secret of Alchemy, which gives gold at 
will. Why, then, may not the mightier, the more 
god-like secret, that gives life at will, be recorded 
there also ? It was by the power of gold, of end. ess 
gold, ihat the k.ngs, who now repose in those massy 
structures, scooped earth to its very centre, and raised 
quarries into the air, o provide f r themselves tombs 
lha: might oustand he world. Who can tell but that 
the gifi of immortality was also theirs? who knows 
but ihat they themselves, triumphant over decay, still 
live;— those mighty mansions which we call tombs, 
being rich and everlasting palaces, within whose 
depths, concealed from this withering world, Ihey 
s'ill wander, with the few Elect who have beeo 
sharers of their gift, through a sunless, but ever i.lu- 
n.inated, elysium of their own? Else, wherefore 
those structures? wheref re lha*. sub'crranean realm, 
by which the win le valley of Egypt is undermined ? 
Why, else, those labyrinths, which none of earlb 
hath ever beheld— w hich none of heaven, except Ihat 
God, who siands, with finger on his hushed lip, s ha'.b 
ever trodden ?" 

While thus I indulged in fond dreams, the sun, al- 
ready half sunk beneath the horizon, was taking, 
calmly and gloriously, his last look of ihe Pyramids 
—as he had done, eieniug af'er evening, for ages, till 
tliey had grown familiar to him as the earth itself. 
(In the side turned o his ray they now presented a 
front of dazzung whiteness, « while, ou the other, 
their great shadows, lengthening away to the east- 
ward, looked like the first steps of N.gbl, hastening 
to envelope 'he hills of Araby in her shade. 

No sooner had < lie last gleam of the suu disappear- 
ed, thai, on every house-lop in Memphis, gay, gilded 
banners were seen waving aloft, 10 proclaim his set- 
ting—while, at the same moment, a full hurst of har- 
mony was heard to peal from all the temples along 
the shores. 

Stan led from my nusing by these sounds, I at once 
recollected, that, on ttat very evening, the great festi- 
val of the Moon was to be" celebrated On a Utile 
island, half-way over between the gaidens of Mem- 
phis and Ihe eastern shore, stood the temple of that 
goddess, 

whose beams 
Bring the sweet time of nighl-llowcra and dreams. 
.Vol ihe mid than of the K.nth, who eta .ins 
In ve-ml ice Ihe current of young veins; 
But she, Mini haunia the gay, Bubasliau 7 grove. 
And owns she sees-, from her bright heav'n above, 
Nothing on earlb, to match that heav'n, but love! 

Thus did I exclaim, in the words of one of their 
own Egyptian poets, as, anticipating the various de- 



« For an account of the Table of Emerald, vide 
Lettres sur POrigine des Ditux d Egyjjte. De Pauw 
supposes it to be a modem fie ion of Ihe Aiabs. 
Many writer- have fuicied that ihe art of making 
g Id was the greai secret that lay hid under Ihe forms 
of Egyptian iheology. "La s'cie. ce Hrrmetique,'' 
says the Beuedicti. e, Penietz, ■* lart sacerdoial, eloit 
1 1 source de toutes les richesse- des R is d'Egypte. et 
I'objel de ces n.yste es si C'ches sous le voile de leur 

Eretend .e Religion." FaLUs Egyptieimes. Ihe 
lemglyphs, that formerly covered Ihe Pyramids, are 
supposed by some of the,e writers to relate to the 
same art.— see Mutus Liber. Rupelte. 

5 '• Kntin Harp craies representor aussi le soleil. 
II est vrai que e'eu-i le Dieu du silence; il mettoit 
le doigt sur la Douche parce qu'on adoroii le soleil 
avec un respec'ui us silence, et e'esi de la qu'est venu 
es Basi idiens, qui tir.ient leur origine de 
l'Egy pte." — Be lusobre. 

s ■• By reflecing the sun's rays," says Clarke,' 
speaking of the Pyramids, "they appeared white as 
snow." 

' For Bubastis the Diana of the Egyptians. — Viae 
Jabloiuhi, lib. iii. cap. 4. 



470 



THE EPICUREAN 



lights of the festival, I cast away from my mind all 
gloomy thoughts, and, hastening !o my little bark, in 
which I now lived the life of a Nile-bird, on the 
waters, steered my course to the island temple of the 



CHAPTER V. 

The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as if 
conscious of the honours that awaited her upon earth, 
was welcomed will) a loud acclaim from every emi- 
nsnce, where multitudes s ood watching lor her first 
light. And seldom had that light risen upon a more 
beautiful scene. I he c.ty of Memphis — still grand, 
though no longer the unrivalled Memphis, that had 
borne away ftom Throes the crown of supremacy, 
and worn ii undi-puted through ages — now, softened 
by the mild moonlight that harmonised with her de- 
cline, shone forth among i.er lakes Iter pyramids, and 
her shrines, like one of ibose dreams of human glory- 
that must ere long pa-s away. Even already ruin 
was visible ground her. The sands of the Libvan 
desert were gaining upon her like a sea; ai.d there, 
among solitaiy columns and sphinxes, already half 
sunk from sigir, 1 ime seemed to s aid wai ing, till 
all that now fi unshed around him should fall beneath 
his desolating hand, like the rest. 

On the waters all was gaiety and life. As far as 
eye could reach, the ligh's ■ ■( innumerable boa's were 
seen studding, like rubies, the surface of 'he stream. 
Ve-sels of every kind — from the light coracle. 1 built 
for shooting down the caiarac's. in the large yacht 
that glides slowly to the sound of fiutes — all were 
alioat for this sacred festival, tilled with crowd- of the 
young and I he gay, not Only from Memphis and Baby- 
lon, bul from cities still lariher removed fioiu the 
fe-tal scene. 

As I approached the island, I could see, glittering 
tnrough the tires on the bank, the lamjisof Ihe pil- 
grims" hastening to the ceremony. LauJnir in the 
direction which those ligliis pointed out. I toon joined 
the crowd; and, passing thr ugh a long alley of 
sphinxe-. > marble glrauied 

the dirk sycamores around them, reached in a short 
time Ihe grand vestibule of the temple where I found 
the ceremonies of the evening already commenced. 

In this vast hall, which was surrounded by a dou- 
ble range of columns, and l.y open over-head to the 
stars of heaven, I -a" a group of young maidens, 
moving in a sort of measured sep between ■• 
dance, round a small -hnnc, u|H)n which s'ond one of 
those sacred birds* ihal, on account of the variegated 
colour of their wing-, are dedicated to the ■ 
the mo in. The vestibule «a> d inly ligh'ed — iliere 
being but one lamp of naphtha hung on eich of the 
great pillars that encircled it. But. havme aken my 
stition beside one of ihose pillars. 1 had a clear view 
of the young dancers, as in succession they passed 
me. 

The drapery of all was white as snow ; and each 
wote lo sriy, beneath toe I osom, a dark-hlue zone. ar 
bandelet, studded, like ihe skies at midnight, with 
small silver stars. Thr ugh the r dark : 
wreathed Ihe white lily of the Nile — that sacred 



i Vide .Imailhcw, " Histoirt de la t f a uig m lim et 
du Comment Jis Egyptian tota Us [': 
See also, for a description of the various kinds of 
boats used on the Nile, Maillet, torn 

a Vide Mau rice. Appendix to "Ruins of Babylon. " 
Ano'her reason, he -a\s, f r t r,e r worst p of the Ibis. 
'• founded "n their love of geometry. wa- | . 
to Plutarch) 'ha' the space between Its legs 

- nder, a* it walks, lose'her wi'h is beak, 
f •in- a c mple'e equilateral triangle." From the 
eaimina ion of the embalmed bird-, fbund in the 
Ca acombsof Saccara. there seems lo be no I >ubi hat 
the Ibis was -he same k.ndof bird as that described by 
Bruce, under the Arabian name of Abou Harues. 



flower being accounted 30 less welcome to the moon, 
than the golden blossoms of the beau-flower* are 
known lo be to Ihe *un. As they passed under the 
lamp, a gleam of ligtt flashed from their 
which, I could perceive, was the lerieciion of a small 
mirror, that, in the manner of the women of the 
E st, each of Ihe dancers wore beneab her left 
shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their s'eps; but, as 
they gracefully wen' round the bird on the shrine, 
some, to the beat of the ca-tanet, some, to ihe shrill 
ring ot a sistrum * — which ihey held u| lifted in the 
attitude of their own divine Isi- — continued harmoni- 
ously to time the cadence of 'heir lee : while others, 
at every step, shook a small chain of silver, w h se 
sound, mingling with tho-e of the castanets and sis 
, trums, produced a wild, but not unpleasii.g, bar 
m ny. 

seemed all lovely ; but there was one — whose 
face ihe light had nol yet reached, so downcast she 
held it— who attracted, and, at length, riveted all my 
looks and (houghs. 1 know not why, but there was 
a something in those hail-seeu features— a charm in 
the ve y shadow, that hung over their imagined 
beauty— which took my fancy more than all the out- 
shining loveliness of her companions. So enchained 
was I by this coy mystery, ih.it her alone, of all the 
uld I either see or think of — he.- 
is, with Ihe same downcast brow, she glided 
geuth and aerially r und the altar, as .f her presence, 
like that of a spirit, was some'hing to be felt, no' 
seen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud crash of a thou- 
sand cymbals was heard; — Ihe massy gates of the 
en, as if by magic, and a flood of 
radiance I a ed a. sir til ed ihe whole 

while, ai the -au.e ins ant, is if the light 
and the s und- w ere b rn together, a | eal of neb har- 
mony Came mingling with the ra-.ance. 

It was then — b> that tight, which shone full upon 
the _ioung maiden's tea ures. as, Halting at 1.- 
bUze, she raised her c><s is quick- 

ly let fall the r lids again- it was then 1 beheld, what 
even m> own a . 

1 beauti, had never pic nied. Not P-jche 

while its first gl ries fell on her da/zled Ii ■ 
have lo ik nut. ml, or blu-hed wuh a 

moie innocent shame, (it 

ot looks, none had rver ru e'ed inio my soul so deep- 
ly ll w-s a new feeling - 
suddenly up.n me ai tint radiance into the 1 
and. at once, filling my whole being: — and had that 

eyes, I should in mi Iran | t >rgotten 

"ho 1 was and where, and ihrowu mv-tlf, in pros- 
trate adora'i 11. at her fret. 

But scarcely had ha gush of harm' ny been heard, 
when thr sacred bird, which had, 
standing m !.•■,, less as an image, si read 1 

- gr ceful 
voung wor hipiers, with 

■ : left a dream in my heart 
never 

As -he i' . -■ which I 

leaned, the ivy that" encircled it * caught in her dra- 

* "La fleur en est mille fois plus odoriferan'e que 
celle- de parfum 

n us piroi-se si agreab'e. Comme o, en -erne beau- 
coup dans les trrres voi-ines. du L 

'. e'est quehjue chose de cl.armaut que Pair 
enibaume i;ue Too respire le soir sur les l( 
quand le veut dr ' flier, et y apporte 

cette odeur admirable.'' — Maillet. 

< •• I-,- . qui per 

sistri moium. quod gent iu dextn, Nili acce>sus re 
ces-usque sign. beat.'' 

s The ivy was consecrated to Osiris. Vide Divdtw. 
Sic 1. 10. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



471 



pery, and disengaged some ornament which fell to the I whither I went, till, at length, startled to find myself 
ground. It was the small mirror i which I had seen within the shadow of the City of the Dead, I looked 
shining on her bosom. Hastily and tremulously 1 up, and beheld, rising in succession before me, pyra- 
picked it up, and hurried to restore it; but she wasjrnid beyond pyramid 4 each towering more loliilj 
already los' to my eyes in the crowd. ] than the' other — while all were out-topped in gran- 

ln vain did I try to follow ; — the aisles were already deur by one, upon whose summit the bright moon 
filled, and numbers of eager pilgrims pressed towards rested as on a pedestal. 

the portal. But the servants of the Temple denied all Drawing nearer to the shore, which was sufficiently 
further entrance, and still, as I presented myself, their ! elevated to raise this -ilenl city of tombs above the level 
white wands barred the way. Perplexed and irritated '■ of the inundation, I rested my oar, and allowed the 
amid that crowd of laces, regarding all as enemies boat to rock idly upon the water, while, in the mean 



that impeded my progress, I stood ou tiptoe, gazing 
into the busy aisles, and with a heart beating as I 
caught, from time to time, a glimpse of some spangled 
zone, or lotus wreath, which led me lo fancv that I 
had discovered the fair object of my search.' But it 
was all in vain ;— in every direction, hies of sacred 
nymphs were moving, but nowhere could I discover 
her whom alone I sought. 

In this stae of breathless agitation did I stand for 
some time — bewildered with the confusion of faces 
and lish's, as well as with the clouds of incense that 
rolled aruui.d me— till, fevered and impatient, I could 
endure it no longer. Forcing my way out of the vesti- 
bule into the cool air, 1 hurried back through the 
alley of sphinxes to the shore, and tiung myself into 
my boat. 

There lies, to the north of Memphis,? a solitary 
lake, (which, at this season of the year, mingles with 
the rest of the waters,) upon whose shores stands the 
Necropolis, or City of the Dead— a place of melan- 
choly grandeur, covered over with shrines and pyra- 
mids, where many a kindly head, proud even in death, 
has lam awaiting through lone ages he resurrection 
of its glories. Through a range of sepulchral grots 
underneath, the humbler denizens of the tomb are 
deposited — looking out on each successive generation 
that visits them, with the same face and features 3 
they wore centuries ago. Every plant and tree, con- 
secrated to death, from the asphodel-flower to the 
mystic plantain, lends its sweetness or shadow to th 



time, my thoughts, left equally without direction, 
allowed to fluctuate as idly. "How vague and 
were the dreams that then" floated through my mind — 
thai bright vision of the temple still mingling itself 
with all! Sonietimea she stood before me, like an 
aerial spirit, as pure as if that element of music and 
light, into whicli I had seen her vanish, was her only 
dwelling. Sometimes, animated with pa sion, and 
kindling in'o a creature of earth, she seemed to lean 
towards me »ith looks of tenderness, which it were 
worth wo; Ids, but for one ius'anl, to inspire: and 
again — as the dark fancies, that ever hauuted Bie, 
recurred — I saw her cold, parched, and blackening, 
amid the gloom of those eternal sepulchres bulore 
me ! 

Turning away, with a shudder, from the cemetery 
at this thought, I heard the sound of an oar plying 
swiflly through the water, and, in a few moment-, 
saw, shooting past me towards the shore, a small boat, 
in which sat "two female figures, muffled up and veiled. 
Having landed them not far fiom the spot where, under 
the shadow of a tomb on the bank, 1 lay concealed, the 
boat again depaned, with the same fleetness, over the 
flood. 

Never had the prospect of a lively adventure come 
more welcome lo me than at this moment, when my 
busy fancy was employed in weaving such chains for 
my hear', as threatened a bondage, of all others, the 
most difficult to break. To become enamoured thus 
of a creature of my own imagination, was the worst, 
place of tombs ; and the only noise that disturbs its i because the m st lasting, of follies, it is only reality 
eternal calm, is the low humming sound of the pries's j 'hat can afl'ord any chance of dissolving such spells, 
al prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to tbe : and the idol 1 was now creating to myself must for 
silent city. ever remain ideal Any pursuit, therefore, that 

It was towards this place of death, that, in a mood seemed likely to divert me fiom such thoughts — to 
of mind, as usual, half gloomy, half bright, I now, bring back my imagination to earth and reality, from 
almost unconsciously, directed my bark. The form 'he vague legion in which il had been wau'dering, 
of Ihe young Priestess was continually before me. ' was a relief far too seasonable not to be welcomed 
That one bright look of hers, the very remembrance : with eazen.ess. 

of which was worth all the actual smiles of others, | 1 had watched the course which the two figures 
never for a moment left my mind. Absorbed in such ! look, and, having hastily fastened my boat to Ihe bank, 



thoughts, I continued to row on, scarce knowing 



1 " Quelques unes," says Dupuis, describing the 
proces-ions of Isis, " portnient des miroirs attaches a 
leurs epaules, afin de multiplier e> de porter dans tous 
les sens les images de la Deesse." Origine des Cul- 
tes, torn. viii. p. 847. A mirror, it appears, was also 
one of the emblems in the mysteries of Bacchus. 

-It"" . I? forll,i were spints, sent down from thence to mock 
me — so instantaneously had they disappeared. 1 
searched through the neighbouring grove, but all there 



Hepped gently on shore, and, at a little distance, fol- 
lowed them. The windings through which they led 
were intricate; but, by the bright light of the moon, 1 
was enabled to keep their forms iu view, as, with 
rapid step, they glided among tne monuments. At 
length, in the shade of a small pyramid, whose peak 
baiely surmouuted the plane-trees that grew nigh, they 
vanished from my sight. I has ened to the spot, but 
there was not a sign of life around ; and, bad niy creed 



oppose a celui-ci, ou sont les pyramides deGizeh, une 
autre Ville des Morts, qui terminoit Memphis au 
nord." — Denon. 



There 



hin<r known with certain!,.- as tn the was sti11 as dea;n - At len S'h, " n examining one ot 
! I?., ;"°"n h" „"■!*,'.! ?....M.° a. 'he sides of the pyramid, which, for a few feel from 




the respective places here mentioned, we have I After a va " e '* of ettorts aud experiments, I, at last, 
no longer any accurate means of judging. 

3 " par-la non seulement on conservoit les corps « " Multis olimpyramidas fuisse e ruinis arguitur." 

d'une famille entieie. mais en de-cendant dans ces -Zoega.- ■f-'a?u7eb, who visited more than ten of the 

lieux souterreins. ou ils eoient deposes, on p uvoit se small pyramids, is of opinion that there must have 

repreoenter en un instant tous ses ance-res depuis plu- otiginall'v been a hundred in this place. 

sieurs milliers d'annees, tels a-peupres ^u'ils etoieut See. ori Ihe subject of the laLe to the northward of 



de leur vivant."— Maillet. 



subje_ 
I Memphis, Shaw's Travels, p. 302. 



more by accident than skill, pressed Ihe spring that 
comnianiled this hidden aperture In an instant the 
portal slid aside, and discln-ed a narrow stirway 
wi hin, the two or hree first steps nf w Inch were dis- 
cernible by the moonlight, while ihe est were all lo»t 
in utter da kness. '1 hough it wa> d flicul' to conceive 
that the persons wh m I had been pursuing would 
have ventmed to pass through Ibis gloomy opening, 
yet to account for their disanpe ra^ ce other 
still more difficult. At all events, my curiosity was 
now loo eager in ihe chase lo relinquish it;— the 
spirit of adventure, ouee raised, couid not be so easily 
laid. According y, having senl up a gay prayer to 
that bliss-loving Queen whose e\e alone was upon 
me, 1 passed through the puital/ai.d descended into 
the pyramid. 



CHAPTER VI. 

At the bottom of the stairway I found myself in a 
low, narrow passage, through which, without stoop, 
ing almost to the earth, it was impossible to proceed. 
Though leading through a multiplicity of dark wind- 
ings, this way seemed but little to advance mv pro- 
gress — i's course, I perceived, being chiefly circular, 
and gathering, at every lurn.bui a deeper intensity of 

•'Can anything," thought I, "of human kind, 
sojourn here?" — and had -ca^cely asked mj 
question, when the path opened into a I ng g.i letv, at 
the farthest end of winch < gram of light w as vis'ible. 
Tins Me come glimmer a] ; 

cell or alcove, in which the right-hand wall nf the 
gallery terminated and, breathless with expec ation, 1 
stole getitly towards it. 

.Arrived at the end of the gallerv. a scene presented 
itself lo my eyes, for which my fondest expec'ations 
of adventure could not have preixired me. The 
place from which the light proceeded was a small 
chapel, of whose interior, from the dark recess in 
which 1 stood, I c -uld take , f u || a ,,d 

distinc view. Over the walls of this oratoiy were 
painted some of loose viri' u- symbols, bv winch he 
mystic wisdom of the Egyptians 
the History of ihe Soul ; the winged globe with a ser- 
pent — the rays desce. dug from above, like a glorv— 
and the Thehan beetle,' as he ernes forth alter'the 
wa'ers have pissed away, and the first sunbeam falls 
on his regenerated wing.. 

In the iiiiddleof ihe chapel, on alowaltar of granite, 
lay a lifeless female form, enshrined within a case of 
crysial^— as it is the custom to preserve he deal in 
Ethiopia — and looking as fresh]} beautiful as if Ihe 
soul had but a few hours departed. Among the em- 
; blems of death, 3 on the front of the al ar, w ere a slen- 



der lotus branch broken in two, and a small bird just 
winging its flight from the spray. 

'lo these memorials of the dead, however, I paid 
but little attention; for there was a lii ing object Ihere 
upon which my e.es were now intently fixed. 

Ihe lamp, by winch ihe whoie ot ihe chapel was 
illuminated, was placed at the head of the pale image 
in Ihe -hnne; and between its light and me stood a 
female form, bending over the monument, as if to 
gaze upon the silen: lea'ures within. The position in 
which this figure was placed, intercepting a strong 
light, afforded me, at first, but an imperfect and 
shadow \ view if n. Yet even al 'his mere outline 1 
feh my heart btat high — and memo y had no less 
s are. as il proved, in ibis feeling nan imagination. 
For, on the head changing s lo let a 

gieam fall upon ihe fe.ture , I saw, wilh a ■ 
which had almost led me to betray my lurking-place. 
tha' r was she — the young worshipper of lsi> — the 
same, the very same, whom 1 had seen, brightening 
the holy place where she stood, and looking like an 
inhabitant of some purer world. 

1 he movement, by which she had now afforded me 
an opportunity of recognising her. was made in raising 

I from the -hine I silver, which lay 

direcly o.er the bosom of the lifeless figure. Bring- 
lips. she kissed i w ith > 
- I hen, turning her rir mournfully upwards, 
he.d I hem fixed w ith a decree f.f in pired ear 

I as il, at lhat moment, in direct communion with 
Heaven I hey saw Dei her roof, nor any olher earthly 
barriet between them and the skies. 

What a'power is here In innocence! whose very 
lietples»nc-s is i s safeguard — in whose presence even 

: im eli staid- abashed, and 
a! the very allai which fie came to despoil I She, 
ur before, had pre ealed herself to 
mv imagiin in as something I could hate risked im- 
mortal it} to vt in — 

of her own lighted temi .e, in Ihe .ery face of its 
i ve borne away iu triumph, 
aid dared .il punishments divinea d hum..,, to make 
her mine — that iei> crea ure was now beio e me. as 
if thrown by fate itself, into my p<>we' — 
ihere, beautiful md alone, with nothing but her inno- 
cence for her g ard I Yet, no — s< touching was the 
puri'v nf the whole scene, so calm and a 
protection which the dead extended over the living. 



» " On voit en Egypte. ai.res la re'raie du Nil et la 
fecoudaliou des terres, ie Union comeitd'unc multi- 
tude de sorabees. I'n paicil phenomei e a du sem- 

: bier aux Egvptiens le plus pro|>re a peindre une 
nouvelle existence." M. Jomard. — Partly for the 
same reason, and partly for another, s' ill more fanci- 
ful, the early Christians i sed lo apply this emblem lo 
Christ. '• B >nus ille scaraba^us mens, ' says St. Augus- 
tine, "Don ea tautum de cau-a quod unig'eniius. quod 
ipsemet sui auctor mort ilium speciem in Sue it. sed 
quod in hac nostra fsece sese volutaverit et ex hac ipsa 

; nasci voluerit." 

* " I.es Egvptiens ont fait anssi. pour co'server 

leurs morts, des caisses de verre." De Pauw. He 

mentions, also, in another place, a sort of transparent 
substance, which the E hiopjam used for the same 
purpose and which was frequently m, shaken by the 
Greeks for glass. 

* •' Un ptetre, qui brise la tige d*une fleur des niseaux 
qui s'envolent, son! les emblemes de la mort et de l» 
auie qui se separe du corps." — Dtnon. 



Theseus employs the same image in the Fhedra : — 

Opri; yap is tic uc x t 9 l " v nd«i>Toc u 

IIn"ij/t' cc atcov irncpov opnijcaca not. 

* A or ss was, aim ug the Egyptians, the emblem 

of a fu ure life. 

'• I hr singular appearance of a Cross so frequently 

recurring among the hierogh phics i f Egypt, had ex- 

curiosi'i of ihe Christians a a veiy early 

period of eccle-ias'ical history; nil i. sonie'of the 

B were acquainted with the mean i 
hieroglyphics, ti , I hris'iaioty. Ihe 

secret transpired. ' i he 

dec are i . | t^rke. 

- therefore, is mistaken in suppling the 
have been an emblem peculiar lo 

tians. See, on this ;n des Juifl, liv. 

vi. c 16. 

It is singular enough tha' while the Cross was thus 

held sac ed among the Egy 

of marking the forehead with the sign Of the Cross, 

but Baptism and I d in 'he 

Eucharist, were imitated in the mysterious ceremo- 
di lira. — TertuJ. de Proscriyticiu Hcretico- 

rum. 

is of opinion that the Cross, said to have been 
rel line found, on • tha tens- 

ipis, by the Christians, could not have brea 

ihe crux ausaa ; a- n thing is more c irnuati than tha) 

emblem on all Ihe Egyptian m numeuts. 



THE EPICUREAN 



473 



that every earlhly fe sling- was forgotten as I gazed, beantiful enchantress Rhodope, 1 saw her rise from out 



and love itself became exalted in'o reverence. 

But, entranced as I felt in » ime.-sing such a scene, 
thus to enjov i' by steallh seemed to me a wrong, a 
sacrilege- and, rather than let her eyes encounter I tie 
flash of mine, or d^turb. by a whisper, that sacred 
silence, in which Youth and Death held communion 
thr ugh undying Love, 1 would have suffeied my 
heart to break, without a murmur, where I stood. 
Gently, as if life itself depended on my every move- 
ment, 1 stole away from thai tranquil ai.d holy scene — 
leaving it still holy and tranquil as 1 had found it- 
alic!, gliding back through the same passages and 
windings by which 1 had entered, reached again the 
narr w stair-way, and re-ascended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and. t out the summit of 
the Arabian hills, wis pouting d own his beams into 
that vast valley of waters — as if proud of last night's 
homage to his own divine Isis, now f ding away in 
the superior splendour of her Lord. My fiisl impulse 
was to fly at once from this duigerous spot, and in 
new loves and pleasures seek fnrgetfulness of the 
wondrous scene 1 hadjusi witnessed '-Once," 1 ex- 
clamed, "out of the circle of this enchan ment, I 
kmw too well my own suseep.ibiiity to new impres- 
si ns, to feel any doubt that 1 shall soon break the 
spell that is n >w around me." 

But vain were all my efforts and resolves. Even 
while swearing to fly to (hat spot, I fouiiu my steps 
still lingering fondly round the pyramid — my eyes 
still turned towards the portal which seveied this en- 
chantress from the world of the living Hour after 
hour did I wander through that City of Silence, till, 
a ready, it was mid-day, and, under the sun's meri- 
dian eye, the mighty pyramid of pyramids stood, like 
a great spiiit, shadowless.! 

Again did (hose wild and passionate feelings, 
which, for (he moment, her presence had subdued 
into reverence, return to take possession of my imagi- 
nation and my senses. I even repp ached myself for 
the awe, lint had held me spell-bound before her. 
"What," thought 1, "would oiy companions of the 
Garden say, did they know that their chief— he wh >se 
pah L ve had strewed with trophies — was now 
pining for a simple Egyptian girl, in whose piesence 
he had not dared to utter a single sigh, and " ho had 
vanquished the victor, without even knowing her 
triumph !" 

A blush came over my cheek at the humiliating 
thought, and 1 determined, at all risks, to await her 
coming. That she should be an hamate of those 
gloomy caverns seemed inconceivable; nor did there 
appear to be any egress out of their de. ths but by the 
py amid. Again, therefore, like a senlmel of the 
dead, did I pace up and down among those tombs, 
contrasting mournfully the burning fever in my own 
veins with the cold quiet of those who lay slumbering 
around 

At length the intense glow of the sun over my 
head, and, still more, that ever-restlessagiiation in my 
heart, became ton much for even strength like mine to 
endute. Exhaus'ed. 1 threw myself down a- the b'.se 
of the pyramid — choosing my place directly under 
the portal, where, e;en should slumb r surprise me 
my heart, if not my ear, might still keej) natch, and 



the pyramid in w hich she had dwelt for ages, — 
" Fair Rhodope,2 as story tills, 
Theb/iglit unearthly nymph, who dwells 
'Mid sunless gold ami jewels hid, 
The I.ady of ihe Pyramid 1" 

So long had my sleep continued, that when 1 awoke, 
I found the moon again resplendent above (lie horizon. 
But all around "as lo.kmg nanrjuil and lifeless as 
before; nor did a print on Ihe grass betray that any 
foot had passed (here since mv own. Refreshed, 
however, by my long rest, and "ith a fancy still more 
exci ed by the mystic wpndeis of which I had been 
dreaming I now resolved lo revisit die chapel in the 
piramid, and put an end, if po.-sible, to this strange 
mys ery th t haunted me. 

Having learned, from the experience of (he pre- 
ceding night, the inconvenience of encountering (hose 
labyrinths wiihout a light, 1 now hastened to provide 
my-ell tvfth a lamp fr m my boat. Tracking my 
way back with some difficulty to Ihe shore, I there 
found not only my lamp, but also some dales and dried 
fruits, of which 1 was always provided with store, for 
my roving life upon the waters, and which, after so 
many hours of abstinence, were now a most welcome 
and necessary relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, and 
was proceeding to search out he secret spring, when 
a loud, dismal noise was heard at a distance, to which 
all Ihe mehncholy echoes of the cenie ery gave 
answer. '1 he sound came. I knew, fiom the Great 
Temple i n Hie shore of the lake, and »a> (he sort of 
shriek which its ga'es — the Gale- of oblivion, 3 as 
they are called — used always to send forth from iheir 
hinges, when opening at night, to receive (he newly- 
landed dead. 

1 had, more than once before, heard that sound, and 
always with sadne s: but, at this moment, it thrilled 
througti me like a v ice of ill omen, and 1 almost 
d 'Uhtei whether I should no: abandon my enterprise. 
The hesitation, however, "as but momentary ; — even 
while it pa-sed through my mind, I had touched Ihe 
spring of (he portal. In a fen seconds more, I "as 
again in the passage beneath Ihe pyiamid ; and, being 
enabled by the light of my lamp to follow Ihe wind- 
ings more rapidly, -on found myself at the door of the 
small chapel in Ihe gallery. 

1 entered, still awed, (hough there was now, alas, 
nought living within. The young Priestess hid 
vani he! like a spirit into the darkness; and alt the 
rest remained a< I had left it on Ihe preceding night. 
The lamp still stood burning upon the crystal shrine ; 
the cro-s wa^ lying where the ha; ds of the \ouug 
mourner had placed i', and the cold image, " ithin the 
shrine, " ore sill the same tranquil look, as if resigned 
to the solitude of deaih — of all lone things ihe lone- 
liest. Remembeting 'lie lips that I had seen kiss that 
cross, and kindling with the recollection, I raised it 
passionateh lo my own; — but the dead eyes, I 
thought, niet mine, and, awed and saddened in the 
midst of my ardour, 1 replaced Ihe cross upon the 
shrine. 

1 had now lost every clue to the object of my pur- 
suit, and, with all that sullen satisfaction which cer- 
tainty, even when unwelcome, brings, was about to 



her loo step, light as it " as, cud not fail to awake * retrace my s eps slowly lo earth, » hen, as I held forth 
e. I my lamp, on leaving the chapel, I perceived that the 

After many an ineffectual struggle against drowsi- gallery, ins'ead Of terminating here, took a sudden 



ness, I at length sunk into si .ep — bui not into forge 
fulness. The same image still haunted me, in every 
variety of shape, wiih "Inch imagination, assisted by 
memory, could invest it. Now. like the goddess 
Neith<, up n her 'hrone it Sais, she seemed to sit, 
with the veil just raised from (hat biow, "hich (ill 
then no mortal had ever beheld — and now, like the 



and snake-like bend to the left, which had before 



3 From the story of Rhndope, Zoegu thinks, "vi- 

deidur Arabes ansam anipuisse ut in una ex pyra- 

midibus, genii loco, habitare dicerent mulierem 

nudam insigaispulchri udmisquaeaspectosuo homines 

msanire faciat." De Usu Obtliscorum. See also, 

— VEgyptc de Mvrtadi par Vattier. 

1 It was an idea entertained among the ancients 1 3"Apud Memphim aeneas quasdam pnrlas, quj» 

that the Pyiamids were so consnucted ("inerauica Lithese' Cocyti (bos est oblivionis et lamentations) 

constructione," says Amm'.anus Marcellinus) as apvjellantur, aperiri, gravem asperumque edeate» 

never to cast any sha low. | tonuic." Zoega. 






40 5 



474 



THE EPICUREAN. 



eluded my observation, 

promise of a pathway still further into these i 
Keaniuia ed by this di=r>very. which opened a new 
source of hope to my heart, I cast, for a moment, a 
hesitating look at my lamp, as if to inquire whether it 
would be faithtiil through the g'oom I was about to 
encounter, . nd then, wfthout further considera;ion, 
rushed eageily forward. 



CHAPTER VI 



which seemed to give an infant might have opened them with ease — so 
readily did their stujiendous folds give way to my 
touch, 

"Light ai< a lime-bush, that receives 
Some wandering bird among its leaves." 
No sonner, however, had I passed through, than the 
astounding din, with which the gates clashed togeher 
aeaitii, was such as might have awakened death 
itself. It seemed as if every echo^ throughout that 
vast, subterranean world, from the C<tac<imbs of Alex- 
andria to ibebes*s Valley of Kings, had caught up 
aid repealed the thundering sound. 
Startled a? I was by the ciash, not even this super- 
Tlie pa'h led. for a white, through the same sort of natural clangour could divert mv attention from the 
narrow windings as those v. Inch t had before encoun- su ;d^n light ihat u it» broke around me — s ft, warm, 
tered in descending the stairway; and at length and welcome as are the stars •■( his own South 10 the 
opened, in a similar ma. ne-, in o a straight and steep e\es of the mariner who has long been wandering 
g llery, along each side of which sto.-d, closely ranged through he enld seas i-f the North. Looking for the 
ud upright, a file uf lifck- t glassy source of this splendour, 1 saw, through au archway 

eye, appeared to glare upou me preematurally as 1 opi osite, a long illuminated alley, stre cbing away as 
pa-sed far as the eye "could reach, and fenced, on one side. 

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my hopes, with thickets of odoriferous shrubs, while along the 
for the sec Hid in,e, vanish; as the path, it "j-nimi- o her ex ended a line of lofty arcades, ft m which the 
fes'. ex'ended DO further. 'I he nnl) object I was ab e light, tfiat tilled the whale area, issued. As soon, too, 
to discern, by the glimmering ol my lamp, which n iw as he d.n of the deep echoes bad subsided, there stole 
Lu-ned, every minute fainter and fainter, was the gradually on my eir a sir. in of ch; iral music, which 
mouth nf a huge "ell lha lay gaping befoe me — a appeared to cnnie mellowed and sweetened in its pas- 
reservoir and unfa I.Oniabie. It sage, through many a spacious hill within those 
now cr ssed my memo y ihat I had once heard of such shining arc ides ; while among the voices 1 could dis. 
wells, as being u-e.l ocos.onady for p usages by Hie tineuish s .me female tones, w hich. t'wering high and 
pr.ests. Leaning down, therefore, over the edge, I clear above all the rest, formed the spire, as it were, 
examined anil uslv ail witli.n, in order to see it it ,„to which ihe harm ov tapered, as it rose. 
at! ided the means of ellec mg a de cent into the ' So excited was m\ fancy by ihi* sudden enchant- 
pcrceive were hard ind rneiit, 'hai — though never had I caught a s 



chasm ; but the 



smooth a- tlass, being tar with that 



the fair Egyptian' 



>tl 



the v ice I non he n 
most heavenly of all that cbc 
like a i s'ant spirit ir..m its i 
tins though', 1 flew forward to 

mi m I 



sort of dark pi ch, which ti.e Dead S 
up II I's Sim 

Altera more attentive scrutiny, however, I observed, 
at the depth <>f a few fee', a sort of iron step, pioject 
ing dimly from he side, and, below it, a 

which, though hardly perceptible, was just sufficient WO rk^ wh e bars, Ih 
to encourage at; ad vet , M n, CII1 . 

all hope if Incing h VVh.le occupied in these ii.eticctual s! 

end — itbei _ • female foot shool ;i, e left of the a 

ventured on thi- descent — yet, as I had engaged in opening, which seemed to lead in'a dir 
far in the adventure, a stery to the lighted are 

to be unravelled, 1 determined, at all hazards, to B , v impatience, Ihi 
explore the chasm. I J .acmg mv lamp, therefore, jbuddehugly io!o it. chilli 
(■which was h Mowed at 1 lit- bottom, s > as to I ... .ch darkness, as a sort of liv 

like a helmet,) firmly upou my head, ml having thus twilight, from a d .nip. like that ol 
both hands at libertj exhaled, and branch which, if my eyes 

tiously on the iron s'ep, and descended into thi 

1 fcniud the same f.ioiing. at reg iar intervals, to a 
ible dep'h ; and had already counted near a 
hnudred of these s'eps, when 'he ladde altoge'her 
ceased, and I conld descend no further In vain did I 
stre'cli down my f«ot in si > -Ihe hard, 

slippety sides were all thai it encountered. A' leng h, 
stooping my head, so as to let he light fall below, | 
observed an opening <r window directly above the 
step on which I - g for gra . tej ihat 

the way mus' lie in that dtrec i >n, cm rivei In clam- 
ber, with no small difficulty, through the aperture. 

I now found myself on a rude and narrow . 
the step-; of which were cut nut of the living rock, 



r.f lliat 



me, | ale. phantom like shapes* we e, at that 
moment, h ver ng. 

Looking anxiously round, to discover some lest f r- 
midib.e nutlet, I saw, over the vast folding-gates 
thmugb which I had jus' pas-ed, a blue, tremulous 
riame. which, after playing lor a iew s<-cvnds ovei the 
dirk ground of the pediment settled gradually m:o 
ch iracters of light, and formed the follow iug words:— 

2 The following verses of Claudian are supposed to 
have been mean! as a description of those imi a'i ns 
of the noise of earthquake and thunder which, by 
me ns of 'he C era u nose pe, and other such c ntn- 



and w unl i'ir.1;, downward in the same dfiec ton I vances, were practised in toe shows >f the Mysteries : 
as the well. Almost dizzy with the descent, which 
seemed as if it would never end, I, at as\ reached the 
bottom, where a pair of n, 



directly acros- my path, as if wholly to I'.irt id any 
farther progress. Missy and gigantic, however, as 
they were, 1 found, to my surprise, lint the hand of 



Jam mlbi cernaotur treptdis delubra mover! 
Sedibus. el rlilim disprrgere vuIid.l 
Adventura te«lala Dei. Jam m e cu* ab imis 
Audilur fremitus terns, lemplumijue remugit 
Crcrcpium. R*pt. Prottrp. lib. I. 

» See. for the echoes in the py rauiids, Plutarch, it 
Piacitu Ptulotoph. 
See, for the custom of burving the dead uprigh', * "Ce moment heureix (de 1" A 
(••post lunns santia busto cor|Ota, -, as Statius de- pare | ar des scene- effrayanes ] a 
scribes it.) I)t Clarke's preface to ihe 2J sec'inn of his crun-e et de joie de lunnere et de -euebres, par la 
fif;h volume. They used to insert piecmus stones in ; lueur des eclairs, par le bruit terrible de 
the place of the eves. •• Les yeux etoient formes I qu'o" imi'oit. et par des ; metres, des 

d'emeraudes. de totqutises," &'c. — Vide Masoudu, ' illusions magiques. qui frap|ioient les yeux et les 
quood bv Quatremert. | oreilles tout ensemble.* Dupvii. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



475 



You, who would try 
You terrible track, 

To live, or to die, 

But ne'er to look back- 

Tou, who asp're 

To be punticd there, 
By the terrors of Fire, 

Of Water, aud Air-~ 



And death you despise, 
On — for again 
Into light you shall rise; 

Rise into lijrht 

Willi 'hat Secret Divine, 
Now shrouded trcin sight 

By the Veils of the Shrine. 



But if 

Here the letters faded away into a dead blank, more 
awfully intelligible than the most eloquent words. 

A new hope now fished across me. The dream 
of the Garden, which bad been for some time almost 
forgotten, re urned freshly to my mind. ''Am I 
then," I exclaimed, "ill the path to ihe premised 
mystery ? and shall the great secret of Eternal Life 
indeed be mine .-" 

•'Ycsl" seemed to answer out of the air, that 
spirit-voice, which still was heard at a distance 
crowning the choir wi h ils single sweetness, t hail- 
ed the omen wild transport. Love and Immortality, 
both beckoning me onward — who would give even 
a thought to fear, wi h two such bright hopes in 
pros ect ? Having invoked and blessed that unknown 
enchantress, whose steps had led me to this abode of 
mvslerv and knowledge, 1 ins antly plunged into the 
chasm. 

Instead of tha' vgue, spectral twilight which had 
at lirst met my e\ e, 1 now found, as I entered, a 
thick darkness, which, though far less horrible, was 
at this moment, still more disconcerting, .is my lamp, 
which had been, for some rune, almost useless, was 
now fast expiring. Resolved, however, to make the 
mosi of its last gleam, 1 hastened, with rapid s ep, 
through Ihis gloomy region, which appeared In be 
wider and more open to the air than any I h'd yet 
pas-ed. Nor was it long before the sudden appear- 
ance of a bright blaze in the distance announced to 
me that my tirst great Trial w s at hand. As 1 drew 
nearer, the Amies before me burst high and wide on 
all sides;— and the awful spectacle that then present- 
ed itself was such as might have daunted hearts far 
more accustomed to dangers than mine. 

There lay before me, exendii.g completely across 
my pa h, a thicket, or grove, of the most combustible 
trees of Egypt — tamarind, pine, and Aiahi m balm ; 
while ar und their stem- and branches were coiled 
serpents of lire,' which, twisting themselves rapidly 
from bough to bough, spread the c n'agion of their 
own wild tire as they went, and involved tree after 
tree in one general "blaze. It was. indeed, rapid as 
Ihe burning of those reed-beds of Eihiopia,9 whose 
light is open seen brightening, at night, the distant 
cataiac's of the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing grove, I could 
now perceive, my only pathway lay. 1 heie was not 
a moment, therefore, io be lost— for the conflagrali 'ii 
gained rapidly on either side, and already Ihe narrow- 
ing path be' ween was strewed with vivid fire. Cast- 
ing away my now useless lamp, and holding my robe 



t"Ces considerations me portent a penser que, 
dans les mysteres. ces phen imeres e'oient beaucoup 
mieux executees, et sans comparais opts lerribles a 
1'aide de quelque cwnposi ion pyrique qui est restee 
C-«chee, comme celle du feu Gregeois.'— De Pauw. 

9 "II n'y a point d'au're moyen que de porter le 
feu dans cts forets de roseaux.'qui repandent alors 
dans tout le pais une lumiere aussi considerable que 
celle du jour meme. "— Maillet, torn. i. p. 63. 



as some slight proiection over my head, I ventured, 
wilh trembling limbs, into the blaze. 

Instantly, as if my presence had given new life to 
the Hames, a fresh outbreak of combustion arose on 
all sides. The trees clustered into a bower of fire 
above my head, while Ihe serpents that hung hissing 
from the led branches shot showers of sparkles dow n 
upon me as 1 pa sed. Never were decision and 
activity of more avail :— one minute laer, aid 1 must 
have perished. The narrow opening, of which I had 
so promptly availed myself, closed instantly behind 
me ; and as 1 looked back, t r contemplate Ihe ordeal 
which 1 had passed, 1 saw that the whole grove was 
aire.idy i ne mass of fire. 

Rej-'iced to have escaped Ihis first trial, I instantly 
plucked from one of Ihe pine-trees a b ugh that was 
but just kindled, and. With Ihis for my only guide, 
hastened brea'hlessly forward. I had advanced bui a 
few paces, when Ihe path turned suddenly oil', lead- 
ing downwards, as 1 could perceive by the glimmer 
of my brand, into a more confined -egioii, through 
which a chilling air. as if from / ix,-- neighbouring 
wateis, blew over my brow. Nor had I proceeded 
far in ihis course, when the sound of torrents3 — 
mixed, a, 1 though', fr to time io lime, with shrill 
waitings, resembling ihe tries of persons in danger or 
distress — fell mournfully upon my ear. At every 
step ihe noise of ihe dashing waters increased, and I 
now perceived thai I had entered an immense rocky 
cavern, through the middle of which, headlong as a 
winter-torrent, Ihe dark flood, io whose roar I bad 
been listening, poured i - s waters ; while up u is sur- 
face floated grim spectre-like shapes, which, as they 
went by. sent forth those dismal shrieks 1 had heard 
—as if in fear of some aw ful piecipice towards whose 
brink they wne hurrying. 

I saw plainly that across that torrent must be my 
course. It was, indeed, fearful; but in courage and 
perseverance now lay my only hope. Whal awaited 
me on the op| csite shore, I ki ew not ; for all there 
was immersed in impenetrable gloom, nor could the 
feeble light which I carried send ils glimmer half so 
lar. Dismissing, however, all thoughts but that of 
pressing Onward, I spr ng f om the rock on which 1 
stood into ;he flood, trusling that, with my right 
hand, I should be able to buflet the current, while, 
wilh the other, as loi g as a gleam of my brand re- 
mained I might hold it aloft to guide me safely to 
ibe shore. 

Long, formidable, and almost hopeless was the 
struggle I had now io maintain; ar d more than once 
oveipowered by Ihe rush of the wateis, 1 had given 
myself up,< as destined to follow those pale, death- 
like apparitions, that still went past me, hurrying 
onward, wilh mournful cries, to find their doom in 
some invisible gulf beyond. 

At length, just as nn strength was nearly exhaust- 
ed, and the last remains of the pine branch were 
dropping from my hand. I -aw, outstre'ching towards 
me into he waler, a light double balustrade, with a 
flight of steps between, ascending, almost perpen- 
dicularly, fr m the wave, till they seemed lost in a 
dense mass of clouds above. This glimpse— for it 
was nothing more, as my light expired in giving it — 
lent new spring to my courage. Having now both 
hand- at liberty, so desperate were my ellbrts, that, 
after a few minutes' stiuggle, I felt my brow strike 



3 The Nile, Pliny tells us, was admitted into the 
Pyramid. 

* " On exercoit," says Dupuis, «' les recipiendaires, 
pendant plusieurs jours, a traverser, a la nage, une 
grande etendue d'eau. On le-yjelioil et ce n'etoit 
qu'avcc peine qu'ils s'en retiroient. On appliquoit le 
fer et le fen sur leurs membres. On les faisoit passer i 
a travers les rlammes." 

I he aspirants were often in considerable danger, j 
and Pylhagoras, we are told, nearly lost his life in ' 
the trials.— Vide Reclmrches sur Its Initiation*, par 
Rob,,,. 



I 476 



THE EPICUR E AN. 



against the stairway, and, in an instant, my feet were 
on i he steps. 

Rejoiced at my escape from that perilous flood, 
though 1 knew not whither t tie stairu av led, I piompt- 
ly ascended the steps. But his feeling of confidence 
was of short duration. I had not mourned far, when, 
to my horror, 1 perceived, thai each succe>sive step, 
as my fool left it, br ke away from beneath me, 
leav iug me in mid-air, with no olher alternative than 
that of si ill mounting by ihe same niomen ary looting, 
and with the appalling doubt whether it would even 
endure my tread. 

And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue to 
ascend, with nothing beneath me but lhat awful 
river, in winch — so tranqui 1 had il now become — 1 
could hear the plash of the falling fragments, as every 
step in succession gave way from under my feet. It 
was a most fearful' moment— but even still worse re- 
mained. I now found the b^lu-uade, by which 1 had 
held during my ascent, and which had hitherto ap- 
peared so be Dim, growing tremulous in my hand 
while the step, io which I was about to (rust myself, 
tottered under my loot. Just Ihen, a momentary 
flash, as if of lightning, broke around me, and I saw', 
hanging out of the clouds, so as to be barely within 
my reach, a huge bazen ring. Instinctively I 
stretched forth my arm 10 seize it, and, at the same 
instant, both balustrade and steps gave way beneath 
me, and 1 was I. ft swingi g by my hands in' the d .rk 
void. As if, too, this massy ring, which I grasped, 
was by some magic power linked with all the winds 
in heaven, no sooner had 1 seized it than, like Ihe 
touching of a spring, it seemed to give loose to every 
variety of gusts and tempes s, lhat ever slrewed the 
sea-shore with "recks or dead; and, as I swung 
about, the sport of this elemental strife, every new 
buist of its. fun threatened to shiver me, like a storm- 
sail, to atoms! 

Nor was even this the worst; — for still holding, I 
know DOI h iw, by he ring, I felt myself caught tip, 
as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and then -ound and 
round, like a stone-shot in a sling continued lo be 
whnled in the midst of all (his deafening chaos, till 
my brain grew dizzy, my recollection became con- 
fused, and 1 almost fancied in. self on th it wheel of 
the infernal woild, whose rotations Eternity alone 
can number! 

Human s'rength could no longer sustain such a 
trial. I was on the point, al last, of lo- sing my hold, 
when suddenly ihe violence of the storm moderated ; 
—my whirl through the air gradually ce.sed, and 1 
felt the ling slowly descend wilh me, till — happy as 
a shipwrecked mariner at the first touch of land — I 
found my feet once m re upon firm ground. 

At Ihe same m nient, a light of the mos' delicious 
softness filled the whole air/ Music, such as is heard 
in dreams, came floating at a di-iance ; a d as mv 
eyes gradually recovered their powers of vision, a 
scene of glory was revealed to them, almost loo bright 
for imagination, and vet liviog and real As far 
as the sight could reach, enchanting gardens were 
seen, opening away through long trac s" of light and 
verdure, and sparkling everywhere with fountains, 
that circulated, like streams of life inn ng the flower-. 
Not a charm was here wanting, th .t the fa cy of poet 
or prophet, in their warmest pictures of Elysium, 
have ever yet dreamed or promised. Vistas, opening 
into scenes of indistinct grandeur — streams, shining 
out at intervals, in their shadowy course — and laby- 
rinths of flowers, leading, bv mysterious winding*, to 
gTeen, spacious glades full of -"plendour a-,d repose. 
Over all this, 'oo, II ere fell a light, from some unseen 
source, resembling nothing that illumines our upper 
wo Id — a sort of g Iden moonlight, mingling the 
warm radiance of da\ with the calm and melancholy 
lus're of night. 

Nor were there wanting inhabitants for this sunless 
Paradise. Through all the bright srardens were seen 
wandering, with the serene air and step of ha| py 
spirits, groups both of young and old, rf venerable 
and of lovely forms, bearing, most of them, the Nile's 



white flowers on their heads, and branches of the 
eternal palm in their bauds ; while, over the verdant 
turf, fair children and maidens went dancing to aerial 
muic, whose source was, like that of the light, invi- 
sible, but which rilled the whole air with its mystic 
sw eetness. 

Exhausted as I was by the painful trials I had 
undergone, no sooner did 1 perceive those fair groups 
in the distance, than my weariness, both of frame and 
spirit, was forgotten. A thought crossed n.e lhat she, 
whom I sought, might haply be among them; and 
notwithstanding the feeling o'f awe, win which that 
unearthly scene inspired me, 1 was about to riy, on the 
ins ant, to ascer'ain my hope. But while in the act 
of making the effort, 1 felt my robe gently pulled, and 
turning rt und, beheid an agtd man before ine, whom, 
by the sacred hue of his garb, 1 knew at once to be a 
Hier pliant. Placing a branch of the consecr.i ed 
palm in my hand, he sa.d, '•Aspirant of be Mysteries, 
oeicome I ' — then, regaidiug me for a few seconds 
wilh giave attention, added, in a tone of courleousuess 
and interest, "The victory over the body hath been 
gined I — Follow me, young Greek, to "thy resting- 
place." 

I obeyed the command in silence — and the Priest, 
turning away from this scene of splendour, into a se- 
cluded pathway, where the light gradually faded as 
we advanced, led me o a small pavilion, by the side 
of a whispeiing stream, where the very spirit of slum- 
ber seemed lo preside, and, pointing silently to a bed 
of dried poppy-leaves, left me to repose. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Though the sight of that splendid scene whose 
glories opened upon n.e, like a momentary glimpse 
into another world, had, for an instant, reanimated 
my strength and spirit, yet, so completely was my 
whole Irame subdued by fatigue, thai, eveu had the 
form of the young Priestess herself theu sto«J bet re 
me. my limbs would have sunk in the eribrt to reach 
her No sooner had I fallen on my leafy c uch, 
than sleep, like a sudden death, came over me; and 
I lay. for homs, in that deep and motionless rest, 
which not even a shadow ol life disturb*. 

Uu awaking I saw, beside me, the same venerable 
personage, whoh-vd welc uied me to this subterranean 
wnild on the preceding night Al the lut of my 
C ueh stood a statue, ol Urecian workman:!, 
senling a boy, with wings, sealed gracefully on a 
lotus-tiower. and having the forefinger of his right 
hand pressed to his lips. '1 hi- action, together with 
the glory round his brows, denoted, as 1 already 
knew, the G d . f Siience and L th .» 

Impatient to k> nw what further trials awaited me, 
I was at-out to speak, when Ihe Priest exclaimed, 
anxiously. ■* Hush ?'— and, pointing to the statue at 
the foot of the couch, said.— •• Let the spell of that 
Spirit be upon thy lips, y ung stranger, till the wis- 
dom of thy instructors shall think fit to remove it. 
Not unaptly doth the same deity preside over Silence 
and Ligh ;" since it is only out' of tbe depih of con- 
templative silence, that ihe great light of tbe soul, 
Truth, can arise !'' 

Little used to the language of dictation or instruc- 
tion, 1 was now preparing to rise, when the Priest 
again restrained me; and, at Ihe same moment, two 
bovs, beautiful as Ihe young Genii of the star- 
the pav ilio .. They were h bited in long gal 
the purest white, and bore each a small golden chalice 



I " Enfin Harpocrates representor sassi 
II est vrai que cVt it aussi le Dicu du Silenct . 
toil le doigl sur la boucbe ; 

avee un respec ueux silence . ct e'est de la qu'est reim 
le Nge des Basilidieus, qui tir en' leur or ig 

Europe Enfin Hi lis sur le 

lo'us. qui est la plante du Soled."— Hist, da Jutfi. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



477 



in his hand.i Advancing towards me, they stopped 
on opposite sides of the couch, and one of them, pre- 
oentiug to nie his chalice of gold, said, in a tone be- 
tween singing and speaking, — 

"Drink of this cup — Osiris 1 sirs 
The game ic his halls below; 
And the same he gives, to cool the lips 
Of the Dead 3 who downward go. 



water within 



"Drink of this cup — th 

la fresh from Lethe's 6treaui; 
*T will make the past, with all its sin, 
And alt its pain and sorrows, seem 
Like a lung-forgotten dream 1 

The pleasure, whose charms 

The knowledge, that harms 



The hope, that, bright 

As the lake of the waste, 
Allures the sight, 

But mocks the taste; 

"The love that binds 
Its innocent wreath, 
Where the serpent winds. 
In venom, beneath; — 

"All that, of evil or false, by the3 
Hath ever been kuowu or seea, 
Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it never had been 1" 

Unwilling to throw a slight on this strange cere- 
mony, 1 leaned forward, with all due gravity, and 
tasted the cup ; which I had no sooner done than the 
young cup-beater, on Ihe ether side, 1 inviied my at- 
tention; and. in his turn, presenting ihe ch .lice which 
he held, sung, with a voice -till sweeter than that of 
his companion, the follow in? strain : — 

Drink of this cup — when Isis led 
Her boy, of old to the beaming sky. 

She miugled a draught divine.o and said — 
'Drink of this cup, thou 'It never die!' 

" Thus do I say and sing to thee, 

Heir of that boundless heav'n on bigh, 

Though frail, and fall'n, and lost thou be, 

Drink of this cup, thou Ml never die '." 

Well as I had hi'herto kept my philosophy on its 
guard, against the illusions with which, 1 knew, this 



region abounded, the young cup-bearer had here 
touched a spring of imagination, over which my 

a? has been seen, had but little control. 

had the words, "thou shall never die," 
struck on my ear. than (he dream of the Garden 
came fully to m> mind, and, starling half-way from 
the couch, I stretched forth my hands to the cup. 
Bu', rec ilec inir rny-elf install ly. and fearing that I 
had betra.ed to others a weakness tit only for my own 
secret iudu gence, I sunk b.ck again, wiih a smile of 
affected ind "ll'erencr, on my couch — while the young 
minstrel, bu little interrupted by my movement, 
still continued his strain, of which 1 heard but the 
concluding words: — 

" And Memory, too. with her dreams shall come, 
Dreams of a former, happier day, 
When Heaven was Mill the Spirit's home. 
And her wings had not yet fallen away; 

"Glimpses of glory, ne'er forgot, 

That tell, like gKams on a sunset sea. 

What once hath been, what now is not, 

But, oh, what agaiu shall brightly be." 

Though the a-surances of immortality contained 
in these verse- would at any other moment — vain and 
visionary as I ihought them— have sent my fancy 
wandering into reveries of the future, the effort of 
self-contr I I had just made enabled me to bear them 
Willi indifference. 

Having jone through the form of tasting his second 
cup, I again looked anxiousiy to the Hierophant, to 
ascertain whether I might be permitted to rise. His 
assent having been given, the young pages brought to 
my Couch a robe .nd tunic, which, like their own, 
were of linen of the puiest white; and having as- 
sisted to clothe me in ihis sacred gub, they then 
placed upon my head a chaple of myrtle, in which 
the symbol of Initiation, a golden gtasshopper,6 was 
seeu shii ins out from among the dark leaves. 

Though sleep had done much to lefresh my frame, 
something more was s:ill wanting to reaiore its 
stiength; and it was not withoul a smile at my owu 
reveries 1 reflcc ed, how much more welcome than 
even the young page's c p of immortality was the un- 
pretending, bui real, repas' now set before me — fiesh 
iruils from the Isle of Gaidens l in the Nile, the deli- 
cate I esh nf i he de-ert antelope, and wine from the 
Vineyard of the Queens at Anthylla,8 w hich one of 
the p'me fanned * 111) a palm-leaf, to keep it cool. 

Hiving done ju-tice to these dainties, it was with 
pleasure 1 heard the proposal of ihe Priest, that we 
should walk forth together and meditate among the 
scenes wihou . I had no 1 forgotten the splendid 
Elysium that last night welcomed me — those rich 



i For the two cups used in the mysteries, see 
VHisloirc des Juifs, liv. ix. c. 16. 

* Osiris, under the name of Serapis, was supposed 
to rule over the subterranean world ; and perlormed 

the office of Pluto, in the mythology of the Egyp- eat dens that soft unearthly music and light, and, 
tians. -'They believed," savs Dr. Prilchard, " that above all, those fair loans 1 had seen waudering 
Serapis presided over the region of departed souls, ! about — as if, in the very midst of happiness, still 
during the period of their absence, when languishing seeking it. The hope, which had Ihen occuired to 

me, ha , among those blight gioups might haply be 



bodies, and that Ihe dead were depo-ited 
his palace."— Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology. 
3 " Frimdam illa.ni aquam post mortem, auquam 
Hebes p culuni, expeti am." Zoega.— The Lethe 



found the y ung maiden i sought, now returned with 
increased strength. 1 had little doubt that my guide 
was le.di g me lo Ihe same Elysian scene, and that 

of the Egyptians was called An.eies. See Dupuis, \ he f ,<)r '"' s0 til ,0 i,,blbit h > would a S ain *PI«" 
torn. viii. p. 651. 'before my eves. . 

, „ . ,. .. ,-, . . I But far diilrrent, I f und, was ihe region to which 

* " Enhn on disoit qu'il y avmt deux coupes, l'une he now conducted me; — nor could the whole world 
en haut et I'autre en bas. Celui qui beuvoit de la have produced a scene moie glnomv, or more stra se. 
coupe d'en has, avo.t t ujour- soif, ses desirs s'aug- | t wore the appe ranee of a" small, solitary valley, 
memoit au lieu de s eteindre, mais ce!ui qui beuv it enclosed, i n every side, by rocks, which seemed to 
de la coupe en haut etoit rempli et content. Cette r i se , almost perpenJicula.lv, till thev reached the 
premiere coupe etoU la connoissance de la nature, | very sky ;- for it was. indeed, the blue sky that I 

shining between their summits, and whose light, 



fait jamais pleinement ceux qui en son 
dent les mvsteres ; et la seennde c upe, dans laquelle dimmed I 



I on devoit boire pour n "avoir jam lis soif, etoit la con- 
I naissance des mysteres du Ciel." — Hist, des Juifs, 
' liv. ix. chap. 16. 

I 5 The tjjS aSavacna; eW/taicov, which, accord- 
ing to Diodoivs Siculus, Isis prep, red for her son 
1 Orus. — Lib. i. 



and nearly lost iu its long descent, form 



6 Hor. Apoll. — The grasshopper was also 
era ed to the sun as beiug musical. 

t The isle Antirrhodus, near Alexandria.— M 
* Vide Allien. Deipnoi. 



478 



THE E P I C U R E A N 



ed the melancholy daylight of this nether world, i 
Down the side of Ihesc rocky walls descended a cata- 
ract, whose source was upon earth, and on whose 
waters, as ihey rolled glassily over (he edge above, a 
gleam of radiance resled, showing how brilliant and 
pure was the sunshine they had left behind. From 
thence, gradually growing darker and frequently 
broken by alternate chasms and projection*, the 
stream fell, at last, in a pale and thin mis' — the phan- 
tom nf what it had been on earth — into a small lake 
that lay at the base of the rock 10 receive it. 

Nothing was ever so bleak and saddening as the 
appearance of this lake. The usual ornaments of the 
waters of Egypt were not wanting to it: the tall 
lotus here uplif'ed her silvery timers, and the ciini- 
son flamingo floated over the tide. Hut they looked 
not the same as in Ihe world above ; — the (lower had 
exchanged ils whiteness for a livid hue, and the 
wings of the bird hung heavy and colourless. Every 
thing wore the same half-living aspect; and the only 
sounds that disturbed the mournful stillness were the 
wailing cry of a heron among the sedges, and that 
I din of the falling waters, in their midway struggle, 
above. 

There was, indeed, an uneatthly sadness in Ihe 
whole scene, of which no heart, however light, 
could resist the influence. Perceiving how much I 
was afl'ecled by it, " Such scenes," remarked the 
Priest, are best suited to that solemn complexion of 
mind, which becomes him who approaches the Great 
Mystery of fu'urity. "Behold" — and, in saying 
thus, he pointed to the opening over our heads, 
through which, though the sun had but jusl passed 
his meridian, I could perceive a star or two twink- 
ling in the heavens— "in the same manner as from 
this gloomy depth we can see those lixed stars,^ 
w hich are invisible now to Ihedwelleis on the bright j 
earth, even so, to the sad and self-humbled spirit, I 
doth many a mystery of heaven reveal itself, of 
which they, who walk in the light of Ihe proud 
world, know not !" 

He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, 
beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, a 
that God without a smile who presides over ihe 
silent kingdom of the Dead.« The same livid and 
lifeless hue was upon his features, that hung over 
every thing in this dim valley ; and, with his right 
hand, he pointed directly downwards, to denote that 
his melancholy kingdom l>y there. A plantain' — 
that favourite tree of the genii of Death — stood be- 
hind the statue, and spread its branches over the 



> " On s'etait meme avise, depuis la premiere con- 
struction de ces demeures, de percer en plusieurs en- 
droils jusqu'au haul les terresqui les couvroient ; non 
pas a la verite, pour lirer un jour qui n'auroit jimais 
eie suffisant, mais pour recevoir un air salutaire," 
*c— Sethos. 

i " On voyoit en plein jour par ces ou'ertures les 
etoiles. et meme quelques planeteseu leur plus grande 
latitude septentrionale ; et les pre'res avoient bientot 
profile de ce phenomene, pour observer a diverses 
heures le passage des etoiles. "— Sef/ioJ.— .Siraio men- 
tions certain caves or pits, constructed for Ihe purpose 
of astronomical observations, which lay in Ihe 
I Heliopolitan prefecture, beyond Heliopolis. 

» Serapis, Sol Inferus. — Athenodorus, scriptor 
vetustus, apn.l Clemenem Alexandnnum in Protrep- 
j tico, ait '• simulacra Serapidis conspicua esse colore 
c*ruleo et nigricante." .Macrobius, in verbis de- 
script is, § 6. docet nos apuc'. .Egyptios "simulacra 
solis infera fingi colore cserueo."— Jablojiski. 

* Osins. 

» This tree was dedicated to the Genii of the 
Shades, from its being an emblem of repose and cool- 
ing airs. " Cui imminet musae folium, quod ab Iside 
infera geniisque el add id is n.aou neri solilum, uin- 
bran: rcquienique et auras frigidas subindigitare vide- 
tur."— Zoeza. 



alcove, in which the Prieit now seated himself, and 
made a sign that I should take my place by bis side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought and pre|ara- 
tion, — w Nobly,-' said be, "young Greek, bast thou 
sustained the tirst luals of Initiation. What still re- 
mains, though of vital import to the soul, brings with 
it neither pain nor peril to the body. Having now 
proved and chastened thy n.ortal frame, by the three 
ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of Air ; the next task 
lo which we are called is the purification of thy 
Bpirit— the eiieciual cleansing of that inward and im- 
mortal part, so as to render it fit lor the reception of 
the last luminous revealment, when the Veils of Ihe 
Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, and Ihe Great 
Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy view ! — Towards 
Ibis object, the primary and most important step is, 
instruction. What the three purifying elements thou 
hast passed Ibrongh have done for Ihy body, instruc- 
tion will etlect lor " 

"But that lovely maiden '." 1 exclaimed, bursting 
from mi silence, having fallen, during his speech, 
into a deep reverie, in which I bad forgotten him, 
myself, the Great Secret, every thing— but her. 

Startled by this profaue interruption, he cast a look 
of alarm towards the statue, as il fearful lest the God 
should have heard my words. Then, turning lo me, 
in a tone of mild solemnity, " It is but loo plain," 
said he, " that thoughts of'the upper world, and of 
its vain, shadowy delights, still engross thee far too 
much, to allow the lessons of Truth to sink profitably 
into thy heart. A few hours of meditation amid this 
solemn scenery — of that wholesome meditation, 
which purifies, by saddening — nay haply dispose 
thee to receive, with due ftelings of reverence, the 
holy and imperishable knowledge we have in store 
for thee. With this hope 1 now leave thee to thy 
own thoughts, and to that God, before whose calm 
and mournful eye all the vanities of the world, from 
which thou comest, wi l.rr!"' 

Thus saving, he turned slowly away, and 



•arins 

niuted 



behind the statue, towards which be had pon 
during Ihe last sentence, suddenly, and as if by en- 
cbautmeut, disappeared from my sight. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Being now left to my own solitary thoughts, I wis 
fully at leisure to reflect, with seme degree of cool- 
ness, upon the inconveniences, if not dangers, of the 
situation inlo which my love of adventure bad hurri- 
ed me. However prompt my imagination was al- 
ways to kindle, in its own ideal sphere, I have ever 
found that, when brought inlo contact with reality, it 
as suddenly cooled ;— like those meeors, that appear 
lo be stars, while in the air, but, the moment they 
touch earth, are extinguished. And such was the 
feeling nf disenchantment that now succeeded lo the ' 
wild dreams in which I had been indulging. As 
lone as Fancy had the field of the fulure to herself, 
even immortality did not seem loo distant a race for 
her. But when human instruments interposed, the 
illusion all vanished. From mortal lips the promise 
of immortality seemed a mockery, and even imagi- 
nation bad no wings that could carry beyond toe 
grave. 

Nor was this disappointment the only feeling that 
pained and haun'ed me; — Ihe imprudence of the 
step, on which 1 had ventured, now appeared in its 
fu:l extent before my eyes. 1 had here thrown my- 
self into the power of the most artful priesthood in 
the world, without even a chance of being able to 
escape from their toils, or to resist any machinations 
with which Ihey might beset me. It appeared evi- 
dent, from the slate of preparation in which I had 
found all .ipparatus, by which the 

terrors and splendours of Initiation are ; I 
that my descent iulo the pyramid was not unexpect- 
ed. Numerous, indeed, and ac'ive as were Ihe spies 



THE EPICUREAN. 



479 



of the Sacr;d College of Memphis, it could little be 
doubled that all niy movements, since my arrival, 
had been walchl'ully tricked ; and the many hours 1 
had employed in wandering and exploring around 
the pyramid, be rayed a curiosity and spini of adven- 
ture which might well suggest to ihese wily priests 
Ihe hope of inveigling an Epicurean inio their toils. 

I was well aware" of their hatied to Ihe sect of 
which I was Chief; — tha' they considered the Epi- 
cureans as, next to the Christians, Ihe most formi- 
dable enemies of their crafl and power. " How 
thoughtless, then," 1 exclaimed, •• to hive placed my- 
self in a situation, where I am equally helpless against 
fraud and violence, and must ei her pretend 10 be Ihe 
dupe of their imposture-, or else submit to become 
the victim of their vengeance !" Of these alter- 
natives, bilter as they both were, ihe lat'er appeared 
by far the more welcome. It was with a blush that 
1 even looked back upon the mockeries I had already 
yielded lo ; and (he prospect of being pui through 
still further ceremonials, aid of being tutored and 
preached lo by hypocrites I so much despised, ap- 
peared to me, in my present mood of mind, a trial of 
patience, compared to which the flames and whirl- 
winds I had already encountered were pastime. 

Often and impatiently did I look up, between those 
rocky walls, 10 ihe bright sky that appeared to rest 
upon their summits, as, pacing round and round, 
through every part of the valley, I endeavoured to 
find some outlet from its gloomy precincts. But vain 
were all my endeavours; — that rocky barrier, which 
seemed lo end but in heaven, interposed iiself every- 
where. Neither did the image of Ihe young maiden, 
though constantly in my mind, now br.ng with il Ihe 
least consolation or hope, <)f what avail was it that 
she, perhaps, was an inhabitant of this region, if 1 
could neither behold her smile, nor catch the sound 
of her voice — if, while among pre.ching priests I 
wasted away my hours, her presence was, alas, dif- 
fusing its enchantment elsewhere? 

At length exhausted, I lay down by the brink of 
the lake, and gave myself up to ill the melancholy 
of my fancy. The pale semblance of daylight, which 
had hitherto glimmered around, grew, every mo- 
ment, more dim and dismal. Even Ihe rich gleam, 
at the summit of the case de, had faded; and the 
sunshine, like the water, exhausted in its descent, 
had now dwindled into a ghostly glimmer, far worse 
than darkness. The birds upon the lake, as if about 
to die wi h the dying light, sunk down their heads; 
and as I looked to the statue, the deepening shadows 
gave such an expression to its mournful features as 
chilled my very soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to present itself 
to my imagination, now came, with a disheartening 
weight, such as I had never before felt. I almost 
fancied myself already in the dark vestibule of the 
grave — removed, for" ever, from Ihe world above, 
and with nothing but the blank of an eternal sleep 
before me. It had happened, I knew, frequently, 
that Ihe visitants of this mysterious realm were, afier 
their descent from earth, never seen or heard of; — 
being condemned, for some failure in their initiatory 
trials, to pine away their lives in those dirk duu- 
j geons, with which, as well as with altars, this region 
j abounded. Such, I shuddered to think, might pro- 
bably be my own destiny ; and so appalling was the 
thought, that even the courage by winch I had been 
hitherto sustained died within me. and I was already 
giving myself up to helplessness and despair. 

At length, after some hours of this gloomy musing, 
I heard a rustling in the sacred grove behind the 
statue; and, soon after, the sound of the Priest's 
voice — more welcome Irian 1 had ever thought such 
voice could be— brought the assurance that I was not 
yet wholly abandoned. Finding his way to me 
through ihe eloom, he now led me to ihe same spot, 
On which we nad pared so many ho rs before ; and, 
addressing n.e in a voice that retained no trace of dis- 
i pleasure, bespoke my atenion, while he should re- 
veal to me some of those divine truths, by whose 



infusion, he said, into the soul of man, its purification 
can alone be etlecled. 

The valley had now become so dark, that we could 
no longer, as we sate, discern each other's faces. 
There was a melancholy in the voice of my instruc- 
tor that well accorded with the gloom around us: 
and, saddened and subdued, 1 now listened with re- 
signation, if uot with interest, to th«se sublime, but, 
alas, I thought, vain tenets, which, with all the 
warmth of a true believer, this Hierophant expound- 
ed to me. 

He spoke of the pre-existence of the soul t — of its 
abode, from all eternity, in a place of splendour and 
bliss, of which whatever we have most beautiful in 
our conceptions here is but a dim transcript, a cloud- 
ed remembrance. In ll.e blue depths of ether, he 
said, lay that " Country of the Soul"— its boundary 
alone visible in the line of milky light, which, as by 
a barrier of stars, sepaiates il from" the dark earth. 
•'Oh, realm of puny! Home of Ihe yet unfallen 
Spirit I — where, in Ihe days of her first innocence, 
she wandered ; ere jet her beauty was soiled by the 
touch of earth, or her resplendent wings had wither- 
ed away. Methinks I see," he cried, "at this mo- 
ment, those fields of radiance « — I look back, through 
ihe mists of iife, into that luminous world, where 
the souls that have never lost their high, heavenly 
rank, still soar, without a stain, above the shadowless 
stars, and there dwell ti gether in infinite perfection 
and bliss!" 

As he spoke these words, a burst of pure, brilliant 
light, 3 I ike a sudden opening of heaven, broke through 
the valley ; and, as soon as my eyes were able lo 
endure the splendour, such a vision of glory and 
loveliness opened upon them, as took even my scepti- 
cal spirit by surprise, and made it yield, at once, to 
the potency of Ihe spell. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupying the 
whole of the opposite region of the valley, there ap- 
pealed an immense orb of light, within which, 
through a haze of radiance, I could see distinctly fair 
groups of young female spirits, who, in silent, but 
harmonious movement, like that of the stars, wouud 
slowly through a variety of fanciful evolutions; 
seeming, as they linked and unlinked each other's 
arms, to form a living labyrinth of beauty and grace. 
Though their feet appeared to glide along a field of 
light, they had also wings, of the most brilliant hue, 
which, like rainbows over waterfalls, when played 
with by the breeze, reflected, every moment, a new 
variety of glory. 

As 1 stood, gazing with wonder, the orb, with all 
its eihereal inmates, began gradually to recede into 
the dark void, lessening, as it went, and becoming 
more brigh', as it lessened; — till, at length, distant, 



1 For a full account of the doclrines which are 
here represented as having been taught to the iniiiat- 
ed in ihe Egyptian niys eries, the reder may consult 
Dujntis, PritcharcVs Analysis of the Egyptian My- 
thology, &c. &c. " L'on decouvn it 1'origine de 
I'ame. sa chute sur la terre, a travers les spheres et 
les elemens, et sou retnur au lieu de son origiue .... 
e'etoil ici la partie la plus metaphvsique, et que ne 
pourroit guere entendre le commun des Iniiies, mais 
dont on lui donnoit le spectacle par des figures et des 
spectres allegoriques." — Dufuis. 

1 See Bcausobre, lib. iii. c. 4., for the " terre bien- 
heureuse et lumineuse," which Ihe Manicheans sup- 
posed God to inhabit. Plato, too, speaks (in Phaed.) 
of a pure land lying in the pure sky (ttjv yi)V 
KaBapav tv Ka8ao(/j KiicrOai ovpavy), the abode of 
divinity, of innocence, and of life." 

3 The power of producing a sudden and dazzling 
effusion of light, which was one of the arls employ- 
ed by the contrivers of Ihe ancient Mysteries, is thus 
described in a few words by Apuleius, who was him- 
self admitted lo witness Ihe lsiac ceremonies at 
Corinth : — " Node media vidi solem caudido corus- 
c intern lumine." 



480 



THE EPICUREAN 



to ill appearance, as a retiring comet, this lit' le 
world of Spirits, in one small p int of intense radi- 
ance, shone its list and vanished. ''Go," exclaimed 
i the rap' Piiest, "ye happy souls, of whose dwelling 
a glimpse is Ihus given 10 our eyes, go, wander, in 
your orb, thr i.gh ihe boundless heaven, nor ever let 
a thought of this perishable world come to mingle its 
dross win your divine nature, or allure you down 
earthward to that mortal fall by which spirits, no 
le^s bright <ud admirable, have been runed !" 

A pause ensued, during which, still under the in- 
fluence of wonder, I sent my fancy wandering afier 
the inhabilaulaof that orb— s almost wishing myself 
credulous enough to believe in a heaven, of which 
creatures, si much like those I had worshipped on 
tar h, were inmates. 

At length, the 1'riest, with a mournful sigh at the 
sad contrast he was about to draw between the 
happy splits we had just seen and the (alien ones 
of earth, resumed again his melaucholy History of 
the Soul. Tricing it gr dually from the firs mo- 
nieni of earthward desne» to it- final eclipse in the 
shadows of tins world, he dwelt up n ever> st-ge of 
its daikenmg descent, with a pathos that sent sadness 
into the very depths of the he rt. The first down- 
ward look "f the Spirit towards earth — Hie tremble 
of l.er wings on the edge of He,ven- the gildy slide, 
at leng b, down that f.tal decent, and the Lethean 
cup, midway in the sky, of which when she ha- once 
tasted, He. ven is f. rgo't— thr ugh all Ihe-e grala'ions 
he ir.iced m umfu ly her fall, to th.i las stage of 
darkness, when, wholly immersed in this wotld, her 
eetestiaJ naiure becomes changed, she no longer can 
rise above earth, no- even remember her former 
home, except by glimp-es so vague, 'hat, a' length, 
mistaking for hope what is only, alas, recollection, 
she believes those gleams to be a light from the 
Future, ii"! the I'ast. 

"To letrieve this ruin of the once blessed Soul — 
to clear awa» from arui d her the clouds of earth, 
and, restoring her lost wings,'* facilitate their return 
to He ven — such," said the reverend man, "is the 
great task of our leligion, and such ihe triumph of 
those d. vine Mysteries, in whose inmost depths the 
life and e-sence of that holy religion lie tieisured. 
However sunk and changed and clouded may be the 
Spirit, yet a- long as a single trace of her original 
light remains, there is still h'i* tha- ■ 

Here the voice of the Priest was interrupted by a 
strain of mournful music, of which the low, distant 
breathings had been, for some minutes, audible but 
which now gained upon the ear too thnllmgly 'o let 
it listen lo anv more earthly sound. A faint light, 
too, at that instant broke through the valley — and I 
could |verceive, not far from the spot w here we sat, a 
female figuie. veiled, and crouching to earth, as if 
subdued by sorrow, or under the influence of shame 
Ihe feeble light, by w Inch 1 saw l.er, can* from a 
pale, moonlike meteor which had gradually formed 
itseif in the air as the music approached, and now 
shed over the r>cks and the lake a glimmer sa cold 
as that by which Ihe Dead, in their own kingdm. 
gaze upon each other. Ihe music, mo, which ap- 
peared to ri-e from ou' of the lake f II of tl 
of its dark wa em soey in every note 



l In the original COns'ructinn of this work, 'here 
was an I I here (which I have since 

published in a more er'eiided form), il astratine the 
doctrine of the fall of Ihe soul by the Oriental fable 
of ihe Loves of the .-. 

* In the language of Pla'o, Hierocles, &c . to " re- 
store to the soul its wings," is tr.e main object both 
of religion and phi! - 

itcittl, in bis 1. - is, " Ex 

antiquissimis Phil sophis Pyihasmram et i 
Isidoms ut Deos coluit. et eoriwm aminos alattu esse 
dixit quas in locum supercceles'ein inque camptMn 
veritalis et pratum elevtas, divinis potavit idtis 
pasci."— Jpud. Phot BdU 



which no langu ge could express ;— and, as I 
to its tones, and l-.oked upon that fallen Spirit, (tor 
such, the holy man whispered, was the form before 
lnely did the illusion of the scene take pos- 
session of nie,3 that, with almost painful anxiety, 1 
now awaited the resul'. 

Nor had I gazed long before that form rose slowly 
fr m is drooping posi ion ;— the air around ii grew 
brigh',and the pale meteor overhead assun.ed a more 
cheerful and living light. The veil, which had be- 
fore shrouded the face of the figure, becanie every 
miuu'e more trai spatent, and the features, one by 
one, gradually di-closed themselves. Having trem- 
blingly watched the progress "f ihe apparition, I now 
started fr. m my seat, aid half exel imed, »■ It is she!" 
In another minute, this Ihiu veil had. like a thin mist, 
melted away and the young P'iestess of the Moon 
stood, for the third time] revealed before my eyes ! 

To rush instantly 'ouards her was my first impulse 
— but ihe arm of the Priest held me firmly back. The 
fre-h ligh, which had begun 'o flow in from all sides, 
collected itself in a fli-d of glorv around ihe spot 
where she s ood. Instead of n.ela choly music, s'rains 
of the most exalted rap'ure were heard; and Ihe 
young maiden, buoyant as the inn ibitanis of the fairy 
orb, amid a blaze of light like that which fell upon 
her in the Teni| le, ascended slow ly into he air. 

I eai.tiful vision, sta> !" 1 exclaimed, as, break- 
Ihe hoid of the Pries', I : ung myself pros- 
trate on the grout d— the o ly mode by which I could 
• e admiration, even to worship, with which 
1 wa- filled. P,ut 'he vanishing pint heard me not: 
— receding into the darkness, like that orb, whose 
heavenward track she seemed to follow, her form 
lessened by deg-ees away, till she wa- seen n i no re ; 
while, gazing, till the last luminous speck had disap- 
peired." I allowed nnself unc riscinusly lo be led 
away b\ m> reverend guide, who. placing me once 
more on my bed of poppj-leaves, left me there lo such 
repose as it was possible, after such a scene, to enjoy. 



CHAPTER X. 

The apparition with which I had been blessed in 
that VaMe> of Visions— for so the place where 1 had 
wi'nes-ed these wonders was called — brougi back to 
my heatt all the hopes and fancies, in which during 
my descent froni earth I had indulged. I had now- 
seen once more tha' ma'chless creature, who bad been 
mv gutdmg-s'ar i I - realm ; and that 

she was declined to be. in S"me way, connected with 
I the fur her revelations thai awaited me, I saw no 
, reas n lo doubt, 'there was a sublinn'y, too, in the 
| dc Tines of n y reverend teacher.. and even a h pe in 
Ihe promises of immortal it) held out by him. which, 
in spite of reason. I to upon my fancy 

and m\ ptide. 

Ihe Future, however, was now but of secondary 
e Present, and I bat deity of the 

3 In tracing the ea'ly connexion of spectacles with 
the ceremonies of leligion I 

tio|,5 in. I nsantes et tetr 

'on celebroi' dans les ph - 
moi.de en pre ei.ee des si ! la que 

les hibr- les machines e' 

pres au - etoit la vie pnrsen'e e' la 

r.i — Des divert Chanttmetts arrive* a 
r.irt traziqiu. 

-e scenic representa'ions in the Egyptian 

in ions m 

" Then said he un'o me, ■ S 

what the ancients of the I 

dark, every man in iht chambers of kit imagtryF" 

Chap, viii.' 



THE EPICUREAN. 



481 



Present, woman, were tlie objects that engrossed my 
whole soul. It was, indeed, for the sake of such 
beings alone that 1 con-idered immortality uesirable, 
nor, without them, would eiernal lite have appeared 
to me worth a single prayer. To every further trial 
of my patience and faith, 1 now made up my mind to 
submit without a murmur. Some kind chance, 1 fondly 
persuaded myself, might ye; b'ing me nearer to the 
object of my adoration, and enable me to address, as 
mortal woman, one who had hitherto been to me but 
as a vision, a shade. 

The period of my probation, however, was nearly 
an end Both frame and spirit had now stood the 



age and attitude, to the bird of the young Priestess, 
tha most gladly would I have knelt down and wor- 
shipped il foi lier sake. 

After visiting all these various shrines, and hearing 
the reflections which they suggested, 1 was next led by 
my guide to the Great Hall of the Zodiac, on whose 
ceiling was delineated, in blight ai d undying colours, 
the map of the firmament, as it appealed at the tiist 
dawn of time. Here, in pointing out the track of the 
sun among the spheres, he spoke of the analogy that 
exists be ween moral and physical daikness — of the 
sympathy with which all spiritual creates regard 
the sun, mi as to sadden and decline when he sinks iiNu 



trial; and, a> the crowning; test of the purification of ! his wintry hemisphere, and ^to rejoice whe 

tte latter was that power of seeing into ihe world of 

spirits, with which 1 had proved myself, in the Valley 

of Visions, to be endowed, there now remained, to 

complete my Initiation, but this one night mo e, w hen, 

in the Temple of Isis, and in the presence of her un 

veiled image, the las' grand re\ elation of the Secret of 

Secrets w.s to be laid open to me. 

1 passed the morning of this day in company with 
the same venerable personage, who had, from the fir t, 
presided over the ceremonies of my ii s ruction; and 
who, to inspire me with due reverence for the power 
and magnificence of his religion, now cond 
through the long range of illuminated g " 
shrines, that extend undi 
phis and the Pyramids si 



he 



of light. Hence, the festivals 
and hymns, with which most of Ihe nations of the 
eirth .ire wont to welcome the resurrection of his orb 
in spring, as an emblem and pledge of the re-ascent of 
the soul to heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, the 
mournful ceremonies 5 — like those Mysteries of the 
Night,£ upon the Lake of Sais — in which they brood 
over Ins autumnal de-cent into the shade-, as a lype of 
ihe Spirits fall into this world of death. 

In disc»ur.-es snch as these the h urs passed away ; 
and though there was nothing in the light of this sun- 
less region to ma'k to the eye the decline of day, my 
and °" n fec| i n n- ,old nie ,nat lne night drew near; — nor, 
the si e upon which Mem- i '" s l'' le " f "'>' inc ejlulily, could I refrain from a slight 
d, and form a c underpin I 1,u, ter ot h .pe. as that promi ed mr: 



n..i prr 
under ground to that mighty city of temples upon |"'ew nigh, when the Mysle.y of Mysteries was to be 
eartn D made all my own. 1 Ins consumma'ion, however, 

He'then descended with me, still lower, into those w * less near "»•' ' expected. My patience had still 
winding crypis, where lay the Seven Tables of stone, i further trials to encounter. It wis necesiry 



found by Hermes in the valley of Hebron. "On these 
tables," said he, " is written all the knowledge of the 
antediluvian race— the decrees of the stars from the 
beginning of lime, the annals of a still earlier world, 
and all the marvellous secrets, both of heaven and 
earth, which would have been 

• but for this key. 
Lost in the Universal Sea. ' " 

Retiming to the region, from which we had de- 
scended, we next visited, in Bucces-ion, a series of 
small shrines representing the various objects of ado- 
ration through Egypt, and ihus furni hing to the 
Priest an occasion for explaining ihe mysierious na- 
ture of animal worship, and (he refined doctrines of 
theology that lay veiled under its forms. Every shiine 
was consecrated to a particular faith, and contained a 
living image of the deity which it adored. Beside the 
goal of Mendes,2 with his refu'geut star upon his 
brea-t, I saw ihe crocodile, as ptesented to the eyes 
of its idolaters at Arsinoe, with costly gemstt in its 
loathsome ears, and rich brace'ets of gold e. circling 
its feel. Here, floating through a tank in the centre 
of a temple, the sacred carp of Lepidmum showed its 
silven scales; while, there, the Isiac serpents ■> trailed 
languidly over the altar, with that sort of movement 
w hich is thought most favourable io the aspiration- of 
their votaries. In one of the small chapels we found 
a beautiful child, employed in feeding and watching 
over those golden beetles, which are adored for thei 



nece-siry, J now 
found, that, during ihe greater part of the night, I 
should keep wa ch in the Sanctuary of the Temple, 
alone and in ul er darkness — thu> preparing myself, 
by meditation, for the awful momen', when Ihe irra- 
diation from behind the sacred Veils was to burst upon 
me 

At the appointed hour, we left the Hall of the Zo- 
diac, and proceeded through a long line of maiLle gal- 
leries, where the lamps were moie II. inly scattered as 
we advanced, till, at length, we found ourselves in 
total daikness. Here the Prie>t, taking me by the 
hand, and le.ding me down a flight of s'eps. into a 
place where the same deep gloom preiailed, said, with 
a voice trembling, as if from excess of awe — " To >u 
art within the Sanctuary of our goddess, Isis, and ihe 
veils, that conceal her sacred image, are before thee'." 
Afler exhorting meearnes ly to lhat Iriin of thought 
which best accorded « jth the spirit of ihe place where 
1 stood, and, above .11, 'o thai full and unhesitating 
faith, with which alone, he said, ihe manifestation of 
such mysteries should be approached. Ihe holy man 
took lea've of me. and reasce. ded the steps ; — while, 
so spell-bound did 1 feel by that deep darkness, that 
Ihe last sound of his foo's'eps d ed upon my ear, before 
I ventured to stir a limbfr. m Ihe position in which he 
had left me. 

I he pr. spect of ihe long wa'ch I had now to look 
forward to, was dreadful. Even danger lreelf, if in an 
active form, would have been far preferable to this 
sort of safe, but dull, probaii n, by which patience 



brightness, as emblems of lhe sun : while, in another, ' was ( " e o" 1 )' virtue put to lhe proof. Having asce - 
stood a sacred ibis upon its pedestal, so like, in plum- j tamed how tar the space arorn d me was free from 

obstacles, I endeavoured io beguile Ihe time, by pacing 
up and down within those limits, lill I became tired 
of the monooi ous echoes of ni\ ow n tre >d. Finding 
m\ way, then, to what I felt lb be a massive pillar, 
and leaning wearily against it, I surrei.de ed my-elf 
Io a train of though s and feelings, far different from 
those with which Ihe good Hierophant had h ped io 
inspire me. 

" If these priests," thought I, "possess really the 
secret of life, why are they hemselves the victims of 
death? why sink into lhe gra\e with the cup of im- 



t "Bernard, Comte de la Marche Trevisane. in- 
struit par la lecture des livres anciens, di', qu' Hern.es 
trouva sepi tables dans la vallee d'Hebron, sur le6- 
quelles etoient graves les principes des arts liberaux." 
— rabies Eiryptiennet. See JaLlonski de stelit Harm. 

*For an account of the animal worship of the Egyp- 
tians, see De Pauvo, toin. ii. 

3 Her dotus (Eutcrp ) tells us that Ihe people ab- ut 
Thebes and L'ke Moeris kept a number of tame cro- 
codiles, which they worshipped, and dressed them out 
with gems and golden ornaments in their ears. 

« " On auguroit bieo de serpens Isiaques, lorsqu'ils 
goutoie t I'offraude et se trainoient lentemeut autour 
de I'autel."— JTJe Pauw. 

~41 



* For an account of the various festivals at Ihe dif- 
ferent periods of the sun's progrew, in the spring a.aJ 
in the autumn, see Dupuis and Pntchard. 

e Vide Alhenag. Leg. pro Christ, p. 138. 
_ 



482 



THE EPICUREAN. 



mortality in Iheir hands ? But no, safe boasters, the 
eternity they so lavishly promise is teserved fur 
another, a fu ure world — thai ready resource of all 
pri<stly promises — that dej ository of the airy pledges 
of all creeds. Another world !— alas, where doth it 
, lie? or, what spirit hath ever come to say that Life is 
there ?» 

The conclusion at which, half sadly, half passion- i 
ately, I arrived, was that, life being but a dream of I 
the moment never to come gam, every bliss so I 
vaguely promised for herraf'er ought to be secured by ' 
the wise man here. And, as no heaven 1 had ever 
heard i f from these visionary priests opened haif such 
certainty of happiness as thv smile which 1 beheld 
last light — '• Le' me," I exclaimed, impatiently, 
striking the massy pillar till it rung, '-let me but 
m ike that beautiful Priestess my ow n, and I here wil- 
lingly exchange for tier every chance of immortal] y, 
that ibe combined wisdom of Egypt's Twelve Temples 
can offer me :" 

No sooner bad 1 uttered these wordi. than a tre- 
mendous peal, like that of thunJer,3 rolled over the 
Sanc'uary, and seemed to ;h'ke its very walls. On 
every siie, too, a succes-ion of blue, vivid flashes 
pierced, like lances of light, th ough the gl om, re- 
vealing to me, a' interval-, the mighty dome in which 
1 stood — its ceiling of az re, s udded w ill) s'ars — its 
colossal columns, towering alott, and those dark, awful 
veils, whose massy drapery hung from the roof to the 
floor, covering the lich glories of the Shrine beneath 
their folds. 

So weary had I grown of my tedi-us watch, that 
this sto-myand fitful illumination, during which the 
Sanctuary 'seemed to rock to its base, was by no means 
an unwelcome interruption of ihe 
my patience had to sutler. After a short interval, 
however, the tia-hes cea-ed ; — the sounds d ed away, 
like exhauted thunder, through he abyss, and dark- 
ness and silence like that of the grave, succeeded. 

Resting my back once more asaiu-t the pillar, and 
fixing my eyes upon that side r.f the Sanctuary, from 
which the promised irradiation was to lu - 
resolved to await the awful moment in patience. 
Resigned and a'most immovable, 1 had remained thus, 
for ne rly anoher hour, when suddenly, along the 
edges of the mighty Veils, I perceived a thin rim of 
light, as if from some brilliant object ui.der them ; — 
resembling that border which ei. circles a cloud at 
sunset, when the rich iadiance from behind is escaping 
at its edges. 

This indication of concealed dories grew every 
instant more strong ; till, I rKed as it 

was upon the darkness, the narrow fringe of lustre 
alinos' pained the eye— giving pr niise of a fulne-s 
of splendour too bight to be endured. M 
(ions were now w und to the highest pitch, aud all 
the seep icism, ii to which I h.d 1 
my mini, was fo g t en. The wonder: thai 
presented to me sir ce my de-cent from earth — thai 
glimpse m o Elysium on the first nig 
— those visitan's fn m he Laud of S 

il ey — all led me to expect, in this last aid 
brightest revelation, such v ind know- 

ledge as might tran-cend even fancy i'se f, nor leave 
a doubt 'hat they belonged les- to earrh than heaven. 

While, wih an imagination thus excited, i lood 
waiting the result, an increased gush of light - 
awakened my attention ; and 1 saw, wilfa an inlcnse- 
ness of interest, which male nn heal 
of the c rners of the mighty Veil raiseJ slo* 
the floor. 1 now felt that the Great secc', w h .ever 
il might be, was a' hand. A vague hope even cros-ed 
my mind — so wh illy had imagiD •tion now- resumed 
her empire — that the spin. my dream 

was on the very point of being realized ! 

1 See, for some curious remarks m the ti:o.!e of 
imitating thunder and lightning in the tuacii 
ries, De Punic, torn, i., p. 323. The machine with 
which these efl'ects were produced en tie stage was 
called a ceraunnacrpe. 



With surprise, however, and, for the moment, with 
some disappointment, 1 perceived, that the massy cor- i 
ner of the Veil was but lifted sufficiently from the I 
ground to allow a female figure to emerge from under '■ 
it — and then fell over its mystic splendours as utterly- 
dark as before. By the strong light Ico. thai issued , 
when the drapery u'as raised, and illumiua ed the pro- r 
file of the emerging figure, 1 either saw, or fancied 
that I saw, the same bi:ah; fea'u es, that had already | 
so often mocked me with their momentary cnarai, and 
seemed destined, incited, 10 haunt my fancy as uu- 
availiuglvas even the loud, vain dream of lu.i. 
it.-e f. 

Dazzied as I had been by that short gush of splen- 
door, and di trusting even my senses, when under the 
influence of so much excitement, I had but - 
to question myself as to the re lily of my in 
when I heard" the sounds of ligtv f o ■ 
me ti. rough he gloom. In a second or two i. 
figure s or, ped before me. and. pia. 
riband gently in my lund said, in a Iruwihil 
per, '• follow, and "be silent." 

So sudden and si range was the adventure, that, for ! 
a momea , 1 hesitated — fearing 111 
| ossibly have been deceived as lo II - 
seen. Casting a le h seemed 

bursting » itb i s luminous sec el I I 

ich of Ihe tw chances I should con 
sell, when I felt Ihe riband in my hand pulled sofliy 
at the o her extremity. I hi- movement, like a touch 
of mag i c, at once decided me. VVilboul an. 
deliberat.on. 1 yielded lo the silent summons, and fol- 
low iug my guide. at some distance 
kin t n. e. found my -elf led up the s me flight of mar- 
ble tcj s by which ihe I'ne-t haJ c uduc'ed me into 
ary. Am eJ at their summit, 1 fell the pace 
■ quicken, aid g.vmg one more look 
to the Wiled Shrine, w hi^se glurie? we It : 

be gloom. 
full of confidence iu Ihe belief, lift she, wh' 
ihe other cud of hat clue, was t ne whom 1 was ready 
lo follow devotedly through the world. 



CHAPTER XI. 

With such rapidity was I hurried along by my un- 
seen guiJ. r at 'he sperd wi'h w'h.ch 
she ven' I had but 
r efltc ion upon the strangeness of 
the adventure lo w 
knowledge of the ci.arac et 
as well a> some fearlul ru .ed ne, 

! 
tl.cir InnJs, awakened a cion of 

. n n.y mind. ! I tie face 

le. as I had -een 

i 
and let shame at having harboured litem but an 
In he meanwhile, our rapid course continued wi'h- 
capriciously in'ricate^ than s-ed, and 



" In addition to Ihe accounts wl 
have lei 

- 

- 
.- the bed of the > 
■furies and loditi 

-uhatiac- 

■ che dans les chan.brrs s _ 

ronnee de p us eurs tin he? qui res«enbl it a de petiles 
■-. J*ou Ton eotroil dans dautres Itoeset dans | 



THE EPI C U REAN. 



483 



whose thick gloom seemed never to have been broken 

by a -ingle glu er of light. My unseen c nduc i ess 

«aj siill at some distance before me, and the slight 
clue, to which I clung as if it were Destiny's own 
thread, was still kepi, by the speed of her course, at 
full bt;e;cli between us. At leng h. suddenly slopping, 
she said, in a breathless whisper, " ;>eat ihvseli here ;'' 
and, at the same moment, led me by ihe .'.and to a Burl 
of low car in which, obeying her brief command, I 
lost not a moment in phcingmy-elf, while the maiden, 
no less promptly, took her seat by my s de. 

A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, was 
then heard, and the car— which, as I had feh in enter- 
ing it, leaned half-way over a steep descent— on being 
let loose from its station, shot down, almost perpendi- 
cularly, into the darkness, with a rapidity which, at 
fitst, nearly deprived me of breath. I he wheels slid 
smoothly and noiselessly in grooves, and the impetus, 
which Ihe car acquired in descending, was sufficient, 
1 perceived, to cany it up an eminence that succeeded 
—from the summit of which il again rushed down an- 
other declivity, even still more long and precipitoi.9 
than Ihe former. In this manner we proceeded, by 
alternate falls and rise, till, at length, fiom the last 
and steepest elevation, the car descended upon a level 
of deep sand, where, after running f»rj few yards, it 
by degrees lost its motion and sopped. 

Here, the maiden alighting again placed the riband 
in my hands— and again 1 followed her, though vvi 1, 
mote slowness ami difficulty thin before, as our w iy 
now led up a flight of damp and time-worn s'eps, 
whose ascent seemed to the wearied and insecure foot 
interminable. Perceiving with what languor my 
guide advanced, 1 was on the point of making an 
effort to assist her progress, when the creak of an 
opening d 'or above, and a faint gleam of ligh which, 
at the same moment, shone upon her figure, apprised 
me that we were at last arrived within reach of sun- 
shine. 

Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, by 
the dim light, could discern, thai we weie now in 'he 
sane nny of a vast, ruined temple— hat ing entered by 
a secret passage under the pedestal, upon which an 
image of the idol of the place once stood. The first 
movement of the young maiden, after closing again 
the portal under the pedestal, was, without even a 
single look towards me, to cast herself down upon her 
knees, with her hands clasped and uplifted, as if in 
thanksgiving or prayer. But she was unable, evi- 
dently, to sustain herself in this po.-ition ; — her 
strength could hold out no longer. Overcome by agi- 
tation and fatigue, she sunk senseless upon the pave- 
ment. 

Bewildered as I was myself, by the strange events 
of the night, 1 stood for some minutes looking upon 
her in a stale of helplessness and a a' in. But, lemind- 
ed, by my own feveiish sensations, of the reviving 
effects of the air, I raised her gently in my arms, and 
crossing the corridor that surrounded the sanctuary, 
found my way to the outer vestibule of the temple. 



chambres, sans pouvoir en trouver la fin." In speak- 
ing, loo, of the arcades along the Nile, near Cosseir, 
" lis rre diient meme que ces sou'erraines etoient si 
profondes qu'il y en avoient qui alloient a trois j ur- 
nees de la, et qu'lls cnduis lieut dans un pay* on l»i u 
voyoit de beau jardins, qu'on y Irouvoii de belles 
tnaisons," &c. &c. 

See also in M. Quatremere's Memoires surl Epypte, 
torn, i., p. 142. an account of a sutterr man reservoir, 
said to have been discovered by Kais, and of the expe- 
dition undeitaken by a patty of persons, in a long, 
narrow boat, for the purpose of exploring i'. " l.eur 
voyage avoj; eie'Je six jours, dont le< quatre premiets 
furent employes a penetrer les bords ; les deux autres 
a revenir an iieu d'ou ils etoient pirlis. Pendant out 
cet intervalle ils lie purent atteindre I'exlremite du 
bassin. L'emir Ala-eddin-Tamboga, gouverneur de 
Behnesa, ecrivit ces details au sul.an, qui en fut extre- 
i niemeut surpris." 



Here, shading her eyes from the sun, I placed her, 
reclining, upon the steps, where ihe cool north-wind, 
then blowing freshly beiween the pillars, might play, 
with fiee draught, over her brow. 

It wa«, indeed— as 1 now saw, with certainty — the 
same beaut, ful and rmsteriou girl, who had been the 
cause nf my descent into that subterranean world, and 
who now, under such strange and unaccountable cir- 
cumstances, was my guide back again to the realms of 
day. I looked a ound to discover where we were, 
and beheld s ch a scene of grandeur, as, could my eies 
have been then attracted to any object but Ihe pale 
form reclining a my side, might well have induced 
them to dwell on its splendid beau ies. 

1 was now standing. I found, on Ihe small island in 
the cen re of Lake Mceris; I and th t sanctuary, 
where we had just emerged from daikness formed 
part of the ruins of an ancient temple, which was (as 
I have since lean ed), in the grander days of " 



phis, a pi 



of pilgrimage fu 






from all 



par s ol Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, I ut of whose 
waters once rose pavilions, palaces, and even lofty 
pyiamids, was still, though divested of many of these 
wonders, a cme of interest and splendoui such as the 
whole world could not equal. While the shores still 
-parkled with mansions and temples, that bore testi- 
mony to the luxury of a living tace, the voice ct *..'.e 
Past, speaking out of unuumbeied ruins, whose sum- 
mits, here and there, rose blackly above the wave, 1 * 
told of times long fled, and generations long swept 
away, before w hose giant remains all the glory of ihe 
piesent stood humbled. Over the southern bank of 
the Lake hung the dark relics of Ihe Lab) rmth ;— its 
twelve Royal Palaces representing ihe mansions of 
the Zodiac— i's thundering portals^ and Constellated 
halls, b iving left nothing now behind but a few frown- 
ing ruins, which, contrasted with the soft groves of 
acacia and olive around them, seemed to rebuke the 
luxuriant smiles ol nature, and threw a melancholy 
giandeur over the whole scene. 

The effects of Ihe air, in re-animating Ihe young 
Prie-tess, were less speedy than I had expected; — 
her eyes weie s'ill closed, and she remained pale and 
insensible Alarmed I now rested her head (w hich 
had been, for some lime, supported by my arm) 
against the base of one of the columns, with my cloak 
fonts pillow, while I hastened to proc re some water 
from the Lake. 1 he temple stood high and the de- 
scent to the shore was precipitous. Bu', my Ep cu- 
rean habits having but little impaired my activity, I 
sun descended, with the lightness of a desert deer, to 
the bottom. Hete, ph. eking from a lofty bean-tree, 
whose Sowers stood, shining like gold, above the 
water, one of those large hollowed leaves that serve 
ascps-i for the Hebes of the Nile, I filled it from 
the Lake, and hurried back with the cool draught 
towards the temple. It was nol, however, without 



i The position here given to Lake Mocris, in mak- 
ing il the immediate boundary of the ci y of Memphis 
to the south, corresponds exactly with the site as- 
signed to it by Maillet: — '•Memphis avoit encore a 
son midi un vaste reservoir, par ou tout ce qui peut 
servir a la c nim 'dite et a l'agrement de la vie lui 
etoit vulture aboi.damment de toutes le- parties de 1' 
Egyp'e. Ce lac qui la errninoit de ce cote-la, &c. 
&c— Tom. ii. p. 7. 

1 "On voit sur la rive orientate des antiquites qui 
sont presque entierement sous les eaux." — Belzoni. 

3 " Quorundam autem domorumfin Labyrinlhn) 
talis est situs, ut adaperientibus fores tonilruum intus 
ten ibile exis at.''— Pliny. 

! * Strabo. According to the French translator of 
Strbo. It was the fruit of the faba JEgyptiaca, not 
the leaf, that was used for this purpose, " Le Ktfio- 
pioi»," he says, '• devoit s'entendre de la capsule ou 
fruit de cctte plante, dont les Egyptiens se servoient 
comme d'un vase, imaginant que 1'eau du Nil y deve- 

j noit delicieuse." 



434 



THE EPICUR EAN 



some difficulty that I at last succeeded in bearing my 
rustic chalice steadily up the sleep ; more than once 
did an unlucky slip waste ail its contents, and as often 
did I return impatiently to retill it. 

During this lime, the young maiden was f >st re- 
covering her animation and conciousness ; ai.d, at 
the moment when I appeared above the edge of lie 
steep, was just rising from the s'eps, with her hand 
pressed to her forehead, as if confusedly recalling the 
recollection of what had occurred. Wo s oner did 
she obseive me, han a short cry of alarm bioke from 
her lips. Looking anxiously round, as Iho gh she 
sough for protection, and half-audibly uttering the 
words, 'Where is he.-'' -he made an effort, as I 
approached, to retieat into the temple. 

Already, however, I was by her side, and taking 
her hand, as she turned away fiom me. gently in 
mine, asked, '• Whom dost thou seek, fair Piiestess ?" 
—thus, for the first time, breaking the silence she had 
enjoined, and in a tone that might have re-assured 
the most timid spirit. Hut my words had no effect 
in calming her apprehension. Trembling, and with 
her eyes still averted towards the Temple, she con- 
tinued in a voice of suppressed alaim. — ■' Where ca7i 
he be? — that venerable Athenian, that philosopher, 
who ' 

" Here, here," I exclaimed, anxiously, interrupting 
her — "behold him still by by side— the same, the 
very same, who saw thee steal from under the Veils 
of the Sane uarv, whom thou hast guided b) a clue 
through those labyrinths below, and who DOW only 
waits his command fn m those lips, to devote himself 
through lite and death to thy service." As I spoke 
these words, she turned slowly round, and looking 
timidly in my lace, while her own burned with 
blushes, said in a tone of doubt and wonder, " Thou !" 
and then hid her eyes in her hands. 

I knew not how to in eipret a reception so unex- 
pected. That some mistake or disappointment had 
occurred was evident, but so inexplicable did the 
whole adventure appear to me, that it was in vain to 
think of unravelling any pirt of it. Weak and 
agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the Temple, 
and there seating herself, with her foreheid against 
the cold marble, seemed fur some moments absorbed 
in the most anxious thought; while si lent and watch- 
ful I awaited her decision, though, at the si me time, 
with a feeling which the result proved to be pro- 
phetic—that my des iny was, from thenceforth, link- 
ed inseparably with heis. 

The inward struggle by which she was agitated, 
though violent, was not of long continuance. Starl- 
ing suddenly from her seat, with a lo k of terror 
towards the Temple, as if the feir of immediate pur- 
suit had alone decided her. she pointed eagerly 
towards the East, and exclaimed, "To the Nile, 
without delay I"— clasping her hands, after she had 
thus spoken, with the most suppliant fervour, a- if to 
soften the abruptness of the mandate she had given, 
and appealing lo me at the same time, with a look 
that would have taught Stoics themselves tender- 

I lost not a moment in obeying the welcome com- 
mand. With a thousand wild hopes naturally crowd- 
ing upon my fancy, at the thoughts of a voyage under 
such auspices, I de-cended rapidly to the shore, and 
hailing one of those boats that ply upon the Lake for 
hire, arranged speedily for a passage down the canal 
to the Nile. H ivlng learned, too, from the boatmen, 
a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back to the 
Temple for my fair charge; and without a word or 
look, that could alarm even by its kindness, or dis- 
turb the innocent confidence which she now evident- 
ly reposed in me, led her down by the winding path 
to the boat. 

Every thing around looked sunny and smiling as 
we embarked. The morning "as in its first fresh- 
ness, and the path of the breeze might clearly be 
traced over the l.ake, as it went wakening up the 
waters from their sleep of the night. The en-. 



golden-winged birds that haunt these shores, were, iu 
every direction, skimming alo g the Lake; while, 
with a giaver consciousness of beauty, the swan and 
the peliciu were seen dressing their white plumage 
in the mirror of its wave. To add to the liveliness 
of the scene there came, at mervals, on the breeze, 
a sweet tinkling of mu-icil instruments from bo. is at 
a dis ai.ee, employed thus early in pursuing the fish 
of these waters, 1 ihat allow themselves to be decoyed 
into the ne s by music. 

The ves-el l" had selected for our voyage was one of 
those small pleasure-b' ats or \achts3 — so much in 
u-e among (he luxurious navigators of the Nile — in 
the centre of which rises a pavilion of cedar or 
c.vpress wood, adorned lichly on the outside, with 
emblems, and gaily fitted up, within, for 
fe sling and repose. To the door of this pavilion I 
n w led my companion, and, after a few words of 
kn.di.es- — tempered cautiously wihas much reserve 
as the deep tenderness of my feeling towaids ber 
would admit — left her to court that restoring rest, 
n hich he agita ion of her spirits so much required. 
I For myself, though repose was hardly less neces- 
sary to me, the s ate of ferment in which I had been 
. so long kej.t ap| eared lo tender it hopeless. Having 
j thrown myself on he deck of the vessel, under an 
awning which 'he sailors h..d raised f. r me, I con- 
tinued, for -ome hours, in a sort of vague day-dream 
— sometimes | asHr g in review the scenes of that ?ub- 
terr .iieiu drama, and sometimes, with my ejes fixed 
in drowsy vacancy, receiving pas-ively the' impres- 
sions of the bright scei.eiy through which we 
passed. 

1 he banks of the canal were then luxuriantly 
wooded. L'nder Ihe tufts of the light and towering 
palm were seen the orange and ihecition, intei lacing 
their boughs; while, here and there, huge tamarisks 
thickened the shade, and. at Ihe very edge of the 
bank, the widow if Babylon st od bendingils grace- 
ful branches irio the water. Occasionally, out of the 
depth of these groves, there shone a small temple or 
pleasure-hou-e ;— w hile now and then, an Opening in 
their line of f liage allowed the eye o wa: der over 
exteu-iie tield>, all covered with beds of those pale, 
sw.et rosea,* for which this district of Egypt is so 
celeLia eJ. 

The activity of the morning hour was visible in 
everydirecti n. Flights of dores and lapwings were 
fluttering among ihe leaves, and the white heron, 
which bad been roosting all nigh in some date-tree, 
now s ood sunnii g its w jugs \i\-oa the green bank, or 
floated, like living siUer. over the flood. The 
flowers, too, bo:h of laud and water, looked all just 
fieshl) awakened ; — aid, most of all, the superb 
lotus, which, having ri-en along with ihe sun from 
Ihe wave, wis now holding up her chilice for a lull 
dr night of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now successively pre- 
sented themselves, and mingled with the vague 
revei ies that lioated through my mind, as our boat, 
with its high, cai acious sail, swept along the flood. 
Though the occurrences of the last few day* 
not but appear lo n.e one continued series of wonders, 
yet l\ l.ir the greatest marvel of all was, Ihat she, 
whose first look had sent will-fire into my heart — 
w horn 1 h id thought of ever since « i li a r. - 
of pas-ion, that would hive dred ail danger and 
wrong to ib am its object — she was now at this mo- 
ment resting sacredly within that pavilion, while 
guarding her, even from myself, 1 lay motionless at 
its threshold. 



« JEHan, lib. vi. 32. 

? Called Thalameges, from the pavilion oa the 
deck. Vide Slrabo. " 

3 As April is -he season for ga'hering these roses 
te llnui's EconorAttai Calendar), the Epi- 
curean could not, of course, mean to say Ihat he saw 
them actuallv in flower. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



485 ' 



Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian 
height. The busy hum of the mort ing had died 
gr dually away, and all aro nd "as sleeping in the 
hot stillness of noon. The Nile-goo-e. having folded 
up her splendid wings, wa- lying motionless on the 
shadow of the sycamore- in the" waier. Even the 
nimble lizards upon the bank' appeared to move less 
nimbly, as the light fell on their gold and azure hues. 
Overcome as I was with watching, aid weary wi h 
thought, it was not long before I yielded lo the 
becalming influence of the hour. Looking lixedly at 
the pavilion — as if once more toassue myself that 1 
was in no dream or trance, but thai the young Egyp- 
tian was really there — I felt my eyes close as 1 gazed, 
and in a few minutes sunk into a profound sleep. 



CHAPTER XII. 

It was by the canal through which we now sailed, 2 
that, in the more prosperous d~ys of Memphis, the 
commerce of Upper Egypt and Nubia was transported 
to he* magnilicen L.ke, and from thence, having paid 
tribu'e to the q een of ci ies, was poured forth again, 
through the Nile, into the ocean. The cure of this 
canal to the river was not direct but ascending in a 
south-easterly direction towards the Said; and in 
calms, or with adverse w inds the pass ge was 'edio s. 
But as Ihe breeze was now blow ing freshly from the 
north, there was every prospect of our reaching the 
river before nightfall'. Rapidly, too, as our galley 
swepi along Ihe tin. d, it- motion was -o smoo'h as to 
be hardly fell ; and the quiet gurgle i f the waters and 
the drowsy song of the boatman at the prow, were 
ihe only sounds lha disturbed :he deep silence which 
prevailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the Libyan 
hills, bef .re the sletp, into which these sounds had 
contributed lo lull me, was broken: and the tir t 
object on which myetes res'ed, in waking, was that 
fair young Priestess — sealed within a porch which 
shaded the dooi of the p vili >n, and bending intently 
over a small vlume thai lay unrolled on her lap. 

Her face was bu half-turned toward- me; and as 
she, once or tw ice, raised he' eyes t i the warm sky, 
whose lighl fell softened through the trellis, over her 
cheek, I found all those feelings of revet ence, which 
she had inspired me w ith in the ch 'pel, return. There 
was even a pu eraud holier charm around her coun- 
tenance, thus seen by Ihe nam al hgh' of day, than in 
those dim and unhallowed regions below. She was 
now looking, too, direct to the glorious sky and her 
pure eyes and thai heaven, so worthy of each other, 
met. 

After contemplating her for a few moments, with 
little less than ado.ation, I rose gently from my resi- 
ing-place, and approached the pavilion. But the 
mere movement h.d startled her from her devotion, 
and bluhing and confused, she covered Ihe volume 
wi h the folds of her robe. 

In the an of u inning upon fen, ale confidence, I had 
long, of course, been schooled ; and. now thai to the 
lessons of gallantry the inspiration of love was added, 
my ambition to please and to in'erest could hardly 
fail, it may be supposed, of success. 1 soon found, 
h-.wever, how much less fl- e-.t is the heart than 
the tancv, and how very different may be Ihe ope- 
ra'icns of making love and feeling it. In Ihe few 
words of greeting now exchaneed between us, it was 
evident that the gay, the entei prising Epicurean was 
litile les- en.banassed than the secluded Priestess; — 
%nd, aflerone or two ineffectual efforts to converse, 

l "L'or et razor brillent en bai des longitudinals 
surleur corps entler, et luur queue est du plus beau 
bleu ce'es e."— Sonuini. 

»"Un Canal.'' says Mailltt, "(res pr fond et Ires 
large y vonuroit Its eaux du Nil." 

3 4T*~ 



the eyes of both turned bashfully away, and we 
relapsed into silence. 

Fnni tins situation — the result of timidity on One 
side, and of a feeling al ogether new, on ihe other — 
we were, at lengih, relieved, after an interval of 
estrangement, by the b atinen announcing that Ihe 
Nile was in sight. The countenance of the young 
Egyptian brightened at this intelligence; and the 
smile with which 1 congratulated her upon the speed 
of our voyage was responded lo by another from Iter, 
so full of gratitude, thai already an inslinctive sym- 
pathy seemed estab i-hed between us. 

We weie now on the point of entering that sacred 
river, of whose sweet watets Ihe exile drinks in his 
dre mis- for a d aught of whose fl< od the royal daugh- 
ters of the Ptolemies. 3 when far away, on foreign 
thr nes, have been known lo sigh in ihe midsl of their 
splendour. As our boat, with slackened sail, was 
gliding into Ihe current an inquiry from ihe boatmen, 
whether they shou d anchor for the night i n the Nile, 
fi st reminded me of the ignorance in which I still 
remained, with respect to the motive or destination of 
Our voyage. Eu.birrassed bj their question, I direc ed 
my eyes towards Ihe Priestess, whom I saw wailing 
foimyanswe with a look of auxitly w hicn this silent 
releience lo her wi-hes al once dispelled. Unfolding 
eagerly the volume wild which 1 lad seen her so 
much occupied, she o k from between iis folds a 
small leaf of papyrus, on which there appeared o be 
some faint lines of drawing, and alter looking upon it 
thoughtfully for a few moments, placed it, with an 
agitated hand, in mine. 

In he mean lime, the boatmen had taken in their 
sail, and Ihe y.cht drove slow ly down the river with 
the cunen', while, by a light which had been kin- 
dled at sunset on Ihe deck, I stood examining the leaf 
ihat the Priestess had given me— her dark eyes fixed 
anxiously on my countenance all the while. The 
lines t aoed upon Ihe papyrus were st. faint as to be 
almost invisible, and I was fur some time wholly un- 
able to lorm a conjecture as to their ini| oi t." At 
length, however, I succeeded in making out thai they 
' were a sort of map, or outlines — traced slightly and 
j ui steadily with a MemphJan reed — of a part of that 
! mountainous ridge by which Upi er Egypt is bounded 
to ihe ea-t, together with the names, or rather em- 
j blems, of the chief towns in its immediate neighbi ur- 
ho d. 

ll was thither, I now saw clearly, Ihat thevoung 
Priestess wi-hed to pursue hercnu'se. Without fur- 
ihei delay, therefore, 1 oidered the boa men to set our 
yacht belore Ihe wind, and ascend the curient. My 
command was promptly obeyed : the while sail again 
rose into ihe region of the breeze, and the salisfac ion 
thai beamed in every- fea'uie of the fair Egvptian 
showed Hit the quickness with which I I ad aiieuded 
to her wishes was not unfelt by her. The moon had 
now n-en ; and Ihough the current was against us, 
the Etesian wind of the season blew strongly up the 
river, and we were soon floating before it, through 
the rich plain- and groves of Ihe Said. 

The love with which this simple girl had inspired 
me, was partly, perhaps, trom the mystic scenes and 
situations in which 1 had seen her, not unmingled 
with a tinge of superstitious awe, under the ii flueuce 
of which i felt the natural buoyancy of my spirit re- 
pressed. The lew winds that had passed between us 
on the subject of our roule had somewhat loosened 

s " Anciennement on porloit les eaux du Nil jusqu'a 
des coitrees fo>t eloignees, et surti ut chez les prin- 
cesses du sangde Piol"inees, mariees dansdes families 
elrangeres."— De Pauw. 

The water Ihus conveyed to olher lands was, as we 
may collect from Juvenal, chiefly intended for tb>! use 
of the Temple of Isis. established in those couniiies. 
Si Candida jusserit In, 
Ibit ad Aegypli tinem, calidaque petitas 
A Meroe poitabit aquas, ut sparga in aede 
Iiidis, antiquo quae proxima eurgit ovili. 

S<j(. vl. 



i486 



THE EPICUREAN. 



'his spell ; a;id what I wanted of vivacity arid confi- 
dence was more than compensated by the tone of deep 
sensibility which love had awakened in their place. 

We had not proceeded far before the glittering of 
lights at a dis'ai ce, and the shooting up of fireworks, 
at intervals, into the air, apprized us that we were 
then approaching one of th se night-fairs, or nuns, 
which it is the custom, at this season, to hold upon the 
■Nile. To me Ihe scene was familiar; but to my 
young companion it was e. idently a new wot Id ; and 
the mixture ot alarm and delight wi... which she I 
gazed, from under her veil, upon the busy scene into 
winch we now sailed, gave an air ofiniivcei.ee to her i 
beauty, which still more heigh ened its every charm. ' 

It was one of Ihe widest pirts of the mer ; and the 
whole surface, from one bank tu the other, was 
covered With boais. Along the banks of a green 
island, in the middle of Ihe stie in, lav anchored the 
gahe>s of 'he principal traders— large nea.lii g bazars, 
bearing each he name of its owner, 1 emblazoned in j 
letters of flame, upon the stern. Over iheir decks i 
weie spread ou ! , in gay confusion, the produces of Ihe I 
loom and needle of Egvpt — rich carpets of Memphis, ' 
and likewise those variegated veils, for "hicti he 
fern le embroiderers of Ihe Nile aie so celeb art J. ai d 
to which the name of Cleopatra lends a tradiiional 
charm. In each of the other gal tey a was exhibited 
some branch ol Egyptian workmanship — vases of the 
fragrant porcelain of On — cups of that fiail crystal, ^ 
whose hoes change like those ol the pigeon's plumage 
— enamelled amulets graven with the head of Anubis, 
and necklaces and bracelets of the black beans of 
AbvsMina.3 

While Commerce was thus displaying her various 
luxuries in one quarter, in even other, the spirit of 
pleasuie, in all its countle-s sh 'pes swarmed "Ver ihe 
waters. N. r was the festivity confined to 'he river 
alone; as along Ihe banks of the island and on ihe 
shores, illuminated mansions were seen glittering 
through the trees, from w hence sounds of music and 
merriment came. In some of ihe boa s were bauds of 
minstrels, who. (rnm lime to time, .answered each 
other, like echoes, across the wave; aid the notes 
of the lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet lotus-wood 
flute, « were heard, 111 the pauses of revelry, dying 
along the waters. 

Meanwhile, from o her boats stationed in the least 
lighted places, the workets of fire sent forth their 
wonders into the air. Bursting out suddenly Irom 
time to time, as if in ihe very exuberance of jay, these 
sallies of flame appeared to' reach the sky, and there, 
bieaking into a shower of sparkles, shed such a spleu- 



i •' Le nom du maitre y etoit ecrit, pendaut la nuit. 
en lettres de (eu. n — Maillet. 

» Called Alassontes. For their brittleness Martial 
is an authority: — 



" Sans parler ici des coupes d'un verre porte jusqu a 
la purete da crystal, ni de celles qu'on appel nit Alas- 
sontes, et qu'on suppose avoir represente de* figures 
dont les couleurs changcoient suivant I'asjiect sous 
lequel on les regardoit, a peu pres comnie ce qu'on 
ncoime vulgaireuieut Gorge de pigeun," &c. — De 
Pau w. 

3 The bean of (he Glycyne, which is so beautiful as 
to be strung into necklaces and bracelets, is generally 
known by the name of the black bean of Abyssinia.— 
Niebuhr. 

* See M. Villoteau on the miaical instruments of 
the Egyptians. 

* Solinus speaks of the snowy summit of Mount 
Atlas gli'tering wi'h flames at night. In the account 
of the Periplus of Hanno, as well as in that of Eu- 
dmui, we read th-it as those navigators were coasting 
this par of Africa, torrents of light were seen to fall 
on the sea. 



dour around, as brightened even the white Arabian ' 
hills— making them shine as doth the brow of Mount I 
Atlas at night, s when the fiie from his own bosom is | 
playing around its snows. 

The opporturii y this mart afforded us, of providing 
our eives wi h some less remarkable habiliments than 
those in which we had escaped from tha 
word, was too -easonable not l> be gladly taken ad- ' 
vantage of by loth For myself, the slrange mvslic 
garb which I wore was sufficiently concealed by my 
Grecian mantlet which 1 had fortunately thrown 
r- Hud me on the night of my wa ch. But the thin 
veil of my companion wis a far less efficient disguise. 
She had. i deed, flung away the golden beetles from 
hei hair ; but the sacred robe of her order was sill too | 

nd tie s;ars of the bandelet shone brigh ly 
through her veil. 

Mos' gl idly, therefore, did she avail herelf of this 
i ppoitunity of a change ; and, as she took from out a 
ca>ket — iv inch, with he volume I had seen her read- 
ircd 'o be her only treasure— a sm.ll jewel, 
to give in exchange for the simple garments she had 
ut, al Ihe same ime, the verycioss 
of silver which I ha i seen he k ss, s mi) be remem- 
bered, in the monumental chapel, and which was 
afterwards pressed :o mynwu lips. This liuk be- 
tween us (for such ii now appeared to my imagina- 
tion) called up again in my heart all the burning 
leelings of thit moment; arid, had 1 not abruptly 
turned away, my agitation would have but too plainly 
betrayed ii&elC 

The object, for which we had delayed in this gay 
scene having been accomplished, the sail was again 
spread, and we proceeded on our course up Ihe fiver. 
.Is and the lights we left behind died 
gradually away, and we now floated along in mooo- 
lieb' and silence once more, Sweet dews, n 
t-eitig called 'the tears of Isis," s fell refreshingly 
lie air. and every plant and flower sent ils 
fragrance to meet them. The wind, just strong 
enough to be.r nssmoo hlyagainst ihe current, sc.rct 
sirred the shadow of the tanmisks on the water. 
As the inh ibitan s from all quarters were collected at 
the night fair, the Nile was more than usually still 
atid s"li ary. Such a silence, i; dec 

led near the shore, we could hea- 
ling of Ihe acacias. 1 as the chameiem s an up their 
It was, altogether, such a night as only the 
climate of Egypt can boas', when the wl 
arnuod lies lulled in that sort of bright tranquillity, 
which may I* Imagined to light the slumber- 

ris, who are said to rest in the Valley of 
■ >n their way to heaven. 

By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, side 
by side, on the deck of that bark, did we pursue our i 
course up the lonely Nile — each a mystery to the 
o-her — our thoughts, our objects, our very names a 
secret; —separated, too, till now, by destinies so dif- ; 
ferent ; the one. a gay voluptuary of Ihe Garden of 
Aliens, the other, a secluded Pi=- 
pies of Memphis .—and 'he only relation jet establi-h- 
ej between us being that dangerous one of love, | as- 
sionate love, on one side, aud the most feminine and 
lependence n the o'her. 

The passing adventure of the nigh'-fair bad not ' 
only dis elled a little our mutual reserve, but had 
luckily furnished us with a subject on which we 
could converse without embarrassment. From this 
topic 1 took care to lead her, without any interrup- 



i " Ter hcrymas, vero. fsidis intellign effluvia 

l.u a? qnihus tantain vim viden'ur tiibui'se 

' JaLlomki. — He is of opinion I • 

supersti ion of 'he Xucta. or miraculous drop, is a 

rtl c of the veneration paid to the dews, as the tears 

of Isis. 

" Travel' of Cnytain Mangle*. 
* Plutarch. Ditpity, torn. x. The Manicksans 
held the same belief. See Btausolrt, p. 565. 



tion, to ohers — being fearful lest our former silence the moment when I had seen her stealing from under 

should return, and the mu-ic (if her voice again be the Veils to approach me, 

lost ti) me. It was only, indeed, by thus indirectly Though, in detailing these events, I had said but 

unburdening my heart that 1 was en.bltd to avoid the little of the leeliiies "ihey had awakened in me — 

disclosure of all I thought and felt; and the restless though my lips hid sent buck many a sentence, un- 

rapiritty with which 1 tiew from subject to subject uttered, there was still enough tha could neither be 

tva- but an ett'crt to escape from the only oue iu subdued or disguised, and which, like that light from 

which my hear! was really interested. I under the veils of her own Isis, slowed through every 

" How bright and happy," siid 1 — pninting up to word that 1 spoke. When I told of the scene in the 

Sot his, the fair Star of me Water-,' u Inch was just chapel— of the silent interview which 1 had witnesed 

then shining brilliantly over our head — ' How bright between the dead and the living — the maiden leaned 

and happy llns world ought to be, if. as your Egyp- down her head and wept, as from a heart lull of tears, 

tian sages assert, yon pure and beautiful luminary It seemed a pleasure to her, however, to listen; and, 

was its birth star 1* 3 then, -till leaning back, and when -he looked at me again, there was an earnest 

letting my eyes wander ever the firmament, as if and affectionate cordiality in her eyrs, as if the 

seeking t'i di-'engage them from the fasciua i n which knowledge of my having bren present at that mourn- 

they dreided — " to the study," 1 exclaimed, " fur ful scene had opened a new source of sympathy and 

age's, . f skies like this, may the pensive ni^d mystic intelligence between us. So neighbouring are the 

character of your na ion be tiaced. That mixture of fountain- of Love and of Sorrow, and so impercepli- 

pride and me ancholy "Inch na orally ari-es, at the blv do they often mingle their s'reams. 

sight of those e'enia ii.ht- shining out of darkness ; — I Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, in 

thai sublime, but s ddebed, anticipation of a Future my manner and conduct towards this innocent girl, 
which stea s sometime- over the soul in the silence nf r ol all the most experienced gallantry of the Garden 

such an I our, when, though Death appears to reign in could have dictated a policy half so seductive as that 

the deep st illness of earih, there are yet those beacons .which my new mister, Love, now taught me. The 

of Immortality burning in the -ky." same ardour which, if shown at o ce, and Without 

Pausing, as t ut ered ihe word "immortality," with reserve, might probably have startled a heart so little 
a sigh to think how li tie my heait echoed to my lips, prepared for it, being now checked and softened by 
1 In ked in the lace of my c mpanion. and saw that it the timidity of real love, won its way without alarm, 
had lighted up. as 1 spoke, into a glow of holy anima- i and, when most diffident of success, was then most 
lion, such >s Faith alone ghes ; — such as Hope herself surely on its way to triumph. Like one whose slum- 
wear-, u hen she is dieainmg of heaven. Touched by , hers are gradually broken by sweet music, the maid- 
the contrast, and gazing upon her with mournful ; en's heart was awakened without being disturbed. 
tenderness, 1 lound my arm-, half opened, to clasp her She followed the course of the charm, unconscious 



whither it led, nor was even awaie of the flame she 
had lighted in ano'her's bosom, till startled by the 
reflection of it glimmering in her own. 

Impatient as I was to appeal to her generosity and 
sympathy, for a similar proof of confidence to that 
which I had just given, the night was now too far 
advanced for me to impose upon her such a task. 
After exchanging a few words, iu which, though little 
met the ear, there was, on both sides, a tone and man- 
ner that spoke far more than language, we took a lin- 
geiing leave of each other for the night, with every 
prospect, 1 fondly hoped, of being still together in our 
dreams. 



to my heart, while the words died away 

upon my lips. — "Thou, too, beautiful maiden ! must 

lliou, too die for ever?'' 

My self-command, I felt, hid nearly deserted me. 
Rising abruptly from my seat, 1 walked to Ihe middle 
of Ihe ueck, and stood, for some moments, uncon- 
sciously gazing upon one of tho=e fires, which — ac- 
cording to the custom of all wh r travel by night on 
the Nile — our boa men had kindled, io scare away the 
crocodiles from the vessel. Bui it was in \ain that I 
endeavoured to c impose my spirit. Eveiy effort I 
nude but more deeply convinced nie, that, till the 
mystery which hung round that maiden s'ould be 
solved — till he secrei, with which my own bosom 
laboured, should be disclo ed — it was i'n.iiless to a'- 
tempt even a semblance i>f tranquillity. 

My resoluti n was therefore laken ; — to lay open, 
at once, the feelings of my own heart, as far s -uch 

revealment might be hazarded. wi:hout startling the UHAritK AMI. 

timid innocence of my companion. '1 h us resolved, 1 
resumed my sear, with more composure, by her side, ' It w »s so near the dawn of day when we parted, 
and taking' from my bosom the small mirror which tnat " e f,,l) " d ,tie su " sinking westward when we re- 
she had dropped in the Temple, and which I had ever - joined each oilier. The smile, so frankly cordial, 
since worn suspended round my neck, presented it wl,n which she met me. might have been taken for 
with a tiembling hand to her view. Ihe boatmen " ,e ereeting "f * long-mellowed friendship, dd no! 
had just kindled one of their night-tires ne.r us, and the blus h « ld 'he cast-down eyelid that followed be- 
its light, as she leaned forward to look at the mirror, ' 'ray symptoms of a feeling newer and less calm. For 
fell ujion her face. | myself, lightened as I was. in some degree, by the 

The quick blush of surprise with which she recng- avowal which I hid made, I was yet too conscious of 
nised it to be hers, and her look of bashful yet eager h(J " ew as P ect *"« 2 iVf- " lo our intercourse, not to 
i. quirv, in raising her eyes to mine, were appeals to fecl son,e ll,,le alarm at the prospect of reluming to 
which! was not, of course, tardy iu answering. Be- lhe 'heme. We were boh, therefore, alike willing 
ginning with 'he first moment when I saw her in the , t0 al!ovv 0, ' r »»en'ion to be diver ed, by the variety of 
Temple, and passing haslilv, but wiih words that i strange objects that presented themselves on the wav, 
burned as they went, over the impression which she i (rr "" a subject that evidently both were alike unwilling 
had then left iipnu my heart and fancy, 1 proceeded 'o i ,0 a l'I' r act '- 

describe the particulars of my de-cent into 'he pyra- The liver was now all stirring with commerce and 
m.d — my surprise and adoration at the door of' the ! ,lfe - Every instant we met with boats descending the 
ch ipel — my encounter with 'he Trials of Inil 



mysteriously prepared lor me, and all the vaiiou 
visionary wonders 1 had witnessed in Ilia' regio 



lul 



i star by 

*'H £uj8ecuc avaroXr] yzvt<rtu>s Karagx°v<Ta 
r«jc Etc tov nocr/iov. Porphyr. de Antra Nymph. On the decks of others, that had been 



eurent, so wholh independent of aid from sail 
lhat the mariners sit idly on the deck as 'hey shot 
along, d her sinking or playing upon their double- 
reede I pipes. The greater number of these boat- 
came laden with those large emeralds, from .he mine 
in the desert, whose colours, it is said, are brightest at 
the lull of the moos; while some brought cargoes of 
frankincense from the acacia groves near the Red Sea. 
learned. 



438 



THE EPICUREAN. 



to the Golden Mountains! beyond Syene, vrere heaped 
blocks and fragments of that street-smelling wa d,~ 
which is yearly washed down, by the Green Nile of 
Nubia, at the senson nf the floods. 

Our companions up the stream were far less nu- 
merous. Occasionnliy a boat, returning lightened from 
the fair of last night, shot rapidly past us, w i h tho>e 
high sails ihat catch every breeze from over the 
hills; — while, now and then, we overtook one of :ho-e 
barges full of bees, 3 hat are sent at this season to 
colonise the gardens of the south, and take advaniage 
of the first flowers after the inunda ion h -s passed 
away. 

For a short time, this constant variety of objects 
enabled us to divei t so far our conversa ion as to keep 
it from ligh irig upon the one, sole subject, round 
which it constancy hovered. But the effort, as might 
be expected, was not long succes ful. As evening ad- 
vanced, the whole seme became more solitary. We 
less frequently ventured to look upon each ottier, and 
our intervals of silence giew more long. 

It «as near sume', wnen, in passing a small temple 
on the shoie, whose porticoes were now full of the 
evening ligh', we saw issuing from a thicket of acan- 
thus nearit, a train of young maiden^ gracefully inked 
toge her in the dance by stems of the lotus held at 
arms' lengh between them. Their tresses were also 
wreathed with this gay emblem of the season, and in 
such profusion were it's white flowers twisted around 
their waists and arms,« that they might have been 
taken, as they lightly bounded along "the bmk. for 
Nymphs of the Nile, then freshly risen from their 
bright gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few minutes at this sacred 
dance, the maiden turned away her eyes, wrth a lot k 
of pain, a- if the remembrances it recalled were of no 
welcome nature. 'Ibis momentary retrospect, this 
glimpse into the past, appeared to offer a sort of clue 
to the secret for which I panted; — and accordingly, 1 
proceeded, as gradually and delicately as my impa- 
tience would allow, to avail iny-elf of the opening. 
Her own frankness, however, relieved Die fi 1:1 the 
embarrassment of much questioning. She appeared 
even to feel that the confidence I sought was due to 
me; and beyond the na'ural hesitation of maidenly 
modesty, not a shade of reserve or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own touching words, 
the simple -lory which she now related to me. would 
be like endeavouring to note down some unpreoiedi- 
taled strain of music, with all those fugitive gr.rces, 
those felicities of the moment, which no art can re- 
store, as Ihey first met the ear. From a feeling, too, 
of humility, she had rmitled in her short i 
several particulars telating to herself, which lafer- 
w..rJs leirned ;— while others, no: less important, she 
but slightly passed over, from a fear ot offending the 
prejudices ot her hen hen hearer. 

I shall, therefore. give her s'ory. not as she, herself, 
sketched it, but as it was afterwards filled up hv a 
pious and venerable hand— far. far more worthy than 
mine of being associated with the memory of such 
purity. 

STORY OF ALETIIE. 

" The mother of this maiden was the beautiful 
Theora of Alexandria, who, though a native of that 



4 "A I'epoque de la crue de Nil Vert charie les 
planches d'un bois qui a une odeur semblable a celle 
de 1'encei.s ^ — Quatr 

s Maillet. 

* " On les voit 



jadis cueillirdans les champs 
des tiges du lotus, signes du deboi dement et presages 
de lab udance ; ils s'envelloppent le- bras et le corps 
avec les longues tiges tleu'ies, et parcnurent les; lues,'' 
ftc. Description des Tombeaxtx des Rois,par M. 
Costaz. 



city, was descended from Grecian parents. When j 
very voung, 1 heora was one of the seven maidens 
selected to note down the disc urses of the eloquent 
Origen, who, at that period, presided over the School J 
of Alexandria, and was in all the fulness of his lame 
bo'h among Pagans and Christians. Endowed riclny 
with the lean.iugi.f both creeds, he btoughl the natu- 
ral light of philosophy to illustrale the mysteries of 
faiih, and was then o'nly proud of his knowledge of 
the wisdom of this wotld, when tie louud it minister 
usefully to the triumph of divine truth- 

"Although he had courted in vain the crown of j 
mar jrdom, it was held, through his whole life, sus- j 
pended over his head, and, in more than one 
tion. he had shown himsell cheerfully icady to die tor 
tha- holy faith which he lived but to testify and up- 
hold. On one of the-e occasions, his tormentors, 
having habited him like an Egyptian priest, placed 
him upon the steps of the 'J en. pie ot beiapis, and 
commanded that he should, in the mauuer of the 
Pagan ministers, present palm-branches to the multi- 
tude who went up into the shrine, but the coura- 
geous Christian disappointed their views. Holding 
forth the branches with an unshrinking hand, he ciied 
aloud, 'C me hither and take the branch, not of an 
Idol Temple, lut of Christ.' 

" So indefatigable wis this learned Falher in his 
s'urfies, that while composing his Commentary on the 
Scriptuies * he was attended by seven scutes i r nota- 
ries, who relieved each other in recording the dicates 
of his eloquent tongue; while the same number of 
males, selected for the beau'y of their pen- 
imt ship, were employed in arrai giug and transcrib- 
ing the precious leaves. 

"Among the scribes so selected, was the fair young 
Theora, whose paren s, though at ached to the Pagan 
worship, were not unwilling to profit by Ibe accom- 
plishments of theii daughter, thu> occupied in a lask, 
which they looked on as purely mtchamcai. 
maid herself, however, her employment brought far 
other feelings and consequences. She read a 
as she wroe, and the divine truths, so eloquently 
illustrated, found their w irom the 

page to her heart. Dee) ly, too, as the wrilV 
affected her, the discomses fiom the l.ps of the great 
teacher himself, which she had frequeul 0| | 
ties of heariug, sunk still more deeply in'o her mind. 
There was, at once, a sublimity and genieuess in his 
views of religion, which, to the tender In 
live y imaginations of women, never faileJ ' 
with convincing power. According:*, the list of bis 
female pupils w : as numerous; and the names of Bar- 
bara Juliana, Hera s. aid others, bear honourable 
testimony to his influence over tha 

"To I heora the fee ing, with w hicli his discourses 
inspired her, was like a new soul — a consc: 
spiri ual existence, never before fell. By ihe elo- 
quence of the comment she was awakened it 
' the text; and whe>, by the km: 
Ca'echumen of the school, who had teen struck by 
her innocent zeal. she. for the first 
sessor of a copy of the Scriptures, she coulo 
f r thinking of tier sacred treasure. With a mixture 
of plea-ure and fear she hid it from all eyes, and was 
like one who had received a di\iue gues't under her 
roof, and felt feaiful of betraying i s divinity to the 
world. 

••A heart so awake would have bern with eae 
secured to the faith, had her opp rl 
the sacied word continued. Bui c 
to deprive her of this advantage. The mild Origen, 
long harassed ant] thwarted in his labou - 
tyranny of Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria' wis 
obliged to relinquish his school and i y ir 
The occupation of the fair scribe was therefore at an 
jnd : her intercourse w ith the followers of the new 



s It was during the composition of his g 
cal work the Hex»| la. that Origen employed these 
female scribes. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



4bl) 



faith ceased ; and the growing enthusiasm of her heart 
gave way to more w rldly impressions. 

"Among ortiei eaithly feelings, love conduced not 
a lit le to » eau her thoughts from tlie true religion. 
While still very jom.g, she became (lie wife of a 
Greek idven Uier, who had come to Egypt as a | ur- 
cfcjserot 'tut rich la| est y,» in which the needles of 
Persia are rivalled by the looms of the Nile. Having 
taken his young biide to Memphis, which was still 
the great mail of i his merchandise, he there, in the 
midst of his speculations, died — leaving his widow on 
the point of becoming a mother, while, as yet, but in 
her nineteenth ye .r. 

•For (ingle and unprotected females, it has been, 
at all times, a favourite resource, to seek for employ- 
mint in the service of some of those great temples by 
which so large a portion of the weal h and power of 
Egyp is aborted. In most of these institutions there 
exists an order of Priestesses, which, though not here- 
ditary, like tint of the Pi jests, is provided for by am- 
ple endowments, and confers that dignity and station, 
with which, in a government -o theocratic. Religion 
is sure to invest even her humblest handmaids. From 
the general policy nf the Sacred College of Men. phis, 
we may take foi granted, that an ace unpli-hed fe- 
male, likeTheora, found bui little difficulty in being 
elected one of the Pr.eslesses of Isis ; and it was in the 
service of the subterranean shrines lhat her ministry 
chiefly lav. 

'•Here, a mouth or two after her admission, she 
gave birth toAlethe, who first opened he> eyes among 
: the unholy primps and specious uiiiacles of this mys- 
terious region. Though Theora, as we have seen, 
had been diverted by n her feelings from her first en- 
thusiasm for the Christian fai h she bad never wholly 
forgot the imp ession theu made upon her. The 
acred volume, which the pious Ca'echumeu had given 
her was still trea-ured with care; and, though she 
seldom opt-ued its pages, there was always an idea of 
sanctity associated with it in her mem .ry, and often 
would she sit to look upon ,t with reverential plea- 
s' re, recalling the happiness she had fell when it was 
first made her own. 

•' The leisure of her new retreat and the lone mel- 
ancholy of widowhood, led her still more frequently 
to indulge in such thi ughts, and to lecur to those c n- 
solina; t uths which she had heard in the school of 
Alexandria. She now began io peruse eagerly the 
sacied volume, diinking deep of the loun'ain of which 
she before but lasted, and feeling— what thousand- ot 
mourners, since her, have felt -th it Christianity is the 
true and only religion of the sorrowful. 

"Thissudyof her secret horns became still more 
dear to her. as well f om the peril with which at tl,a' 
peri id, it was attended, as from the necessi y she fell 
herself under of concealing from tho-e around her the 
precious light that had been thus kindled in her own 
heart. To i timid to encounter the fierce persecution, 
which awaited all who were suspected of a leaning to 
Chris ianity, she continued o officiate in the pomps 
and ceremonies of the Temple ;— though, often, with 
such remorse of soul, that she would pa' se, in the 
midst of the riles, and pray iuwaid y to God, that he 
would forgive this profanation of his Spirit. 

" In the mean time her daugher, the y ung Alethe, 
grew up still lovelier than her.-elf, and added, every 
hour, both to her happiness and her feirs. When 
arrived at a sufficient age. she was taught, like the 
other ch'ldreu of Ihe pries esses, 'o lake a -hare in the 
service and ceremonies of ihe shrines. The duty of 
some of these young servitors'* was to look after the 



* Non ego prxtulerim Babylontca picta supeibe 
Texla, Semiramia quae variant ur acu. Martial. 

» l)e Pauw, who differs in opinion from those who 
sut posed women to be eligible to the higher sacerdotal 
offices in Egypt, thus enumerates the tasks to vvhich 
their superintendence was, as he tt inks confined: — 
"I.e., femmesn'ont pu tout au plusdans I oidre second- 
air? s'acquitter que de quelques emplois sans conse- 



flovvers for the altar ;— of others to take care that I 
sacred vases wete filled everyday with fresh water i 
from the Nile The task of some was to preserve, in 
perfect polish, llnse silver images of the Moon which 
the piest- carried in process ons ; while others were, 
as we have seen, employed in leeding the consecrated 
animals, and in keeping their plumes and scales bright 
for the admiiii g eves of iheir worshippers, 

" I he • Hicealloi ed to Alethe— the most honourable 
of these minor ministries — was to wait upon ihe sa- 
cred birds of the Moon, to feed them daily with those 
eggs from the Nile which they loved, and provide for 
their use thai purest water, n hicli alone these delicate 
birds will touch. This employment was the delight 
of her childish hours; and that ibis, which Alciphron 
(ihe Epicurean / saw her dance round in the Temple, 
was, ot all the saced flock, her es; ecial favourite, and 
had been daily fondled and fed by her from infancy. 

" Music, as being one of ihe chief spells of this en- 
chan ed region, was an accomplishment required of all 
its minisfrauts ; ami Ihe harp, the lyre, and the sacred 
flute, sounded nowhere so sweetly as through these 
subte ranean gardens. The chief object, indeed, in 
ihe education of the youth of ihe Temple, was to tit 
I hem. by every grace of art and na ure, Io give eifect 
to the illusn n of huse show s and phan asms, in w Inch 
the entire charm and secret of lni i lion lay. 

'•Among Ihe means employed to support the old 
sys'em of superstition, against the infidelity, and, still 
more, the new Faith lhat menaced it, was au in- 
creased display of splendour aid maivi-ls in those 
Mysteries for which Egypt has so long been cele- 
brated. Of these ceremou es. so many imitations lid, 
under various names, multiplied throughout Europe, 
lhat at length the parent supeistition ran a risk of 
being eclipsed by is progeny; and, in order still to 
rank as the first Prie-lhood in Ihe world, it became 
necessary fur those of Egypt to remain still the best 
impostors. 

•' Accoidingly, every con'rivmce that art could de- 
vise, or labour execute— every resource that Ihe won- 
derful knowledge of ihe Priest-, in pyiolecbny. mechan- 
ics, and dioptrics, c ukl command— was brought into 
action to heighten Ihe effect of iheir Mysteries, and 
give an air of enchainment to everything connected 
wiih them. 

'• The final scene of beatification— the Elysium, into 
which the lni ia e was received — formed, of course, 
the le ding attraction of these ceremonies; and to 
render it ca, tivating alike to the senses of the unit of 
pleasuie, and the imagination of the spiritualist, was 
the great object to which the attention of the Sacred 
Cohege was devoied. By Hie influence nf the Priests 
of Memphis over lh se of the oilier Temples, ihey had 
succeeded in extending their subterranean frontier, 
both to Ihe nor h and sou h, so as to include, wilhin 
their evei-lighted Paradise, some of the gaideus exca- 
va'ed for the Use of the other Twelve Shrines. 

'•The beauty nf the young Alethe, the touching 
swee ness of her voice, and the sensibility tint breathed 
throughout her every look and movement, rendered 
her a powerful auxiliary in such appeals to Ihe im- 
agination. She Ind been, accordingly, in her very 
Childhood, selected from among her fair companion-', 
as Ihe most wor by representative of spiritual 1 iveli- 
ness, in those pict'uies of Elysium — those scenes of 
another vvoild— by which not' only the fancy, but the 
reason, of the excited Aspirants was dazzled. 

"To the innocent child herself, the-.e shows were 
pastime. But to Theora, who knew too well the im- 
position o which they were subservient, this profana- 
tion of Ml that she loved was a perpetual source o( 
horror and remorse. Often would she — when Alethe 
stood smilii g before her, anaved. perhaps, as a spirit 
of ihe Elysian world — turn away, Willi a shudder, 
from the happy child, almost fancying she saw already 



quence ; comme de nourrir des scarabees, des musa- 
raignes et d'auties pelits animaux sacres.'' — Tom. i., 
set.t. 2. 



the shadows of sin descending over that innocent j effective time of life, when enough of the 

; brow, as sbe gazed upon i'. a.d vigour of youth rem .ins to give animation 10 the 

; "As the in e ;tc' f the young maid became more counsel* of age. But, to .'h had left 

active anJ inquiring, the apprehensi us .ni d ffi ui ies only i e b iser , -. le age but brought 

, of tie in ther increased. Afraid to communicate her - rrfi; ed m.aur t\ of mischief. The 

■ "wn preci us secret let -he should involve her child advantage- nf a faith appealii g aim s' > holly to the 

! in the daiis ers ' tin.- encompa^ed it, she yet leit i to senses, « ere iveJI undervr*.d b; him; nor had be 

be no less a cruelty than a ciime to leave her "holly fa led ei her to discover thai, in order to render reli- 

immer-ei m !he dirknrss f Paganism. In this di- gfcm subservient to his owl interests, he mu-t shape 

j lemma, the onh resource that remained to her was to itadroi' y o he in erest- aid passions of others. 
select, and disengage fiom r uodrd "The state r.f anxiey and remorse in which tb» 

them, Ih 'se pure far' cles of tru h v. hich lie at the mind I ra was kept by the scenes. 

boll m if all religions; — those feeling , rather than however an full) \eiled, which she da.i;. 

doctrines, of which G d has never left his ciea ures around I e-, became at length intolerable. No penis 

des'ilu e. and wh ch, in all ages, ha e lurnished, to 'ha' 'he cause r,f tiulh coUd bring with it »ou d be 

tho e who sough' after it, some cue lo his glory. half o dreadful as this endurance of sinfulness and 

''Th- unity a d perfec ! Creator; deceit. Her child was, as yet, p ure aD d innocent; 

the fall of the human s ul ii I c rruption ; i 
gle » ith ihe d .rkness of this world, and its ri al re- 
demption aid leasee t to 'he source of al 
the e na'ural souti ns of tie problem of our exist- 



religion and 
vir'ue. which TheOra had ht-aid il ustraed by her 
Christian teacher, lay also, she knew, veiled under 
the theology of Egypt ; and t impress hem, in 'heir 
. ily, upon the mi d nf he" su Cep ible pupil, 
was in defiul of more heavenly lights, hei sole am- 
bition and care. 

' It was generally their habit, af'er devo ing their 
n.orni gs to he -ervice of the Temple, lo , 
evenings and night- in one of those small man-ions 
bive g onnd, allotted, within He precincts of the 
Sacked C llrie. lo some of he most fiVOured Pries 
e-ses. He r e, out of the reach of 'h"se gro-a supcrsti- 
lions. wh di pursued them, a' every step. belo.<, she 
endeavoured to inform, as far as -he could venture, 
the mind of he beloved girl; and found it lean as 
na'ural y and i s'inctively to truh. as plants long 
shut up in darkiess will, when light is let in upon 
them, incline themselves to its rays. 

" Fnmue Ily, as they -at together m Ihe terrace at 
night, admiring II 

rst misled mankind into idolatry, - 
explain to the }• ung lis ener by wha' g adatmns of 
em r it was 'ha' the worship, tnus tran-ferred from 
the Creator to the cea'ure, sunk still lower and 
lower in the scale of In ing. till man. at length, pie 
snnied to deify mm. and by he ni «l nin srous of in- 
ver-ions, heiven was made he mere mirror of e.irth, 
reflec nig hack all its nn si earthly t, 

" Even in 'he I e anxious mother 

would enJcavour lo in erpo-e her purer less i 
the id latrons ceremonies in wbicl 
When the favourite ibis of A let he 'took i 
upon 'he shrine, and the young maiden was seen ap- 
proaching wi'h all the gravity of worship, the verj 
bird which she had pi lyed w i h lu' an hour before— 
when the aocia-b ugh. which she be 
seemed to acquire a sudden s<credues> m her e\es as 
soon as the priest had b ra'hed upon it — on all such 



but, with V hat sen'inel of the soul, Reiigion, how 

- I his thought at once decided her: all other fears 
va i-hed before it. She re olvcd in-tantly to lay open 
o Alehe he whole secret of ber soul ; to make this 
child, who wa- her only hope on ear h, the sharer of 
all htr h pes in heaven, and then fly » ith ber, as soon 
s p s-ible, from thi- unhallowed spo', to the far 
desert — lo the mountains — to any place, however 
de-ola'e, where God and Ibe consciousness of inno- 
cence migh' be wi h them. 

"Ihe promp'i'ude wi'h which her young pupil 
caugh' from her the divine tru hs was even beyond 
wha' -he expec ed. It was like he lighting of one 
torch at a wit ber, - Ale he's mind for 

ihe ilium .Ms the anxious 

m ther n w repaid for all her mise 

re and faith, and by the dei _ 
• hich she saw her beloved child — like ' 

when first led by her dani to the well — 
drink thirstily by her side, at Ibe source of all life 
aud truth. 

•• But such happine s was not long lo last. The 
hat I hcora had suffered i i i 

Ihe thoughts nf leaving, alone and 
world, that treasure which she h i 
Heaven, give her a feeling of de> 
has eued the ebb of life. Had she 

have bee: e dreaded, 

and in the solitude of the desert w< 

had felt in her new ,a-'k J 

jec' ,— and it was now ho late, for she was already 

"She sill continued, however. Ii 
i f her health fiom the tender aud sa 

!e knew that they were 
nth, nor eveu though' of Ihe pess 



E I j and 
I heora, though with I'e • . e in pro- 

would venture to suggest to the youthful w -■ which she ha- 

■ he distinction tha' should be dra.wi between the sea- 

ct of adoration, and thai spiritual, • precious 

Deity. <i w hich i w s but be remembrancer or type, t me, and that I 
'• With -ormw. however, she s uid painful mot: 

"n thus but p'rtially letting in light upon a i which the future 

too ardent lo res' si istied n i h s'.ch glimmerings she destiny of the young orphan drp< 
-red the heart which she meant to t had, indeed, lime for link 

and cut down Ihe feeble hope around which i 

twined, without substituting rl in its that she would, at all risk- 

place. As ihe beau'y. no/of Alethe began to a'tract 

all eyes, new fears crowded upon thi :»iw, with her lasi b-< 

which she wis bu too much jus der Heaven, she 

the characters of some of tt - on of her child. 

"In this saced abode, as ma\ easily be conceived, j "The first violence of feelu'g to which Aletbe 
morali'y did not always go hand in h nj wi'h relt- and tearless grief, I 

gior. The hypocritical and ambi\ unit time, to Ibe j 

was, at this p'eriod. High Priest of Memphis, was ■ rl consbled 

nian, in everv res|*ct. qualified to r i - g that m> oumrt 

tern of such splendid fraud. He bad reached that | till reaia There, nighl after night, I 



THE EPICUREAN, 



491 



in contemplation of those placid feitures, and in 
prayer- f r the pi ace of the departed s; kit, did she 
pa-s her lonely, ud — however sai lliey were — hap- 
piest hours. Chough the mystic emblems that deco- 
rated thai chapel were but il -suited to i Ite slumber iif 
a Christian, there was one among them, the Cross, 
which, by a remarkable coincidence, is an emblem 
alike common o the Gentile and ihe Christian — 
being-, to the former, a shadowy type of that inun r- 
tality, of which, to the latter, it is a substantial and 
assuring pledge. 

'•Nightly, upon this cros-, which she had often 
seen her lust mother kiss, did she breathe forth a 
solemn and heartfelt vow, never to ab ndou the faith 
which ihat departed spirit had bequeathed to her. 
To such enthusiasm, indeed, did her heart at such 
moments rise, ihat, but for the last injunctions fiom 
those pallid lips, she would, at once, have avowed 
her perilous secret, and boldly proimunced the 
words, ' 1 am a Christian,' among those benighted 
shrines: 

" But the will of her, 10 whom she owed more 
than life, was to be obeyed. To escape f om this 
haunt of superstition must now, she felt, be her liis 
object; and, in plan ing he means of effecting it, her 
mind, day and nigh : , « as employed. It was with a 
loathing not to be concealed, tha' she now found her- 
self compelled to resume her idolatrous services at 
the shrine. To some irf the offices of Ttieura she suc- 
ceeded, as is the custom, by inhe ia.ee ; and in the 
performance if ihese tasks — sanctified as they were 
in her eyes by ihe pure spirit she had seen engaged in 
them — (here was a sort of melancholy pleasure in 
which her sorrow found relief. But the part she w is 
again forced to take, in the scenic snows of the Mys- 
teries br ught with i a sense of degradation and 
wrong which she could no longer e dure. 

"Already had she formed, in her own mind, a 
plan of escape, in which her acquaintance « itti all 
the windings of this n.ys ic realm gave her confi- 
de, ce, when the solemn reception of Alciphiou, as 
an Initiaie, took place. 

"From the first moment of the landing of that 
philo-opher at Alexandria, he had become an object 
of suspicion and watchfulness to the inquisitoiial 
Orcus, whom philosophy, in any shape, naturally 
alarmed, but to whom the sect over which the young 
A'henian presided was particularly obnoxious.' 'Ihe 
accomplishments nf Alciphron, his populatity, wher- 
! ever he went, and the bold freedom wi h which he 
indulged his wit at the expense of religion, were all 
faithfully repoited o the High Priest by his spies, and 
awakened in his mind no kindh feelings Inwards the 
stranger. In dealing with an infidel, such a person- 
j age a- Orcus could know no other alternative bui tha 1 
of either converting or destroying him; and though 
his -pite. as a man, woud have been more gratified 
by ihe la ter proceedi g, his pride, as a priest, led 
him to prefer the triumph of Hie former. 

'The fi st descent of he Epicurean into the pyra- 
mid became speedily known, and the alarm was im- 
mediately given to the priests below. As S' on as 
they had discovered ihai the young philosopher of 
Alliens was the intruder, and that he noi only still 
' continued to linger round the pyiamid. but was 
observed to I ok often and wistfully towards the p r- 
tal, it was concluded thai his curiosity would impel 
him to Iry a second descent ; and Orcus. blessing the 
good chance which hid thus b ought 'he wild bird 
into his net. res Ived not to sutler an oppor unity so 
precious to he wasted, 

"Instantly, the whole of that wonderful machinery, 
by wh.ch the phantasms and illusi ns of Initiation 
are produced were put in active preparation through- 
out that subterranean realm, and the increased stir 
and vigilance awakened among its inmates, by his 
more than ordinary disp'ay of the resources i f pi ies - 
] craff, rendered Ihe accomplishment of Alethe s pur- 
pose, at such a moment peculiarly difficult. Wh lli 

I j ignora.it of the important shaie which it had been iier 

I I own fortune to take in attracting the young philoso- 



pher down to this region, she but heard of him 
vaguely, as the Cl ief of a great Grecian sect, who 
had been led, by either curiosity or accident, to ex- 
pose himself o ihe first tr.als of Initiation; and 
whom Ihfc priests, she could see, were endeavouring 
to iusnaie in their loils, by every art and lure with 
which their daik sciei ce had gifted them. 

" I o her mind the image of a philosopher, such as 
Alciphron had been represen ed to her, came asso- 
cia ed with ideas of age aid reverence; and, more 
than once, the possibility of his being made instru- 
mental to her deliverance flashed a hope across her 
heart in which she could not refrain from indulging. 
Often h d she been told by Theoia of Ihe many Gen- 
tile sages, who had laid their wisdom down humbly I 
at the Too of the Cross ; and though this Initiate, she 
feared, could hardly be among the number, yet the 
rumours which she h<d ga'hered Irom the servants of 
the Temple, of his undisguised contempt for the 
errors of heathenism, led her to hope she might hud 
tolerance, if not sympathy, in her appeal to him. 

" Nor was it solely with a view to her own chance 
of deliverance that she thus connected him in her 
though s wiih the plan which she meditated. The 
look of proud and seli-gratu ating malice, with which 
tie High Piiest had mentioned 'his ' infidel,' as he 
styled him, when giving her instructions in the scene 
she was to act before the philosopher in the valley, too 
plainly informed her of the dark des'iny that hung 
over him. She knew how may were the hapless 
ca didates f r Initiation, who had been doomed to a 
durance wor-e than iha of the grave, for but a word, 
a whi.-per breathed against the sacied absnrdi ies ihey 
witnessed ; and it was evident to her that the vener- 
able Greek (for such her fancy represented Alciphron) 
was no less m'erested in escaping from Ihe snares and 
perils of this region than herself. 

"Her own resolution was. at all events, fixed. 
That visionary scene, in which she had appeared 
before Alciphron — little knowing how ardent were 
the heart and imagination, over which her beauty, at 
that moment, exercised its inhuence — was, she 
solemnly resolved, Ihe very last unholy service, that 
superstition or imposture'should ever command of 
her. 

'• On the following night the Aspirant was to watch 
in the Great Temple of Isis. Such an opportunity of 
approaching and addressing him night never come 
again. Should he, from compassion for her situation, 
or a sense of the danger of his ow n, consent to lend his 
aid to her flight, most gladly would she accept it — 
well assured that no danger or treachery she might 
lisk could be half so odious and fearful as those which 
she left behind. Should he. On the contrary, reject 
the proposal, her detei niination was equally fixed — to 
t: usl to that God w hose eye watches over the innocent, 
and go forth alone. 

" To i each the island in Lake Mceris was her first 
great object ; and there occurred foriuuately, at this 
time, a mode of effecting her purpose, by which both 
the difficulty and dangers of the attempt would be 
much diminished. Ihe dav of the annual visitation 
of the High P.ies! to ihe Place of Weepmg'-as that 
island in ihe centre of the Lake is oiled — was now 
fast approaching; and Aleihe knew that the self- 
moving car, by which the High Pi iest and one of the 
Hierophauis are conveyed dow u to the chambers under 
the Lake, stood then waiting in readmes-. By avail- 
ing herse.f of this expedient, she would gain 'he double 
advantage b.nh of facilitating her own flight, and 
retarding ihe speed of her pursuers. 

" Having paid a last visi' to the 'omb of her beloved 
mother, and wept there, long and passionately, till tier 
heait almost failed in Ihe s iuggle — Inving pau-ed, 
too, to give a kis- to her favourite ibis, which, although 
too much a Christian to worship, she was still child 
enough to love — she went eaily. with a trembling 
step. 10 the Sanc'uary, and there'hid herself in one of 
ihe recesses of ihe Shrine. Her intention was to 



Vide IVilfnrd, Asiatic Researches, vol. iii., p. 



492 



THE EPICUREAN. 



steal out from thence to Alciphron, while it was yet 
dark, and before the illumination of the great Sta'ue 
behind the Veils hid begun. But her fears delayed 
her till it was alnmst too late; — al eady was the image 
lighted up, and still she remained irrmb ii.g in her 
hiding-place. 

" In 'a few minutes more the mighty Veils would 
have been withdrawn, and the glories of that scene ref 
enchantment I id open — when, a! length, summoning 
all her courage, and taking advantage of a momentary 
absence of those employed in p epaiingthis splendid 
mockery, she stole from under the Veil, and found her 
way, through the gloom, to the Epicuiean. There 
was then no time fir explanation ;— she had hut to 
trust to the simple woids 'Follow, and be silent;' 
and the implicit readiness with which she found them 
obeyed, rilled her w i h no less surprise than the phi- 
loso", her him elf had felt in hearing them. 

" In a second or two they were on their way through 
the subteiranean w indinss, leaving the minister* f 
Isis to waste their splendours on vacancy, through a 
Ion; series of miracles aud visions which they now 
exhibited —unconscious th«t he, whom they" were 
taking such pains to dazzle, was already, under the 
guidance of the young Christian, far removed beyond 
the reach of their deceiving spells." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Such was the singular story, of which this innocent 
girl now gave me, in her on n touching language, the 
outline. 

The sun was just rising as she finished her narrative. 
Fearful f encountering the expression of those feel- 
ings with which, she could not but observe, 1 was 
atlected by her reci'al, scarcely Ind she concluded the 
la>t sen'eiice, when, risin; abr'up'ly from her seat, she 
hurried into the pavilion, leaving "me with words fast 
crowding for ultera ce to my lips. 

()| pre-sed by the various emotions thus sen' back 
upon in) heirt, I lay down on the deck in a state of 
agitation, that defied even the most distant approaches 
of sleep. While every word she had utered, every 
feeling she expressed, but minis ered new fuel to that 
flame which consumed me, and to describe which, 
passion is far too weak a w rd, the e was als > .iiuch 
of her reci al that disheartened and alarmed me. To 
find a Christian ihus under the gaib of a Memphian 
Priestess, was a discovery that," had my heart been 
less deeply interested, would but ha e more power- 
fully stimulated my im filiation and ptide. But, 
when 1 recollected the ausenlv of Ihe faith she had 
embr iced— the tender and sacred tie, assoc a'ed with 
it in her memory, and the dev 'ion of worn id's heart 
to objects thus consec ated— her very perfections bu' 
widened the distance between us, aiid all ihat most 
kindled my passion al the same time chilled I 

Were we to be left to each other, as on this silent 
river, in such undi-tutbed communion of thoughts and 
feelings, 1 knew too well. 1 thought, both her sex'- 
na'ure and my own, to feel a doub that love would 
ultimately triumph. But the severi y of the guardian- 
ship to which I must lesigu her— that if smie mnuk 
of the desert, some stem Solitary— the influence su:h 
a monitor would gain over hT "mind— and the horror 
with which, ere long, he might teach her to regard 
the reprobate infidel "upon "horn she nmv smiled — in 
all this prospect. I saw nothing bu- despair. Altera 
few short hours, my dream of happiness would be at 
an end, and such a dak chasm must hen open be- 
tween our fates, as would dissever them, wide as e r h 
from heaven, asunder. 

It was true, she was now wholly in mv power. I 
feared no » i messes but those of earth, and the soli ude 
of the desert was at fund But though I icknow- 
ledged not a heaven. I worshipped her who was, >o 
me, its type and subs itu'e If, at any moment, a 
siugl; thought of wrong or deceit, towards one so 



sacred arose in my mind, one look from her innocent 
eyes averted the sacrilege. Even | assi n itself felt a • 
h ly fear in her presence — like the flame trembling j 
in the breeze of the sanctuary — anJ Love, pure Love, 
stood in place of Religion. 

As 1 m» as 1 knew not her story, I could indulge, at j 
leas , in dieams of the future. Bu', now — what ex- | 
. pecta ion. wh it pre -vt ;l rem lined ? My single chance I 
i of happiness lay ,n die hope, however delusive, of 
! being able to diver her thoughts from the fatal pro- j 
'ject she meditied J of weaning her, by persuasion 
aid argunieir, fr.m that auste e faith, which 1 had 
befoie ba'ed and now feared, and of attaching her, 
perhaps, alone and unlinked as she was in the world, 
la my own f ir unes for ever ! 

In the agi atio n of these though's, 1 had started from 
my res ing-pace, and continued to pace up and down, 
under a burning sun, 'ill, exhausted b"th by thought 
and feeling, 1 sunk down, amid that biaze of light, 
into a sleep, which, to my fevered brain, seemed a 
sleep of fire. 

On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe laidtarefully 
over my brow, while she, her-elf sat near me, under 
the shadow of (he sail, looking axiously upon Ihat 
leaf, which her mother had given her, and employed 
apparently in comparing i's ou lines wi h the course 
of the river, as well as with the forms of the rocky 
hills by which we were pa-sing. She looked pale 
and troubled, aud rose eagerly to meet me. as if she 
had long and impatiently wail'ed for my waking. 

Her heart, it was plain, had been disturbed from its 
security, and wa- beginning to lake alarm at its own 
feelings. But, 'hough vaguely conscious of the peril 
to which she was exp sed. her reliance, as is usual 
in such cases, increased with her danger, and upon 
me, far more than on her eif, did she seem to depend 
for saving her. To reach, as soon as possible, her 
asylum in the deser , w as now the uigenl object of her 
entreaties aud wishes; and the self-reproach which 
she expressed at hiving, f r a -ingle moment, suffered 
, her thoughts to be diverted from tl. - 
not only revealed the truth, that she had forgotten it, 
bu' betrayed even a glimmering consciousness of the 
cause. 

Her sleep, she said, had been broken by ill-omened 
dreams. Every moment the shade nf her mother had 
sto d be ore her, rebuking, w.'h mournful looks, her 
delay, and pointii g as she h id dime in death, to the 
ea.-t.-re hills Bunting into tears at this accusing 
recollection, she hasily placed the leaf, which she 
had been examining, in my hands, and implored that 
1 wo' Id ascer ain. with ut a moment's delay, what | 
\ portion of our voyage was still unperformed, and in ' 
what space of time we mi ht hope to accomplish it. J 
I had, still less than herself laken note of either 
'place or dis'ance; and, d uld we have been left to i 
i glide on in this dream of happiness, should never have ' 
! thought of pausing to ask where it would end. But I 
such confidence was fir too sacred lo be deceived; 
and. reluctant as I natur.lly felt, to enter on an in- ; 
quiry, which might soon dis-i] ate even my la~t hope, 
her wish was sufficient to -upeisede even the seltish- 
t ness of love, and on the instant I proceeded to obey 
her will. 

There s'ands on the eastern batik of the Nile, to the j 
nor h of An'inoe, a high and steep lock, impending J 
over the flood, which has borne, for ages, from a pro- ' 
digy conueced with it. the name of the Mountain of' 
the Birds Yearly it is »a>d. at a certain sca>- n and 
hour, lage Hocks of birds assemble in the lavine, of • 
which this rocky mount tin form- one of the s 
are there observed In go hmugh the miste ious cere- j 
monv of in erri g e ch its b-ak iu'o a pir'icuiar cleft 
| of the rock, 'ill the clef clr»es upin one of their num- 
Iber, when all the rest of the tirds take wing, and 
' leave the selected victim to die. 
! Thiough the ravine, rendered famous bv this c^ianm 
: — for such 'he multitude consider it — there ran. in 
'ancient limes, a ci x e. to some ereat 

land forgotteu c.ty, now buried in the desert. To a ', 



THE EPICUREAN. 



493 



short distance from the river this c mal still exists. 
but, after having passed through the defile, its scanty 
waters disappear, and aie wholly hoi under the sands. 

It was in the neighb mrhood (it this place, as I could 
collect from the delineations on the leaf— where a 
flight of bids represented the Dame of the mountain — 
that the abode ot the Solitary, to whom Alethe was 
about to consign herself, was situated. Little as i 
knew of the geography of Egyp 1 , it at once struck 
me, that we had loug since left, this mountain be- 
hind j t and, on inquiring nf our boatmen I found my 
Conjee ore confirmed. We had, indeed, passed it, on 
the preceding night ; and, as the wind had been, ever 
since, blowing strongly from the nor h. and Hie sun 
was already sinking towards the horizon, we must be 
now, at least, a day's siil to (he souihward of the 
spot. 

This discovery, I confess, filled my heart with a 
feeling of joy which I found it difficult to conceal. It 
seemed as if fortune was conspiring wilh love in my 
behalf, aud, by thus delaying the moment of our 
separation, afforded me a chance al least of happiness. 
Her look and manner, too, when informed of our mis- 
take, rather encouraged than chilled this secret hope. 
In the first moment of astonishment, her eyes opened 
upon me v> ith asoddenness i f splendour, under which 
I fell my own wink as though Lightning had crossed 
them. But she again, as suddenly, let Fheir lids fall, 
aud, afler a quiver of her lip, which showed the con- 
flict of feeling Uien going on within, crossed her arms 
upon her bosom, and looked down silently upon ihe 
deck ; her whole countenance sinking into an expres- 
sion, sad, but resigned, as it she now fell that fate was 
on the side ol wrong, and saw Love already stealing 
between her soul and heaven. 

I was not slow, of course, in availing myself of 
what 1 fancied to be the irresolu inn of htr mind. 
But, still, fearful of exciliug alaim by any appeal lo 
feelings of regard or tenderness I but add'iessed my- 
self to her imagination, and to that love of novelty 
and wonders, which is ever ready to be awakened 
within the youthful brest. We were now appro idl- 
ing that region of miracles, Thebes. "In a day or 
two," said I, " »e shall see, towering above the 
waers, Ihe colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, and the 
bright Obelisks of ihe Sun. We shall visit Ihe plain 
of Memnon. and behold those mighty sta u.s thai 
fling their shadows 2 at sunrise over Ihe Libyan hi Is. 
We shall hear Ihe image nf ihe Son of the Morning 
responding to Hie first louch of light. From thence, 
in a few hours, a breeze like ilns will transport us to 
those sunny islands near Ihe cat iracts ; there, to wan- 
der, among the sacied palm-groves of Phiiae. or si r, at 
noontide hour, in those cool alcoves, u which the 
waterfall ofSyene shadows under its arch. Oh, who 
is there thai, with scenes of such loveliness within 
reach, would turn coldly away to the bleak desert, 
and leave this fair world, with all ils enchantments, 
shining unseen and unenjoyed ? At least''— I added, 
taking tenderly her hand in mine — " let a few more 
days be stolen from ihe dreary fate to which thou hast 
devoted thyself, and then " 

She had heard but the last few words — Ihe rest had 



« The voyages on the Nile are, under favourable 
circumstances, performed with considerable rapidity. 
"En cinq ou six jouis." siys Maillet, "on pounoit 
lisement rem inter de 1'embouchure du Nil a ses cat i- 
racles, ou descendre des cata>ac'es ju <pi a la mer " 
The great uncerlainty of the navigation is proved by 
what Belzoiii tells us: — "Nous ne mimes cette fids 
que deux jours et demi pour faire le Injet du Caire a 
Melawi, auquel. dans noire second voyage, nous 
avions employes dix-huit jours. 

a Elles ont pres de vingt me'res ("61 pieds) d'eleva- 
tions ; el au lever du soleil, leurs ombres immeuses s' 
etendenl au loin sur la chaire Libyenue." — Descrip- 
tion generate de. Thebes, pay Messrs. Jollois et Dts- 
villiers. 

* Paul Lucas. 



been lost upon her. Startled by the tone of tender- 
ness into which in despite of all my resolves, I had 
suffered my voice to sof en, she looked for an instant 
with passiimate earnestness iDio my face; — then, 
dropping upon her knees with her c asped hands up- 
raised, exclaimed,— " Tempt me not, in the name i f 
God I implore thee, tempi n.e not o swerve fioin my 
sacied duty. Oh ! take me instantly to that desert 
mountain, and I will bles- thee forever." 

'1 his appeal, I fell, could not be resisted — even 
though my heart were to beak for it. Having silent- 
ly intimated my assent io her prayer, by a sligh pres- 
sure of her hand as 1 raised her from the deck, 1 pro- 
ceeded immediately, as we were still in full career 
for the sou'h, to give oiders that our sail should be 
ins antly lowered, and not a moment iosl in retracing 
our course. 

In giving these directions, however, it, for the first 
time, occurred to me, Ihv, as I had hired this yacht 
in Ihe neighbourhood of Memphis, wheie it v>a- pro- 
bable the flight of the young Priestess would bemosl 
vigilantly tracked, »e should run Ihe ri«k of betray- 
ing to the boalmen the place of her retreat ; —and 
there was now a most favourable opportunity for 
taking precautions against this danger. Desiring, 
therefore, that we should be landed at a small village 
on the shore, under pretence of paying a visit to some 
shrine in the neighbourhood, 1 tfiere dismissed our 
barge, and was relieved from fear of further observa- 
tion, by seeiog it again set sail, and resume is course 
fleetly up ihe curreni. 

From the boats of all descriptions that lay idle 
beside the bank, I now selected one. ii every respect, 
suited to my purpose— being, in its -hape and accom- 
modations, a miniature of our former vessel, I ut at 
the same lime, so lighl and small as lo be n anate- 
able by myself al lie, and requiring, with the advan- 
tage of the current, Ii lie moie ihau a h md to steer it. 
This boat I succeeded, wi'h'cut much difficuly, in 
purchasing, and. after a shot! de'ay, we «ere agiin 
afloat down Ihe curient ; — the sun just then sinking, 
in conscious glory, over bis own golden shrines in the 
Lib\ an waste. 

The evening was calmer ai d more lovely than at y 
that had yet smiled upon our voyage; and, as we left 
ihe shore, a strain of sweet melody came soothingly 
over our ears. It was the voice of a young Nubian 
girl, whom we sa« kneeling before an acacia, upon 
Ihe bank, and singing, while her companions slood 
around, the wild song of invocation, which, in her 
country, they address to that enchanted tree : — 

"Oh ! Abyssinian Iree, 
We pray, we piay in Iliee; 
By the glow of thy golden fruit. 

And the violet line of Ihy flower, 

And Ihe greeting mute 

Of III y bough's salute 
To the ulrauger who seeks thy bower. 4 

"Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 
How the traveller bless™ thee, 
When the ni[;ht no moon allows, 
And Ihe sunset hour is near, 
And Ihmi beiiiTnl Ihy boughs 
To kiss h « hums, 
Saying, 'Come rest thee here.' 
Oh '. Ahy-sinifoi I tee, 
Thus bow ihy head to me I" 

In the burden of this song the companions of the 
young Nubian joined; and \\c hcaid ihe words, 
"Oh! Abyssinian tree,*' dying away on ihe breeze, 
long after the whole gioup had been lost to our 
eyes. 

Whether, in Ihe new arrangement which I had 
made for our voyage, any motive, be-ides those 
which 1 professed, had a slnre, I can scarcely, even 



« See an account of Ibis sensitive iree, which bends 
down its branches to those who approach it, in M 
Jomard's Description of Syene and the Cataracts. 



42 



494 



THE EPICUREAN 



myself— so bewildered were then my feelings— deter- 
mine. Bui no sooner had the current tome us away 
from all human dwelling*, and we were alone on the 
waters, with not a soul Dear, than 1 felt how closely 
such solitude draws hearts together, and how much 
more we seemed to belong to each other, than wheu 
there were eyes around us. 

The same feeling, but w ilhout the same sense of its 
danger, was mamlest in e\ery look and word of 
Aiethe. The consciousness or the one great effort 
which she had made appeared to have satisfied her 
heart on the score of do!) — while Ihe devotedne>s 
with which she saw 1 attended to her every wish, 
was felt with all that trusting giatitude which, in 
woman, is the day-spring of love. She was, there- 
fore, happy, innocently happy ; and Ihe confiding, 
and even affectionate, unreserve of her manner, 
while it rendered my trust more sacred, made it also 
far more difficult. 

It was ouly, however, upon subjects unconnected 
with our situation or fate, that she yielded to such 
interchange of thought, or that her voice ventured to I 
answer mine. Ihe moment 1 alluded to Ihe destiny ■ 
that awaited us, all her cheerfulness fled, and she be- 
came sajdened and silent. When i described to her 
the beauty of my own native laud — its lounls of in- 
spiration and fields of gloiy — her eyes sparkled with 
sympathy, and some lines e\eu softened into fondness. 
But when 1 ventured to whisper, that, in that glorious 
country, a life full nf love and liber y awaited her; 
when 1 proceeded lo contrast Ihe adoration and bliss 
she might command, with the gloomy austerities of I 
the life to which she was hastening— it was like the 
Coming of a sudden cloud over a summer sky. Her , 
head sunk, as she listened ; — 1 wailed in vain for an 
answer; and when, half playfully reproaching her 
for this silence, 1 Hooped to'lake' her hand, 1 could 
feel the warm ears fast falling over it. 

But even this — feeble as was the hope il held out- 
was still a glimpse of happiness. Though it foe- 
boded that 1 should lose her, it also whispered that i 
was loved. Like that lake, in Ihe land of Hoses,' 
whose waters are half sweet, ha.f bitter,* 1 felt my 
fa e lo be a compound of bliss aud pain — but its very 
pain well worth all ordinary bliss. 

And Ihus did the hours o'f that night pass along; 
while every moment shoitened our happy dream, and 
the current seemed lo flow with a swifter pace lhan 
any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a feaiure of 
the whole scene but lues, at this moment, freshly in 
my memory ;— Ihe broken star-light on the water; — 
the rippling sound i f ihe boat, as, w ilhnut oar or sail 
it went, like a thing of enchantment, down the 
stream ;— the scenled tire, bun.ine beside us U|«n the 
deck, and then that face, on which its light fell, re- 
vealing, al every nn incut, some new charm — some 
blush or look, more beau'iful than Ihe lasl ! 

Of en, while 1 sat grzinj, forgetful of all else, in 
this worid, our boat, left n holly to itself, would drive 
from its course, and. bearing us aura; to Ihe bank, get 
entangled in the water-llowers. or be caught in some i 
eddy, ere I perceived where we were." Once, too, j 
when the rustling nf my oar among the flowers lid 
Startled away from u,e bmk some wild an elopes, j 
that had stolen, at that still hour, to d ink of 'he 
Nile, what an emblem did I think it of the young 
heart then beside me — lasting, for the first time, of 
hope and love, and so soon, alas, to be scared fiom 
their sweetness for ever ! 



CHAPTER XV. 



The nisrht was now far advanced— the bend of our 
coarse towards ihe left, and the ciosii g in of the 



* The province of Arsinoe, now Fioum. 
» Paul Lucas. 



eastern hills upon the river, gave warning of OCT ap- 
proach lo the hermit's dwelling. Every minute DOW 
appeared like the last of existence ; and I fell a sick- 
ing of despair at my hea 1, which would have beea 
intolerable, had not a' resolution that suddenly, and as 
if by inspiration, occur, ed lo rue, presented a glimpse 
of h'oje which, hi some dcirte. canned my feelings. 

Much as 1 had. all my life, despised hypoeiisy— the 
veiy sect 1 had embraced being chiefly recommended 
to me by the war they continued to wage upon toe 
cant of all others— it was, nevertheless, in hypocrisy 
that I now scrupled not to take refuge from that 
calamity which to me was far worse than either 
shame or dealh, my separation from Alelhe. In my 
despair, i adopted Ihe humiliating plan — deeply hu- 
miliating as I felt it to be, even amid the joy wi h 
which 1 welcomed it — of ottering myself to this her- 
mit, as a couver to his fai'b and thus becoming the 
fellow-disciple of Aiethe under Ins Care ! 

From Ihe nn ment I resolved upon ibis plan my 
spirit felt lightened. Though having fully bclore my 
e\es the mean labyrinih of imposture into which it 
would lead me, I -bought of nothing but the chance 
of cur contiuuii g still together. In this hope, all 
pnde, all philosophy was fotsrotlen. and everything 
seemed I lerable, but the prospect of losing her. 

Thus resolved, il was with somewha less reluctant 
feeling-, that 1 now undertook, at Ihe anxious desire 
of n.\ companion, to ascertain the site of that well- 
known m untain, in the neighbourhood of which the 
• jwel ing lay. We had already pa-sed one 
or two stupendous rucks, which stood, de ached, like 
I ver the rr.er's bunk, and which, in some 
degree, corresponded with the descrip ion on the leaf. 
So lit'le was there of life now stirring along Iht 
lhat I had begun almost lo despair of any assistance 
from inquiry, when, on looking lo Ihe western bank, 
I saw a b a'man at I small 

boat, wi h some difficulty, up the current. Hailing 
him as we pasted. I ashed. " Where slai is the Moun- 
tain of tie B rds >''3— and he had hardly tune, as he 
pointed above us, to answer "There.* 1 when we per- 
ceived thai we were just then emerging into the 
shadow, which this mighty rock flings across the 
whole of the hood. 

In a few moments we had reached the mouth of the j 
ravii e. of which the Mountain of the Birds forms one 
of the sides, and through ■ hicli Ihe scauty canal from , 
the Nile fl ws. At (tie s_ .chasm,, 

within some of whose dreary recesses (if »e had | 
rightly interpreted the leaf) the dwelling of 
tary w'a- m be f und, our voices sunk at once in o a 
low w hispcr, w rule Aiethe turned round to me w i;h a 
look of awe and eagerness, as if do.btful whether I ■ 
had not already disappeared from her side. 
movement, h >wever, of I rr hand towards the 
old Ino plainly il. It 

Immediately checking, rheielore, wi h my 
career nf our boa) 

lion, in turning it out of the ennent of tie river, and 
steering into this bieak a d staeuant canal. 

Chjr fra' s tion fr m life and bloom to the ve 
of desnl li re While the 

fhe white 
; aloft in Ihe pale 
glate of mo nligh'. I t.e 
which we move: | 

shriek f a f e * wa'e -tirds, which we ha 
from the 

dead and i» ful. l| 

it by a breath; an I h ilf'-w hi-pered exc a 
"How dreary •* — ' Hew di-mai 8" were almost Ihe 
only wo ds exchai t 

VVe hid procec me ihro.eh this 

rriie. when, at a 
among the rocks upon which the moo Tig!. 



» There his been much contrnrersr among the 

Arabian writers, will res: . sm^uo. 

•ftiifiiimwm, torn, i , eat. 



THE EPICUREAN 



495 



could perceive, on a ledge elevated but a little above 
the canal, a small but or cave, which, from a tree or 
two |> an ed around it, had some appearance < t being 
the abode of a human being. •' Ths, then," though! 
1, "is the home lo which -he is destined :" A chill 
of despair came again over my he rt and the oars, as 
I -a g.zing. lay m< tionless in my bands. 

I found Ale'he, too. whose eyes had caught the same 
object, drawing closer to my sid - hau she I ad yet 
vei. tmed Laying her hand agita'edly upon mire, 
" We must here." she said, -'pari I r ever." I turned 
to her, a, sue poke j Iheie was a <ende Dess, a de- 
sp ode: cy in l.er o uii enauce, thai at mice - dJt-ned 
and inflamed my s ul. "Pan!" 1 exc. aimed, pa-- 
siona eh — " No 1— the same God sha I receive us 
both. Thy faith, Alethe. shall, from this hour, be 
mine; and 1 will live and die in i his desert with 
ti.ee ." 

Her surprise, her delight at the e words, was like a 
momentary del i i ium. The wild, anxious smile, with 
which she looked into my face, a- if lo sceitun 
whether she had, indeed, hta'd my words aright, be- 
sp- ke a happiness too much for reason to bear. At 
lenglh the fulness "f her heart found relief in tears; 
and murmuring forth an incoherent blessing on my 
name, she lei her head fall languidly and powerles-ly 
on my arm. The light from i ur boat-fire shone upon 
her face, i saw her eyes. w hich she had cosed for a 
moment, again opening upon me « i h Ihe same ten- 
de ness, and — niercilul Providence, how I lemember 
th it moment '—was on the point of bending down my 
lips towards hers, when, suddenly, in the air above us, 
as if coming direct from heaven, there burs! forth a 
s'run of choial music, that wilh ita Solemn soilness 
filled (he whole valley. 

Breaking away from my care-s at these supernatu- 
ral sounds, the maiden threw her elf trembling upon 
her knees, and, not daring to look up, exclaimed 
wildly, "My mother, oh, my mother!" 
j It «as the Christians' morning hymn that we heard ; 
I the same, as I learned afterwards, that, on their high 
terrace at Memphis, she had been taught by her 
j mother to sing to the rising sun. 

| Scarcely less startled than my companion, I looked 
j up, and saw, at the very summit of ihe rock above us, 
a light, appeinng to come from a small opening or 
; window, through which those sounds likewise, that 
; had appeared to me so supernatural, is ued. I here 
! could be no doubt, that we had now found — if not the 
[ dwelling nf Ihe anchoret — at least, the haunt of some 
| of the Christian brotherhood of these rooks by whose 
assistance we couid not fail to find the place of his 
j retreat. 

The agitation into which Aleihe had been thrown 

j by the first buis' of that p-almody, soon yielded to the 

snf'ening recollections which it brought back ; and a 

calm came over her brow, such as it had never before 

worn, since we met. She seemed to feel as it she 

had now reached her destined haven, and hailed, as 

I the voice of heaven itself, those solemn sounds by 

! which she was welcomed to it. 

I In her tranquillity, however, I was very far from 
yet sympathising. Full of impatience tc learn all 
that awaited her as well as myself, I pushed our boat 
I close to the base of the rock, so as to bring it directly 
under that lighted window on the summit, to explore 
my way up to which was now my immediate object. 
Having hastily received my instructions from Aleihe, 
and made her repea' again ihe name of the Christian 
| whom we sought, I spiang upon the bank, and was 
I not long in discovering a sort of pa;h, or stiirwav, cut 
I rudely out of the rock, and leading, as 1 found, by easy- 
wind ings, up the steep. 
I After ascending for some time, I arrived at a level 
i space or ledge, which the hand of labour had suc- 
ceeded in converting into a garden,! and which was 



planted, here and there, with fig-trees and palms. 
Ar und it, 'oo. I could | erceive, through th > glim- 
meiiug light, a number nf small caves or grottos, into 
some of winch. Iiiiu.au beings might rind an entrance ; 
while o heis appeared of no larger dimensions than 
Hi se tombs of (he Sacied Birds which are seen ranged 
ari und Lake Mccris. 

I was sliil, I found, bul half-way up the ascen 1 , nor 
w;as there visible any fmther means of continuing my 
cou se, as ihe mountain from hence rose, almost per- 
pendicularly, like a wall. At length, howevc, on 
exploring more closely, I discovered behind the shade 
of a fig- ree a large'laddei of w. od, lesting firmly 
against the rock, and affording an easy and s>fe ascent 
■ up the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I agiin descended tc 
j the boat lor Ale he, whom I found tremblingalready at 
j her short solimde ; and having led her up the stairway 
j to this tjuiet garden, left her lodged there securely, 
amid its holy sile ce, while I pursued my way up- 
ward to Ihe light upon the rock. 

A' ihe top of the long ladder I found myself on an- 
O'her ledge or platfo m, somewhat sm Her than the 
fi'S', bui pianled in Ihe same manner, with trees, and, 
as I c uld perceive by the mingled lighi of morning 
an I the mo n. embellished with flowers I w as now 
near the summit ;— iheie remained but anoiher short 
a-cent, and, as a lad ler against the rock supplied, as 
before, the means of scaling it, I was in a few minutes 
at the opening tr m which 'he lighi is-ued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling of awe 
at the whole scene, as from an unwillingness to dis- 
turb rudely the rite- in which I intruded. My ap- 
proach, therefore, being unheard, an opportunity was, 
for some momenta, afforded cie of observing ihe group 
within, before my appearance at the window was dis- 
covered. 

In the middle of the apar'ment, which seemed lo 
have been once a Pagan oratory, there was collected 
an assembly of about se\en or eight peisons, some 
male, some female, kneeling in silence r.>und a small 
aliar ; — " hile among them, as if presiding over Iheir 
solemn ceiemony, slo.d an aged man, who, at the 
moment of mv arrival, was presenting to one of the 
female worshippers an alabaster cup, which she ap- 
plied, willi profound reverence, to her lips. The 
venerable countenance of the minis'er, as he pro- 
nounced a short prayer over her head, wore an ex- 
pression of profound feeling that showed how wholly 
he was bso bed in that rite ; and when she had drunk 
of the cup— which I -aw had engraven on its side ihe 
image of a head,3 with a glory roui d it— the holy 
man bent down and ki-sed her forehead. 3 

After this parting salutation, the whole group rose 
silently from their knees; and it was then, h r the 
first lime, that, by a cry of terror from one of the 
women, the appearance" of a stranger a the window 
was discovered. The whole assembly seemed startled 
and alarmed, except him, that superior person, who, 
advancing from the altar, w ilh an unmoved look, 
raised Ihe la'ch of the door adjoiuing to the window, 
and admitted me. 

Theie was, in this old man's features, a mixture nf 
elevation and sweetness, of simplicity aid energy, 
which commanded at once attachment and homage; 
and half hoping, half feirmg, to find in him the des- 
tined guardian of Alethe, 1 looked anxiously in bis 
face, as I en'ered. and pronounced the name " Mela- 
nus !"_« Melanin- is my name, y ung stranger.'' he 
answered ; "and whether in friendship or in enmity 
thou comest, Melanius blesses ihee." Thus saying, he 



l The monks of Mount Sinai (Shaw says) have 
covered over near four acres of the naked rocks with 
fruitful gardens and orchards. 



1 There was usually, Tertullian tells us, the image 
of Christ on 'he communion-cups. 

3 " We are rather dispo-ed to infer," says the late 
Bishop of Lincoln, in his very sensible work on 
Tertullian, '• that, at ihe conclusion of all iheir meet- 
ings for the purpose of devotion, the eaily Christians 
were accustomed to give the kiss of peace, n loken of 
the brotherly love subsis'ing between then ." 



496 



THE EPICUR EAN. 



made a sign ivith his right hand above my head, 
while, wi h involuntary respect, 1 bowed beneath the 
benediction. 

'Let this volume," I replied, ''answer fir the 
peacefu loess of t:iy mission' 1 — at the same lime, placing 
in his hands lie copy of Ihe Scriptures which had 
been his ov/n gift to the mother of Aleihe, and which 
her own child now brought as the credential of her 
claims on his protection. At the sight of this sacred 
pledge, which he instantly rec gnised, the solemnity 
; that had at first marked bis reception of me softened 
j into tenderness. Th ughts of other times appeared 
lo pass through his mind ; and as, with a sigh of re- 
collection, he took the book from my hands, some 
words on ihe ou er leaf caught his eye. They were 
few— hut contained, ni'-st probably, ihe last wishes of 
the dying Theora; for as he read them over eagerly, 
I saw tears in his aged eyes. " I he trust," he said, 
with a filtering voice, " i- precious an! sacred, and 
G >d will enable, 1 hope, hit servant lo guard it faith- 
ful y." 

During this short di dogue, the other persons of the 
assembly had departed — being, as I atterwards 
learned, brethren from the neighbouring bauk of ihe 
Nile, who came thus secretly before da\ break, 1 to 
join in worshipping 'heir God. fearful lest their 
de-cent down Ihe rock might alarm Ale' he, I hurried 
briefly over Ihe few words of ex plana' ion that re- 
mained, and leaving the venerable Christian to follow 
at his leisure, hastened anxiously down to rejoin the 
young maiden. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Melanius was one of the first of those zealous Chris- 
tians of Egypt, who. following Hie recent example of 
the hermit, Paul, hade farewell t i all the comfort! of 
social existence, and betook themselves to a life <<l 
contemplation in the desert. Less selli h, however, 
in his piety, than most of these ascetic*, Melanius 
forgot not the world, in leiving it. He knew that 
man was not born t i live wholly for himself; hat his 
relation to human kind was tliat of Ihe link to the 
chain, and that even h s solitude should be turned lo 
the advantage of others. In flying, therefore from 
the din and disturbance of life, he sought not to place 
himself beyond ihe reach of is sympathies, but 
selected a retrea' where he could combine all the 
advantages of solitude with lhn-e opportunities of 
being est ful to hi! fi i .ow -men, n liich a neighbourhood 
to their populous haunts would afford. 

That taste for Ihe gloom of subterranean recesses, 
which Ihe race of Misiaim inherit from their Ethi- 
opian ancestors, had, by hollow ing out all Egypt ml i 
caverns and crypts, supplied 'hese Christian anchored 
with an ample choice of re' tea's. Accoidingly, some 
found a shelter in ie grottos of Ele'hya ;~ 
an g ihe royal tombs of Ihe Thebaid. In the mid- 
dle of the Seven Valleys,* where the sun rarely 
shines, a few hue fixed their dim and melancholy 
retreit ; while others have sought Ihe neighborhood 
of the red Lakes of Nilria.3 and there, like those 
Pagan solitaries of old, who fixed their dwelling 
among the palm-trees near the Dead Sea, pass iheir 



» It was among the accusations of Celsus again-t 
the Christians, that they held their assemblies pii- 
vately and c >ntrary lo law ; and one of the speakers 
in ihe curious work of Miuuciui Ftlix calls ihe 
Christians •' latebrosa et lucifugax ualio." 

o. See _V/<7<ri:u's account of these vallejs. given by 
Quatremere. torn, i p. 450. 

3 For a striking description of this reeion, see 
" Knmwfct,'' a work which, though in general loo 
technical a \d elaborate, shows, in many p 
j wha' picaresque cflVcts he scenery and mythology 
| of Egypt may be made subservient. 



whole lives in musing amidst the sterility «/f nature, 
and seem to find, in her desolation, peace. 

It was on oi.e of the mountains of the Said, to the 
east of the river, that Melanius, as we have seen, 
ch.se his place of secluion — having all the life and 
fertility of ihe Nile on one side, and Ihe lone, dismal 
barrenness of the desert on ihe oilier. Half-way 
down this mountain, where it impends over the 
ravine, he found a series of caves or grottos dug out 
of ihe rock, which had. in other lime-, ministered to 
some purpose of mystery, but wh se use had long 
been forgotten, and their recesses abandoned. 

'1 o this pUce, afier 'he ba> i-l.men' of his great 
masler, Uriten. Melanius, with a few fai'hful follow- 
ers, reiired, and there, by the example of his inno- 
cent life, as well as by his fervid eloquence, succeed- 
ed in winning crowds of converts lo his faith. 
Placed, as he w as, in Ihe neighbourhood of ihe rich 
city, Antinoe .'- though he mingled nol with its multi- 
tude, his name and his fame were ever among them, 
and, to all wh> sought af'er instruction or consolation, 
the cell cf Ihe hermit was always 0|ien. 

Notwithstanding the tigid ais'me ce of his own 
habits, he was yet caeful lo provide for the comfort* 
of "ilhers. Cn ent wi h a rude pallet of -Paw, him- 
self, he had always for the stranger a le-s homely 
resting-pace From his grotto, Ihe waifaiiug and 
the indigent neier went aurefreshed ; and. wi h Ihe 
aid of some ot his be'hren he had formed garden! 
along the ledges of the moun ain, which gave an ail 
of life and cheetfulness lo his rocky dwelling, and 
supplied him with ihe chief necessaries of s ,ch a 
climate-fruit and shade. 

'J hough the acquaiirance he had formed with the 
mother of Aleihe, during the short peri d of her 
attend nee at the sehord nf (Jrigen, was M>on inter- 
rupted, and never aferwards renewed, the interest 
which he had then l.ken in her f.te was far too livc- 
1\ to be forg tten. He had seen the ze I wilh which 
her y nng heart welcomed insrnc'ion; and the 
thought that so promising a candidate for heaven 
should have ielap-ed into idolatry, came often, with 
disquieing apprehension, over his mind). 

Ii was, iheref oe, with true pleasure, that, but a 
year or two before I heora's death, he had learned 
by a private communication from her. transmitted 
through a Christian embalmer of Memphis, tha 
'■ not only had her ow n heiri taken mot in the fai'h, 
b-t thai a new bud had flowered with ihe same 
divine hpe, and that, ere long, he might see them 
both transplanted to ihe da 

The coming, therefore, of Aleihe, was far less a 
sorpn-e to him, ihan her c ming thus alone was a 
shock and a sorrow ; and the silence nf their first 
meeting showed how pat fully bo b remembered that 
he ie which had brought 'them I nether was no 
longer of ihis world — that the hand, which should 
have been then j. ined with theirs, was mou'deiing in 
the tomb. I now saw tha' ever, religion like his was 
not proof agiinst the sadness of mortality. For. as 
the old man pul aside the ringlets from her forehead, 
and contemplated in ih.t clear countenance the re 
flee ion of what her mother had been, there mingled 
a mournfulness with his piety, as he si id, " Heaven 
rest her soi.l :'' which showed ho» lil'le even the 
certainty of a heaven for those we tote can reconcile 
us to Ihe pain of hiving lost them on earh. 

Ihe full light of day had now risen upon the 
desert, and our host, reminded, b\ the fain' looks of 
Ale he. of ihe many aim us h an 
without sleep, proposed that we should seek, in the 
chambers of the rock, *• ch res' as a hernii'- dwelling 
could offer. Pointing lo one of the largest of these 



« From the posi'ion assigned to An'inoe in Ihis ' 
work, we should conclude tha' it extended much far- 
ther lo the north. Ihan the few ruins 
would seem to indicate, and that the dis'ance be'ween 
the civ nnd the Mountain cf ipe Birds was consider- I 
ably less than what it appeals to be at present. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



4S7 



openings, as he addressed me—" Thou will find,-' he 
said, 'in that grotto a bed of fresh domn leave-, and 
may the consciousness of having protected the orphan 
sweeten thy sleep !" 

I frit how dearly this praise had been earned, and 
already almo.-t repented of having deserved it. 
There was a sadness in the c>un etiance of Alethe, as 
I to. k leave of her, to which the forebodings of my 
own heart but to,) faithfully responded , nor could I 
help fening, as her hand parted lingeriiigly from 
mine, that i had, by this sacrilice, placed her beyond 
my i each (»r ever. 

Having lighted for me a lamp, which, in these re- 
cesses, i-ven at noon, is necessary, the holy man led 
me to the entrance of the grotto. And here I blush 
to say, my caieer of hypocrisy began. With the -ole 
view' of obtaining another glaiceal Alethe, I turned 
humbly to solicit the benedic'ion of the Christian, 
and, having conveyed to hrr, while bending reverent- 
ly down, as much of the deep feeling of my soul as 
looks could express, I then, with a desponding spirit, 
hurried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me to the chamber within — the 
walls of "Inch I found covered, like tho-e of ihe 
grottos of Lycopolis, with paintings, which, though 
executed long ages ago, lo ked as fiesh as if their 
colours weie but laid on yesteiday. They were, all 
of rheui, representations of rural and domestic see es ; 
and, mi the greater number, the melancholy imagi- 
nation of (he artist had called in, as usual, the pre- 
sence of Ueath, to throw his shadow over the pic- 
tuie. 

My attenti n was particularly drawn to one series 
of subjects, throughout the whole of which the same 
group— consisting of a youth, a maiden, and two aged 
persons, who appeared to be the father and mother of 
the girl — were represented in all the details of their 
daily life. The hrnks and atlit' des of the young peo- 
ple denoted that they were lovers; and, sometimes, 
they were seen sitting under a onopy of flowers, 
w iih their ejes fixed on each o hei's faces, as though 
they could never look awav; sometime-, they ap- 
peared walking along the banks of the Nile,— 

op one of those sweet nights 

Wheo Isis, the pure star of lovers.1 lights 
Her bridal crescent u'er the holy stream — 
When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam, 
And nuinher u'er the nights she Inilh to run, 
Kre she aeain embrace her bridegroom suu.2 
Through all these scenes of endearment the two 
elder prisons stood by ; — their calm countenances 
to . died with a sh.re of tint bliss, in whose perfect 
light 'he young lovers were basking. Thus far. all 
wa- happiness ;— but the sad lesson of mortality was 
yet to come, in the last picture • f the series, one ol 
Ihe figures was missing it was that of the young 
maiden, who had disappeared from among them. On 
' - : k of a dirk lake stood the three who lemain 



ed ; 



boa , 



departing for the City of the 
Desd, told too plainly the end of their dream of hap- 
pines-. 

This mem rial of a sorrow of other times— of a sor- 
row, a emu asdeah itself— was not wailing lo deepen 
the mel incho y of my mind, or to add to the we.ghi 
of the many bodiugs that pressed upon it. 

After a night, as it seemed of anxious and i. sleep- 
ing thought, 1 rose from my bed and re urned to he 
girden. 1 found Ihe Christian alone — seated, under 
the shade of one of his trees, at a small l;ble,on which 
there lay a volume unrolled, while a beautiful antelope 
was sleeping at his feet. SI uck by the contrast 
which he presented to those haughty priests, whom 1 
had seen surrounded by the p nip and gorgeoueness 
of temples, '-Is this, then," thought I, " the faith 
before which the world now trembles— its temple the 
desert, its treasury a took, and its High Priest the 
solita ry dweller of the rock ?" 



Vide Plutarch, de hid. 
I 5 "Conjunctio solis cum luna, quod est veluli utrj- 
usque conuubium."— Jablonski. 



He had prepared for me a simple, but hospitable 
repast, of which fruits frooi his own garden, the white 
bread of Olyra, and Ihe juice of the honey-cane, formed 
Ihe mi st costly luxuries. His manner to me was even 
more cordial and fatherly than before; but the absence 
of Alethe, and, still more, the ominous reserve, with 
which he not only, himself, tefrained from all men- 
tion of her name, bn! eluded the few inquiries, by 
which 1 sought to lead to it, seemed 'O confirm all the 
apprehensions 1 had fell in parting from her. 

S!ie had acqiiain'ed him, ii was evident, with the 
whole history of o ir High!. My reputation as a phi- 
losopher — my desiie to become a Christian— all was 
already known to the zealous anchoret, and the sub- 
ject of my conversion was Ihe very first on which he 
enleted. Oh. pride of philosophy, how werl fhou 
then humbled, and with what shame did I stand in 
the piesence of 'hat venerable man, not daring to let 
my eyes encounter his, while, with unhesitating trust 
in Ihe sincerity of my intention, he welcomed me to a 
participation of his holy hope, and imprinted the Kiss 
of Charily on my infidel brow ! 

Embarrassed as 1 could not but feel by the humil- 
ialii g consciousne-s of hypocrisy. I was even still 
more peiplcxed by my almost tolil ignorance of the 
real tenets of the 'faith to which t professed myself a 
convert. Abashed and confused, and with a heart 
sick at its own deceit, I listened to the animated and 
eloquent gia.ulations of ihe Christian, as though they 
were words in a dream, without any link or meaning . 
nor could disguise but by the mockeiy of a reverent 
bow, at every pause, the total want of" self-pos-ession, 
and even of speech, under which I laboured. 

A few minutes more of such trial and 1 must have 
avowed my imposture. But the holy man perceived 
my embanassinent ;— and whether mistaking it for 
awe, or knowing it to be ign ranee, relieved me from 
my perplexity by at once changing the theme. Hav- 
ing gently awakeied his antelope from its sleep, 
" You have doubtless," he said, " he<rd of my brother- 
anchoret. Paul, who. fri m his cave in Ihe marble 
mountains, near the Red Sea, sends hourly the blessed 
'sacrifice of thank-giving' lo heaven. Of his walks, 
they tell me, a lion is the companion ;'•> but, for me," 
he added, with a playful and significant smile. " « ho 
try my powers of taming but on the gentler animals, 
this fteble child of Ihe desert is a far titter playmate." 
Then, taking his staff, and putting the time-worn 
volume which he had been perusing into a large gnat- 
skin pouch, that hung bv his side, "1 will now," 
said he, ' conduct thee over my rocky kingdom, that 
ihou mates! see in what drear and barren places that 
'sweet fruit of the spirit,' Peace, may be gathered." 

To speik of peace to a heart throbbing, as mine did, 
at that inoinen , was like talking of some distant har- 
bour to the mariner sinking at sea. in vain did I look 
around for some sign of Alethe; — in vain make an 
effort even lo utter her name. Consciousness of my 
own deceit, as well as a fear of awakening in the 
mind of Melanius any suspicion that might tend to 
frustrate my only hope, threw a fetter over my spirit 
and checked my tongue. In humble silence, tterefore, 
I followed, while the cheerful old man, with slow, 
but firm step, ascended the rock, by Ihe same ladders 
which 1 had mounted on the preceding night. 

During the time when the Decian Persecution was 
raging, many Christians, as he told me, of he neigh- 
bourhood had taken refuge under his protection,, in 
fhe-e grottos ; and the small ch ipel upon the summit, 
where I had found his flock at prayer, was, in those 
awful times of suffering, their usual place of retreat, 
where by drawing up these ladders, they were ena- 
bled to secure themselves from pursuit. 

'the view, from Ihe top of he rock, extending on 
either side, embraced the two extremes of fertility and 
desolation; nor could Ihe Epicurean ana Ihe An 
choret, who now stood gazing from that heigl.t, be at : 
any loss to indulge Iheir respective astes, between the 
living luxuriance of the world on one side, and the 

3 M. Chaltaulriand has introduced Paul and hit 
lion into the "Martyrs," liv. xi. 

= r , — ' , 

2G 



498 



THE EPICUREAN 



dead, pulseless repose of the desert on the olher. 
When »e turned to the river, what a picture of ani- 
mation pre ented itself! Near us to the south, weie 
the graceful colonnades of Antinoe, its proud, populous 
streets, and triumphal monuments. On the opposite 
shore, rich plains, all teeming with cultivation to the 
waters edge, seemed to offer up, as from verdant 
altars, their fruits to Ibe sub : white, beneath us, toe 
Nile,— 

the glorious stream, 

That late between its bank* was seen to glide — 
W ith shrines and marble cities on each side, 
Glittering, like jewels strung alODg a chain- 
Had now sent forth its wateis, and o'er plaia 
And valley, like a giant from bis bed 
Rising with outslieuh'd limbe, sopeibly spread. 
Frcm this scene, on one side of the mountain, we had 
but to turn roui d our eyes to Ibe other, and it was as 
if Nature herself had become suddenly eitinet ; — a 
wide Waste of sai.ds, bleak and inleiminable, weary- 
ing out the sun with its sameness of desolation; — 
black, burnt-up rocks, that stood as b rriers, at which 
life stopped ;— while the only siuns of animation, pa-t 
or present, were the footprints, here and there, of an 
antelope or ostrich, or the bones of dead camels, as 
they lay whitening at a distance, marking out the 
track of ihe caravans over the waste. 

Af er listening, while he contrasted, in a few elo- 
quent words, the two regions of life and death on 
| whose confines we stood, I again descended with my 
guide lo the garden we had lift. From thence, turn- 
; ing into a path along the mountain-side, he led me to 
another row of grottos, facing the desert, which had 
been once, he said, the abode of those brethren in 
Christ, who had fled with him lo this solitude from 
the crowded world — but which deah bad. within a 
few short mouthy rendered lenantless. A 
red stone, and a few faded trees, were the only traces 
these solitaries had left. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, while we 
descended to Ihe edge of the canal ; and 1 saw oppo- 
site, among Ihe rocks, that solitary caie, which had 
so chilled me with its aspect on the preceding night. 
Beside the bank we found one of those rustic boa's, 
which the Egyptians construct of planks of wild 
thorn, bound rudely together with bands of papyrus. 
Placing ourselves in this boat, and rather impelling 
than rowing i. across, we made our way through the 
foul and shallow flood, and lauded directly under the 
site of the cave. 

This dwelling was situated, as I have already men- 
tioned, on a ledge of rock ; and, being provided with 
a sort of window or aperture to admit the light of 
heaven, was accounted, I found, far more cheerful 
than the grottos on he o her side of the ravine. But 
there was a dreariness in the whole region around, to 
which light only lent additional horror. The dead 
whiteness of the rocks, as they stood, like ght sis, in 
'he sunshine ;— that melancholy pool, half lost in ihe 
sands;— all gave to my mind the idea i f a wasting 
world. To dwell in a place so deslate seemed 1 1 me 
a living death; and when ihe Christian, as we en- 
tered the cave, s -id, "Here is to be thy home," pre- 
pared as 1 had been for Ihe worst, all my resolution 
give way ; — every feeli: g of disappointed passion and 
bumbled' pnde, which had been gathering round my 
heart for the last ten hours, found a vent at once, 
and I burst ioto tears. 

Accust nicd to human weakness, and perhaps guess- 
ing at some of the sources of mine, the good Hermit, 
without appearing to take any notice of this emotion, 
proceeded to expatiae with a cheerful air, on, what 
he called, 'he comforts of my dwelling. Sheltered 
from 'he dry burning wind of the sooth, my porch 
would inhale he said, the fresh b-ecze of 
star. Fiui s from his own moun'ain-gardi 
furnish my repast. The wed of the neighbouring 
r, ck would supply my beverage; and -heie'' le 
continued — lowering his voce into a m re solemn 
tone, as h.' placed liuon he t ble tl.e voume which 
be had brought— •« here, my s ( n, is I! al 'well 



waters,' in which alone thou wilt find lasting 
men! or peace '." Thus saying, he descended the 
rock to his boat, and af'er a few "plashes of his oar bad 
died upon my ear, the soli udeand silence that reigood 
around tue was complete. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

What a fate was mine !— but a few weeks since, 
presiding over tha' gay Festival of the Garden, with i 
all the luxuries of existence tributary in my train; ■ 
and now — self-humbled into a solitary outcast — 'he 
hypocritical pi pil of a Christian anchoret — without I 
even the excuse of retigioos fana icisiu, or any olher j 
madness, but that of love, wild love, to extenuate my 
fall! Were there a hope that, by this humiliating j 
waste of existence, I might purchase now and then a I 
momentary glimpse of Alethe, even the depths of the 
desert, with such a chance, would be welcome. But I 
to live — and live thus— without hei, was a misery ! 
which I neither foresaw nor could endure. 

Hating even to lo> k up< n the den to wheh I was 
doomed, I hurried out into the air, and found my way, 
along the rocks, to the desert. The sun was g iilg 
down, with that blood-:ed hue, which he so often 
wears, in this climate, at his setting. 1 saw the 
sands, stretching out. like a sea, o he h >i z n, a- if 
tl.eir waste extended to the very verge of Ibe world— 
and. in the bitterness of my feelings, rejoiced to *ee 
so large a porion of cieation rescued, even by this 
barren libery, from Ihe ei croaching grasp of' man. 
The thought seemed to relieve niy wounded pride, 
and, as I wacdeied over the dim aid boundless soli- 
tude, to be thns fiee, even amidst blight and desola- 
tion appeared to me a blessing. 

The only living thing I saw was a restless swallow, 
whose wings were of Ihe same hue with the giey 
sands over wh ch he fluttered » •• Why (thought I) 
may not the mind, like ihis bird, part ike of II e 
of the desert, and sympathise in it- austerity, i ■ free 
dom, and its calm V — thus vainly e< deavouring, be 
tween de<|>onde"ce and defiance, to ei counter wi'h 
some degiee of fortitude what yet my heart sickened 
to contempla'e. But the effort was unavailing, 
(here in e by that vist soli u.le, who-e reprse was not 
the slumber of peace, but lather the sullen and burn- 
ing s.lence of bate, I felt my spirit give way. and 
i self yielded to despair. 
5 my sea' on a f ragmen' of a nek. and c ver- 
ing my eyes »ith my hands I uiide an effort to shut 
out 'he overwhelm But all io sain — it 

was still I el re me, w'ith every ald.'i ual honor 'hat 
fancy could suggest; and when, agiin lookii - 
beheld the I is'" red ray of the sun, shooting across Ihe 
melancholy and lifeless waste, it appeared to me lika 
the light of that comet v»hich once desolated this 
il i thus luridly shone out over the ruin that 
it had made ! 

A; palled by my own gloomy imagina'ions, I turned 
towards 'he ravine ; and, n itw ithstanding the di-gnst 
wih which I had fled from n>> dwelling, was i o' ill 
pleased to find my way, over the rocks, to it ag.vn. 
On appro ichiug the cave, io my asonishmen', 1 saw 
alight within. At such a mouien',aoy vestige of l.fe 

l " Je vis dans le desert des hirondelles d'un gris 
clair comnie le sab esur U-qud elles v lent '— Dtncu. 

» In alluding to Whi-'on's idea of a comet having 
caused the deluge. H. Girard. having ieoa-- 
the word lyphmi means a deluge, adds. "On ne peut 
entendre | a "r le terns du regne de Typhoo que celui 
pendant lequel le deluge inonda la le're. terns pendant 

n dut observer li c mete q 
do ,t l'a| ; 
de I'F.gyi le, et de 

Dacriptum cU la VaUu a\ VE^art- 

>*. ill. 



THE E P I C U REAN 



499 



was welcome, and I hailed the unexpected ai pearance Sorting from my bed, 1 hurried out upon tlie r ck, 
with pleisiue. On en emig. however, I found Ihe | wiih a hope Ilia-, among the tones of that morning 
chamber all as lonely as I had left il. The light I bad choir, I might be able hi distinguish 'he sweet voice 
seen came from a limp hai burned brighly on Ihe | of Alethe. But 'he strain had ceased; — 1 caught 
table ; beside it was unfolded he volume which Me- only the last noles of the Hymn, as. echoing up that 
In ius h.d brougni.and up n he open le.vts— oh, joy j lone y valley, they died away into ihe silence of ihe 
and surprise- lay ihe well-known cross of Ale'he ! i de-en. 

What band, but her own, could have prepared this With the first glimpse nf light I was again eagerly 
reception for me ?— The very thought sent a hope into 'at toy study, and, notwithstanding the frequent dis- 
iny heart, before which all despondency fled. Even trac'ion both of my noughts and looks towards the 



Ihe gloom of ihe desert was forgotten, and my mde 
cive al o ce brightened into a bower. She had here 
reminded me, b) this sacred memorial, of 'he vow 
which 1 had pledged io her under Ihe Hermit's rock ; 
and I now scrupled not to reiiera'e the same daring 
promise, though conscious that through hypocrisy 
al iih could 1 fulfil it. 

Eager io | repare myself for my task of imposture, 
I sal down to the volume which 1 now found to be | 
he Hebrew Scriptures ; and Ihe first sen ence, on 
which my eyes fell, was — "The Lord hath coni- 
m i ded ihe blessing, even Life for evermore ." 
Startled by hose words, in uhich ii appeired to me 
a^ it the Spiri of my di earn hid again pronounced 
his assuring prediction,* 1 raised my eye* from he 
page and repe i cd the senle. ce over and over, as if 
tn trv whelner in these sounds ihere lay any cliarin 
or spell, io re-awaken that faded illusion in my soul. 
But, no — ihe rink frauds of he Memplnan priest- 
hood had dispelled all my trust in the promises of re- 
ligion. My heart lid again relapsed in'o its gloom 
of scepticism, and, io the word of -'Life," Ihe only 
an-wer il sent back was, "Death !" 

Bei g impatient, however, io possess myself of the 
elemema of a faith, up n which — whatever it might 
promise lor beieafier — I felt that all my happi ess 
here depended, I lurried over the pages wnh an earn- 
eslnes- and avidi y, such as never even ttie most 
favourite of my stud es had awakened in me. 
Though, like ail who seek but the surface of learn- 
ing, 1 flew desultorily over ihe leaves, lighting only 
on the more prominent and shining points, 1 yet found 
myself even in ihi- undisciplined oreer arrested, a* 
every pa^e, by the awful, the supernatural sublimity, 
the "ilicrnaie melancholy and grandeur of ihe images 
that cr wded upon me. 

I had, till now, known Ihe Hebrew theology but 
through the platonising refinement of Philo; — as in 
like manlier, for my knowledge of the C.riatian doc- 
trine I » as indebted to my brother Epicureans, Luciau 
and Olsus. Little, herefoie, was my mind prepar. d 
for the simple majesty, the high tune nf inspiration — 
the poeir, , in short, of heaven tin breathed through- 
out these oracles. Couid admirati n have kindled 
faith, I should, hat night, have been a believer; so 
elevated, *o awed was my imagination by that won- 
derinl book — it> warnings of woe, its announcements 
of glory, and its unrivalled strains of adoration and 

Hour af er hour, wiih the same eager and Ii suitor) 
curiosity, did I turn over ihe leaves ; — an I w hen, at 
le g h, I lay down to res', my fancy was still haunt- 
ed by Ihe impressions it had received. I went again 
through the various scene- of which I had read; 
again'called up, in sleep, the brigh images that had 
p issed before me, and when awake.. ed at early daw u 
by the solemn Hymn from the chaj e 1 , imagii ed hat 
I was s ill listening to the sound of ! lie winds, sigh- 
ing mournfully through the harps of Is ael On ihe 
willows. 



t " Many people." 'aid Origen, " have been brought 
over to Christianity by ihe Spi it of God giving a sud- 
den turn to iheir minds, and offering visions to them 
either by day or night." On \hUJortin remarks: — 
" Why should it be thought improbable that Pagans 
of good dispisi'ions, but not free from prejudices, 
should have been called by divine admonitions, bv 
d' earns or visions, which mighl be a support to Chris- 
tianity in ih 'se days of distres- ?'' 



t. half seen grottos of the Anchoret, continued 
my ta-k wiih unabaling perseverance through the 
day. Still alive, however, bul to the eloquence, the 
poetry i f what 1 studied, of its claims to an bori'ty, 
as a history, I never once | aused to consider. My 
fancy ah ne being interested by i:. tn fancv only I re- 
ferred all that il contained ; and, passing rapidly from 
annals to piophecy. from narration to song regarded 
He whole but as a lis-ue of oriental allegories, in 
which ihe deep melancholy of Egyptian associations 
was in erwoven with the rich and sensual imagery of 
ihe Eait. 

a'ds sunset I saw Ihe venerable Hermit, on his 
way, i.er ss the canal, to my cave. Tn ugh he was 
jccompa- ied only by his graceful antelope, which 
came snuffing the wild air t.f ihe desert, as if scent- 
ing its home I tell his visit, even thus, to be a must 
welcome relief. It was the hour, he said, of his even- 
i g ramble up the mountain— of his accustomed vsit 
Io lbose cisterns of the rock, from which he drew 
nighili his most precious beverage. VVhile he spoke, 
I observed in Ins hand one of those earthen cups,'-* in 
which ii is the custom of the inhabitants of ihe wil- 
derness to c llect ihe fresh dew among the rocks. 
H v ng proposed hat I should accompany him in his 
walk, he proceeded o lead me, in thedirec ion of the 
desert, up Hie side of the mountain that rose ab ve my 
dwelling, and " hich formed the southern wall or 
screen of the defile. 

Near the sun. mil we found a seat, where the old 
man panned to rest. It commanded a full view over 
Ihe desert, and was by the side of one of those hoi 
lows in the rock, 'hose na u al reservoir*, in which 
are treisnred 'he dews of night for the refreshment 
of the dwellers in the wilderness Having learned 
Iron, me how far 1 had advanced in mv study — 'In 
y nder light,'' said he, punting Io a »mall cloud in 
the easi, which had been formed on the hoiizon by 
the haze nf the desert, and was now faintly reflecting 
Ihe splendours of sunfei — " in ihe midsi of tha light 
-lands .Mount Sinai, i f whose glory thou hasl read; 
upon whose summit was the scene of one of those 
awful reve ations, in which the Almighty has renew- 
ed from lime to time his c mmunicaiion with Man, 
and kept alive the remembrance of his own Provi- 
de.-. ce in this w rid." 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the immensity of 
the subject, liie holy man continued his sublime 
theme. Looking back to the earl. est annals of time, 
he showed now cons'antly every relapse of Ihe 
human race into idolatrj has been followed by some 
manifestation of Divine power, ch s'ening Ihe strong 
and proud by punishment, and winning back the 
humble by love. Il was Io | reserve, he s<id, un- 
exliugu shed upon earth, thai great aid vital Iruth — 
the Ciea'ion of the world by one Supreme Being- 
tint G d chose, f.oni among ihe nations, an humhie 
and enslaved race — that he brought them out of their 
captivit) "on eagles' wing-," and, sill surrounding 
every sen of iheir course wilh miracles, has placed 
them b.foie Ihe eyes of all succeeding generations, 
as the depositaries nf his will, and the ever-during 
memorials of his power.3 



1 Paltadim, who lived some time in Egypt, de- 
scribes the monk Piolemasus, who inhabr ed the 
desert of Sce'e, as collecting in earthen cups Ihe 
abundant dew from the rocks. 1 ' — Bihliothec. Pat. torn, 
xiir. 

s The bref sketch here given of the Jewish disy.en- 



500 



THE EPICUREAN 



Passing, 'hen, in review the lone train of inspired 
interpreters, who,; pens and whose tongues were 
made the echoes of the Divine v<ice,i be traced 
throughout tiie event- of successive ages, the gradual 
unf Id n* of the d..rk scheme of providence— darkness 
without, but all light and glory witbin. The glimpses 
of a corning redemption, visible even through the 
wralh of He.ven; — the long series of prophecy 
through which this hope runs burning and alive, like 
a spark along a cbaiu ,— the slow and merciful prepa. 
ra'i i) of the hearts of mankind for ibe great trial of 
their faith and obedience lhat was at hai.d. BO 
miracle* tint appealed to the Irfil z, but by prophecies 
launched into the fu:ure to carry conviction to the yet 
unborn ; — ■• tbr ugh ail these glorious and benefice, t 
gradalitins we miy track," said he, -the manifest 
foolsieps of a Creator, ajvucing 10 his grand, ul ni.ate 
end, the salva ion of In cieatures.'' 

After s me boors dev ited to these holy instructions, 
we returned to the rav ne. uid Melatnus left meat my 
cave ; | ay ng, as he parted from me — with . 
lence which I but ill, alas: deserved — thai my soul 
might, under hese lessons, be -'as a watered garden,^ 
and eie long, •' bear f.oil unto life eterua ." 

Next morning. 1 ua^ agiin at my study, and even 
more eager in the awakening task than bri re. U'uli 
toe commentary of the Hermit Im lily in my mem ry, 
I again read through, with attention, the H ..k at t:'e 
Law. But in vain did I seek he promise of immor- 
ality in Us pages.1 " It tells me," s>id I, "of a God 
coming down to earth, but of the ascent of Man to 
heaven it speaks not. Ibe rewa'ds the puuishnien's 
it a n uucts, lie all on this side of the grave; nor 
did ibe Uinnipoieut oiler to his own chosen servan's a 
hope beyond the impas-able limits of thi- 
H'heie, theu, is the salvation of which the din-Man 
spoke? or. if Death be at ihe root of the lai h, can 
Life spring out of it ?" 

Ag.in, iu the bi terness of di app intment, did I 
mock at my own willing self-delusion— aiain rail at 
ihe arts of thit naiie--, Fa cy, evei ready like the 
i his in ndrous book, to seal up n 'l.e slum- 
bers ol Keas hi, aud deliver him up, shorn and power- 
less, lo Ins foes. If deception, thought I, be iieces-ary. 
it least let me not practise it od m.self, — in the des- 
perate al creative btf re nie, let me rather be even 
Lypocite than dupe. 

These Silf-accusnig rellec'ijns. cheerless a« they 
renJcreJ my ta k. did not abate, for a single moment, 
my industry in pursuing it I re.d on »• d on, w ■ h a 
sort of sulien apathy, nerher charmed by style, nor 
transported by imaged — 'be fa al Mighl in my hea't 
having c iiniiunicated it-elf to my in eiuaiion aril 
asle. The curses and 'he ble-s rigs, 'he gory aud the 
ruin, which Ihe historian rec rJed and the prophet 
had predicted, seemed all < f this wo Id— all tempi al 
and earthly, lhat mortality, • f which the fountain- 
head had ta-ted, tinged ibe wh le stieain; and when 
I read the words, " all ate of he dusi. and all turu to 
dust again,"* a feeling, like he wind of tbe desert. 



salion agrees very much » ith 'he view taken of it by 
Dr. Sumner, in 'he fii-t chapters of hiseloqueut work, 
the " Records of the Ciea ion.'' 

i In the original, the di-courses of the Hermit are 
given much m re at leug h. 

3 "It is impossible to denv." says Dr. Sumner, 
"thar the sanctions i f the Mosaic Law areal! gether 

emporal It is, indeed, one of t:,e facts thai 

can only be explained bv acknowledging thai he 
real y >cted under a Divine commi si 
a temp rary law fur a pecul.ar pu-po-e"' — a much 
more candid and sen-ible way of dealing this very 
difficult poin', than by eiti ike War- 

burton, to esca|>e from it in'o a par d x, or, still 
worse, contriving, like Dr. Graves, to jucrei 
ficultv by explanati >n. Vide 'On the PtntatciichV 
See a'lso Hornt't Introduction, ic, vol i.. 

3 While Voltaire, Volney, Vc, refer !o !he Eccle- 
siasles, as abounding with leuels of materialism a, J 



came witheringly over me. Love, Beauty, Glory, 
everything rnosl bright and worshipped upon eaith, 
app a red ":o be sinking before my eyes, under this 
dreadful doom, into one general mass of corruption 
and siler.ee. 

Posses ed by 'he image of desolation I bad thus 
cabe i up, 1 laid rny head upon the book, in a pa oiy-in 
of despair. Dearh, n all his mos ghas'ly varieties, 
I a-se : i el'.. re me ; ai.d 1 had continued thus for some 
lime, as under the influence of a feaiful vision, when 
Ihe touch of a hand upon my sh' uider roused me. 
Looking up, I saw tbe Anrhoiei sanding by on side; 
tuance beaming w i'h 'ha: sublime 'rauijuil- 
lity. which a hope, l*yond his earth, alone can 
bestow. H vv I di-j ei.vy him ! 

We agan. took our way In ihe seal opon Ihe moun- 
| lain — the gloom witbin my own mind making 
everything arund me mare gloomy. Forgetting my 
: bypaensy in my feel ngs, I proceeded a' once lo make 
an avowal to ii.m if al the doubt- and fears which 
my sudy of ibe morning had awakeued. 
| '• Thou ar; yet, my son," he answered, u but on tbe 
| threshold of our faith. I hou hast seen but he first 
• rudiments at he Divine plan ; — its full and consum- 
ina e periec ion h.th not yet opened upon thy mind. 
How eve glorious tliat manifesi iti n of Divinity on 
Mount Sinai, it was but the fi reruonef of anoiher. 
still more glorious, which, in Ihe fulness of time, was 
io burst up n ihe world; when all, thai before bad 
seemed dim and incomplete, was to be perfected, and 
s; in' nf prophecy ' 
— when the seal of silence, under which the 
id so long la.u, was o be broken, and the 
| glad tidings of life and immorality proclaimed lo 'he 
i w rid." 

observing my features brighten at these words, the 
' tbe holy 
] knowledge that w m in s ore for me, be laced, through 
ail lis w.iudcrs and mercies, the great w..rk of Re- 
demption, dwelling in detail upon every miraculous 
cicuni-t, bit — ihe exaiicd 

' tbe Bemg, by w hose ministry it was accomplished, the 
* n. fen r 
he one. se f-existent Father ; — ibe a 
incarnation of his heavenly messenger ;— the miracles 
, lint au he .tici'eJ his divine mission; — 'be examp.e 

I Epicurism, Mr. De- Vaeux and oher« fir.d ia 

I belief in a fuiure s ate. I he chief difficulty 
| lies in the chap'er from which tn.s teil is quoted ; 

and the m de of c n-truc 

attempt to ge' rid of it— ■.; tliese 

: i! tui' us Vile Dr H 
« Iti is oiiinion of the I 
hue Leen derived from I 

asctr aiu n.c c v 

I him, he a-sers thai God the Fa ! • 

i viked— vhich, xays Ma ir sur le* 

Hcresuss des Soc 

ever. a.. ' 

wards called, Aiaii-m, isuch as 
i divinity being received b) 
I MUner asser s to have I 

Origen was • ne nf ihe au horitirs I 

siu~ m support of 

■ '• hat Prie-'lr s.v. i 

well as Clemens Alervn'.nuus, has been 
fav ur he Arian principles; but he do i i 

Whatever uncer ainty. however, 'here m<y • 

; jec , here is no .'. 

diale HI wers we • an '-So 

many Bshops of Africa," says P ir-s'iey. " were, at 

1 (between theyi 

that Aihanasraa says, 'Tl -ining his 

-' was scarcely any longer {/cached in the 



THE EPICUREAN. 



501 



of obedience to God and love 10 man, which he set, as 
a -hilling light, belore the world forever ;— and, lastly 
and chiefly, "his deaih and resunection, by which the 
eiianl of me:cy was sealed, ai.d " life and immor- 
tality brought to light." 

! Such," continued the Hermit, " was the Mediator, 
promised through all time, 'to mane reconciliation 
iniquity,' (o change dealh into life, and l.ring 
alu.g on his wings' to a darkened vrrtrid. Such 
i the last crowning dispensation of ihat God of 
benevolence, in whose hands sin and death aie hut 
instruments of cveila 'mg good, and who, througl 
appaieut evil and tempo. ary retribution, bringing a I 1 . 
thugs out of darkne-s into his marvellous light,' 
proceeds watchfully and unchangingly to the great, 
final object of his providence— 'he restoration of the 
whole human tace to por.ty ,md ha; pines, !''' 

With a mind astonished, if not touched, by thee 
disc urses, 1 returned to my cave, and found the lamp, 
as before, ready lighted to leceive me. The volume 
which I had been hitherto s'udyn g, was replaced by 
another, which lay open upon the table, with a branch 
of fresh palm be ween I s leaves, 'though 1 could not 
d >ubt to who e gentle and guardian hand 1 Was in lebt- 
ed for thin Invisible watchfulness over my studies 
there w ,s yet a something in it, so like spiritual inter- 
position, tli t it struck me with awe ;— and neve, more 
than at this moment, when, on approaching the 
volume, 1 saw, a- the light gli-tei.ed over is silver 
lepers. 2 that it was the very Book of Life of which 
the He. mil had spoken ! 

The midnight hymn of the Christians had sounded 
through the valley, before I had yel raised my eye 
from thai sacred volume; and the secoud hour of th 
sun found me again over its pages. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

In this mode of existence 1 had now passed some 
days ;— my mornings devoted to leading, my nights to 
listening, under the wide canopy of heaven, to the 
holy eloquence of Melanius. The perseverance with 



i This benevolent doctrine— which n I only goes far 
to solve ihe problem of moral and physical evil, but 
which would, if received more generally, tend tu 
Soften the spirit i f uncharitableness, -o fatally pieva- 
lent among Christian sects— was m untamed by ilia' 
g eat light of ihe early Church, Urigen, and has not 
wanted supporters aniong more modern Theologians. 
That I illotson uas inclined to the opinion appears 
from his sermon preached before the queen. Paley is 
supposed to have held the same amiable doctrine ; and 
Ne» ton (Ihe author of the woik on the Prophecies) is 
also amo g ihe supporters of i 1 . For a full account 

of the arguments in favour of this opinion, derived 
both from reason and the express language of Scrip- 
ture, sae Dr. Smthwood Smith's very interesting 
work, '(in ihe Divine Government." See also Magee 
on Atonement, wheie the d ciine of the advocates 
of Universal Restoiation is thus briery, and, 1 believe, 
fairly explained :—" Beginning with the existence of 
an iiifimlely powerful, u is.-, and good Being, as Ihe 
first and fundamental pro ciple of ra'ional religion, 
they pronounce the esse.ee of this Being io be love, 
and fiom this infer, as a demonstrable con-equenee, 
Ihat none of the cieamre- formed by such a Being n ill 

ever he made eternally mi-enble Since G d 

(they say) would act unjustly in inflicting e'ernal 
misery for temporary ctimes, the sufferings of he 
wicked can tie hut remedial, and will leriiii.ale in a 
complete purification from moral di-oider, and in their 
ultimate restoration to viitue and happiness." 

* The Codex Coltonianus of the New Tes'ament is 
wiitten in silver letters on a purple ground. The 
Codex Cottonianus of the Septnagint versi m "f 'he 
Old Testament is supposed to b3 Ihe identical copy 
that belonged lo Origen. 



vhich I inquired, and the quickness wilh which 1 
eimed, soon succeeded in deceiving my benevolent 
nstruclor, who mistook curiosity for zeal, and know- 
ledge for belief. Alas! cold, and barren, and earihly 
was that knowledge— the word without the spirit, Ihe 
shape without the life. Even when, as a relief from 
" ypocrisy, I persuaded myself that 1 believed, it was 
but a brief delusion, a faith, whose hope crumbled at 
the touch— like the fruit of the desert-shrub, 3 shining 
and empty ! 

But, though my soul was s'ill dark, Ihe good Hermit 
saw not into its dep hs. The very facility of my be- 
lief, which might have suggested some "doubt of lis 
sincerity, ua- but regarded, by bis innocent zeal, as a 
more signal triumph of Ihe truth. His own ingenu- 
ousness led him to a ready trust in others; and the 
examples of si.ch conversion as thai of the philoso- 
pher Jus'in, who, during a walk by ihe sea-shore, 
received the light into his soul, had prepared him 
for illuminations of Ihe spirit, even more rapid than 



During all this time, I neither saw nor heard of 
Alethe ; — nor could my patience have endured through 
so long a privation; had not th- se mute vestiges of her 
presence, Ihat welcomed me every night on my re- 
turn, made me feel that 1 was still living under her 
gentle influence, and that her sympathy hung round 
every step of my pmgie-s. Once, too, when I ven- 
tured io speak hei name to Melaniu-, though he an- 
swered not ii iy inquiry, there was a smile, I though', 
of promise upon his countenance, which love, far 
m re alive than faiih, was ready to interpret as it 
de^red. 

nglh — it was on the sixth or seventh evening 
of my solilude, when I lay resling at the door of my 
cave, after ihe study of the day — I was startled by 
ng my name called loudly from the opposite 
; and looking up, s i w, upon the dill' near the 
deserted giotios, Melanius and — oh! 1 could not 
doubt — my Alethe by his side ! 

1 hough I had nevei, since the first night of my 
return from the desert, ceased to flatter myself with 
the lancy that I was still living in l.er presence, the 
acual sight of hei once more made me feel for what 
a long age we had been separated. She was clothed 
ail in while, and, a> she stood in the lasl remains of 
the sunshine, appeared o my too prophetic fancy I 
like a parting spirit, whose last footsteps on earth | 
that pure glory encircled 

Willi a delight uily to he imagined, I saw them 
descend Ihe rocks, and, placing themselves in the 
bon, proceed diieclly towards my cave. To dis- 
guise from Melanius the mutual delight with which 
we again me! was impossible ;— nor did Alelhe even 
attempi to make a secret of her joy. Though blush- 
ing at her own happiness, as little could her bank 
na ure conceal it, as the clear waters of Ethiopia can 
hide their gold. Every look, every word, bespoke a 
fulness of affection, to which, doubtful as I was of 
our tenure of happiness, I knew not how to respond. 
I was not long, however, left ignorant of Hie 
brigh' file that awaited me; but, as we wandered 
or tesed among the rocks, learned every thing ihat 
had been arranged since our parting. She had made 
Ihe Hermit, I found, acquainted with all that had 
passed between us; had told him, without reserve, 
every incident of our voyage — the avowals, the de- 
monstrations of affection on one side, and the deep 
sentiment tint gratitude had awake, ed on the other. 
Too wise to regard affections so natural with severity 
— knowing that they were of heaven, and bu' ma.ie 
evil by man - Ihe good Hermit had heard of our 
attachment wi'h pleasure; and fully satisfied, as to 
the honour and purity of my vieus, by the fidelity 
with «h.ch I had delivered my trust into his hands, 
saw, in my affection for the young mphaii, but a 
piovidential resource against that fiiendless solitude 
in which his death must soon leave her. 

a Vide Hamilton's JEgyptiaca. 



502 



THE EPICUREAN 



I As, lis'ening eagerly, I cnllecled Ihese particulars 
from their discourse, I could hardly trust my ears. 
I It geerued a happiness too great to be true, to be real ; 
| uor can words convey any idea of the joy, Hie -hame, 
I the wander with which I listened while the holy man 
himself declared that he awaited but the momen , 
I when he should rind me worthy of becoming a mem- 
ber of the Christian Church, to give me also (he hand 
of Alethe in that sacred union, which alone sanctifies 
love, and makes the faith, which il pledges, holy. 
It was bul yesterday, he added, that his y ung charge, 
herself, alter a preparation of praver and rtpcntai.ee, 
such as even her pure spirit required, had been ad- 
mitted, by the sacred ordinance of baptism, into Hie 
bosom of the faith; — and the white garment she 
wore, and the ring of gold on her finger, » "were 
symbols," he added, "of that New Life" into which 
she had been initialed " 

1 raised my eyes to hers as he spoke, but withdrew 
Ibem again, dazzled and confused. Even her beauty, 
to my imagination, seemed to have undergone some 
brightening change; and the contract between that 
open and happy countenance, and Ihe unblest brow 
ot the infidel tliat stood before her, abashed me into 
a sense of unworthiness, and almost checked my 
rapture. 

To lhat night, however, I look back, as an epoch 
in my existence. It proved that sorrow is not the 
ouly awakener of devotion, but thai joy may some- 
times quicken Ihe holy spark into life. Returning to 
my cave, w ith a heart lull, even to oppression, of its 
happiness, I could find no o'her relief to my over- 
charged feelings, than that of throwing myself on my 
knees, anJ u lenug, for Ihe tirst time in my life, a 
heart •fall prayer, tiiat if, indeed, there were a lieuig 
who watched over mankind, he would send don u one 
ray of his truth into my darkened soul, and make it j 
worthy of the ble-siugs, both here and herealter, ! 
proffered 10 it < 

My da>s now rolled on in a perfect dream of ha|i- 1 
piness. Every hour of the morning wa- welcomed! 
as bringing ncaier aid nearer the blest lime of sun- | 
set, when the Hermit and Alethe never failed to visit 
my now charmed cave, u here In r smile lef , at each 
parting, a light that lasted till her return. J 
rambles, togeiher, by starlight, over the mountain ; 
our pauses, Iroin time to time to contemplate the 
I wonders of the bright heaven above us; our repose 
by 'he cistern of the r.ck. and or silent listening, 
through hours lhat seemed minute-, to Hi. 
quence of our teacher ;— all, all was h i| piness of Hie 
most heartfelt kind, and such as even he doubts, the 
cold lingering doubis. lhat still hung, like a mist, 
around my hear , could nei her ch ud nor chill. 

As soon as Ihe moonlight nights le'urnrd, we used 
to veuiure into the de-eit; and loose sa ,-. 
had lately looked so desol te, in my eves now as- 
sumed even a cheerful and smiling aspect To Ihe 
light, innocent heart of Alethe, every thing was a 
source of enjoyment. For her, even ihe i 
its jewels and Bowers; and, some in.es. her delight 
| was lo search among the sands fo 1 Ihose beautiful 
pebbles of jasper 9 lb t abound in them , — 

her eyes wuld sparkle with pie sure on 
perhaps, a stunted ma rig >e bi t.r, 

scarlet flowers,' that lend their dr\ mocker] 
meiil to the desert. In all these pursuits and plea- 



' See, for the cu-tom among the early ChrisHms of 
wearing while for a leu days after hap'i-m. .Imtrol 
de Mytt.— With respec t' lie ring, Hie Bi»h p of 
Lincoln siys. in his work on Tertullian, " Ihe 
na ural inference fmin these words (7erluii de Pudi- 
Ciliu) appears to be. hat a ring used to be give i in 
baptism ; bul 1 have f.und no other trace of such a 
cust'.m." 
j -l Vide Clarke. 

s '• l.es Mt^mbryanlhemum nodiflomm et Zyeo- 
thulium corctneum, plantes gra-ses~de- d 

ause de leur acrete, par les chamcaux, les 



phvllut 
jetee-, a 



sures the good Hermit took a share — mingling occa- 
sionally with them the reflections of a benevolent 
piety, that lent its own cheerful hue to all Ihe works 
of crea ion, aid saw the consoling truth, "God is 
Love." written legibly every where. 

Such was, lor a few weeks, my blissful life. Oh, 
mornings of hope, oh, nights of happiness, with 
what melancholy pleasure do 1 retrace >our flight, 
and how reluctantly pass to the sad events lhat fol- 
io wed! 

Luring this time, in compliance with Ihe wishes 
of Melanius, who seemed unwilling that 1 sh'.uid 
become wholly estranged fr.'in Ihe world, 1 u-ed 
occasionally to pay a visit to ihe neighbouring city, 
Anlinoe.i which, being the capital of Ihe Thebaid, 
is Ihe centre of all Ihe luxury of Upper Egypt. But 
here, so changed was my even teeiing by the all- 
absorbing passion which now possessed me that I 
sauntered along, wholly uninterested by ei her the 
^enes or the people that surrounded m'c, and, sigh- 
ing for thai rocky s lilude where my Alethe breathed, 
fell this to be the wilderness, and lhat Ihe woild. 

Even the thoughts of my own i alive Aihens, lhat at 
every s'tp were called up, by the light Grecian archi- 
tecture of this imperial city, did not awaken one 
single regret in my heart— one wish lo exchange even 
an hour of mi dtseit for Ihe best luxuries and honours 
thai awaited me in the Garden. 1 saw the a 
triumph ;— I walked under the superb |H>rlico. which 
encircles the whole ciiy with its marble shade; — I 
slo d in the Circus of the Sun, by whose rose-coloured 
pillars the mysterious movements of 'he Nile are 
measured ;— on all ihese pioud monuments of glory 
and art, as well as On the gay mul i:ude lhat enlivened 
them, I looked with an uirl.ee: 
awakened in me any thought, il was the mournful 
idea, thai, one da), iike I hebes and Hcln poli-, tins 
pageant would pass away, leaving nothing behind but 
a few mouldering iuius — like sea--lieils lound where 
Ihe ocean has been— to tell lhat the great tide of Life 
was once there ! 

But, though indifferent thus to all that had formerly 
attracted me. Hiere were subjects, once alia 
bean, na which it w s low most trembling 
and some rumours which had lean 

- to ihe city, of an expected change in Ihe 
'he Emperor lowards he I hristrans, filled 
my mind will apprehensions as new as they were 
dieadlul o me. 

./ration and even favour which the Chris- 
rsl fur years of 'he reign 
of Valerian, had removed Imm them all fear of a re- 
newal ot th se horr. rs, which hey had ei|x-rienccd 
under he rule of hs predeces>or, U-cius 
however, -one Irs- fnerdiv I ii.tfe-'ei 

I Hie court, taki- g alarm a' 
the rapid * fa'nh. had succeeded in 

filling he mi.d ot the monach with tha' 
n l.ich i- Ihe ever-ready parent of < 
injustice. Among 'hese com sell" ■ of c\. 
cnanus the I raetonan Pf ■ b rth. an 

Eg. pt, an, and had long n 

:i 'o intolerance— by hi- addic'ion to 
the dark | -ic. 

his minister, who was now high in the fa- 
vour 1 1 Valerian, the new d 
Ihe Christians were expected to ™ 
in all Quarters, were busy with the new-. In H.r 
streets, in Ihe public ga ; 
pits, I s i w, everywhere, err>u:'s of inquirer- 
and heard he man I 

ho sp .ke. the va ley of feeli g »i'l 
the rum ur was di-cu-sed. 
de ired i s troth ace rding a< Ibey were likf 
among be torturers or the victims. 

Chevres, et les gaxelltss."— Af. DeliU upon tht Plant* 
of Eeypt. 

* Vide !>uvary and Quatrcmtrt. 



THE EPICUREAN 



i03 



Alarmed, though still ignorant of the whole exlent 
of the danger, 1 hurried back to the ravine, and. going 
at once to the groito of Melanius, detailed to bini 
every particular of the intelligence I had collected. 
Me lis eued to me wiib a .composure, which I nn-took, 
alis ! for confidence in h;s own securi'y ; and, naming 
the hour for our evening walk, re.ired into his grotto. 

Ac (he a;cus omed time, accompanied by Ale he, he 
Came to iny cave. It was evident thai he hd not 
communicated to her the intelligence winch 1 had 
brought, lor never h.lh brow worn such happiness as 
that which now played around hers : — it was, alas ! 
not of this earth. Melanius, himself, though com- 
posed, was thoughtful ; and the solemnity, almost ap- 
pro idling to melancholy, with which he placed the 
hand of Alethe in mine — in the performance, too, of a 
ceremony that ought to have filled my heart wilb joy 
—saddened and al .rmed me. Tl is ceremony was our 
be;rotliment, ihe act of plightlLg our laith to each 
other, which we now solemnised on the rock before 
the door 01 my cave, in the face of that calm, sunset 
heaven, whose one star stood as our witness After a 
blessing from the Hermit upon our spousal pledge, I 
placed ihe ring — Ihe earuesi of our future union — on 
her buger ; and, in the biusn, with which she su ren- 
dered to me her whole heart al that instant, forgot 
everything but my happiness, and felt secure even 
against tale ! 

We took our accustomed walk, that evening, over 
the rocks and on ihe desert, bo bright was the moon 
— more like Ihe daylight, indeed, of other climes — 
that we could plainly see ihe tracks of the wild ante- 
lopes in the sand ; and it was not without a slight 
tremble of feeling in his voice, as if some melancholy 
analogy occurred to him as lie spoke, that the good 
Hermit said, "1 have observed in the course of my 
walks,' that wherever the track of that gentle animal 
appears, there i>, almost always, found the foot-print 
ot a brasl of prey near it." He regained, however, 
his usual cheeifuluess before we parted, and fined ihe 






mg < 



ug for an excursion, on the other side 



ot ihe ravine, to a point looking, he said, "towaids 
that northern region of the desert, where the hosts of 
the Lord encamped in their departure out of bondage. ' 
Though, when Alethe was present, all my fears 
even lor herself were forgotten in ihat perpetual ele- 
ment ot happiness, which encircled her like the air 
that she breathed, no sooner was I alone, than vague 
terrors and bodings crowded upon me. In vain did I 
endeavour :o leasou away my fears, by dwelling only 
<u the most cheering encumstances — on the reve- 
rence with which Melanius was regarded, even by 
the Pagans, and the inviolate security with which he 
had lued ihrough the most perilous periods, not only 
safe himself, but affording sanctuary in the depths of 
his giottos to others. Though somewhat calmed by 
these considerations, yet when at length 1 sunk oft' to 
sleep, d«ik, horrible dreams took possession of my 
mind. Scenes of deaih and of torment passed con- 
fusedly before me; and, when 1 awoke, it was wiih 
the (earful impression that all these horrors were 
real. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

At length, the day dawned — that dreadful day. 
Impa'ient to be relieved from my suspense, 1 threw 
myself into my boat— ihe same in which we had per- 
formed our happy voyage — and, as fast as oars could 
speed me, hurried away to the city. I found Ihe sub- 
urbs silent and solitary, but, as I approached the 
Forum, loud yells, like those of barbarians in combat, 
struck on my ear, and, when I entered it— great God, 
what a spectacle presented itself! The imperial edict 



» "Je remarquai, avec une reflexion triste, qu'un 
animal de proie ace mpagne presque toujours les pas 
ue ce jnli el frele individu." 



against the Christians had arrived during the night, 
and already the wild fury of bigotry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the Forum, was 
the tribunal of the Governor. Two statues — one of 
Apollo, the other of Osiris— stood at the bottom of the 
-teps that led up to his judgment-seat. Before these 
idols were shrines, to which the devoted Christians, 
were diagged from all quarters by the soldiers and | 
mob, and "there compelled to recant, by throwing in- j 
cense into ihe Same, or. on their refusal, hurried 
awav to torture and death. It was an appalling 
scene ; — the consternation, the cries of some of the 
victims — the pale, silent resolution of others ;— the 
fierce shouts of laughter that broke from the multi- 
tude, when the dropping of the frankincense on Ihe 
altar proclaimed some denier of Christ;* and the 
fiend-like triumph with which the courageous Con- 
fessors, w ho avowed their faith, were led away to Ihe 
fl .mes,— never could 1 have conceived such an assem- 
blage of horrors ! 

Though 1 gazed but for a few minutes, in those 
minute*""! felt and fancied enough for years. Already 
did Ihe form of Alethe appear to flit before me through 
that tumult; — I heard them shout her name ;— her 
shiiek fell on mvear; and the very thought so palsied 
me with terror, "that I stood fixed and sialue-like on 
Ihe spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful preciousness of 
every moment, and that — perhaps, at this very in- 
stant—some emissaries of blood might be on their way 
lo the Grotto-, I rushed wildly out of Ihe Forum, and 
made my way to the quay. 

The streeis were n.w crowded ; but I ran headlong 
through the multitude, and was already uuder the 
poriico leading down to the river— already saw the 
boat that was to bear me to Alethe— when a Centurion 
stood slemly in my path, and I was surrounded and 
arrested by soldiers ! It was in vain that I implored, 
that I struggled with them as for life, assuring them 
that 1 was'a stranger-that I was an Athenian— that 
I was — not a Christian. The precipitation of my 
flight was sufficient evidence against me, and unre- ) 
lentingly, and by force, they bore me away to the 
quarteis of their Chief. 

It was enough to drive me at once to madness! 
Two hours, two frightful hours, was I kept waiting ■ 
the arrival of the 1 nbune of their Legion 3— my brain 
burning with a thousand fears and imaginations, 
which every passing minuie made but more likely to 
be realized. All 1 could collect, too, from the con- 
versations of those around me but added lo the agonis- 
ing apprehensions with which 1 was racked. Troops, 
it was said, h.d been sent in all directions through the 
neighbourhood, to bring in the rebellious Christians, 
and make 'hem bow before Ihe Gods of the Empiie. 
With horror, loo, 1 heard of Orcus— Orcus, Hie H.gh 
Priest of Memphis— as one of the principal instiga- 
tors of this sanguinary edict, and as here present in 
Antinoe, animating and directing its execution. 

In this s'ate of torture I remained till the arrival of 
the Tribune. Absorbed in my own thoughts, I had 
not perceived his entrance; — till, hearing a voice, in 
a tone of friendly surprise, exclaim, "Alciphron !" I 
looked up, and in this legionary Chief recogni-ed a 
young Roman of rank, who had held a military com- 
mand, the year bef. re. at Athens, and was one of the 
most distinguished visiters of the Gaiden 1< was no 
lime, however, for courtesies: — he was proceeding 
with all cordiality to greet me, but, having heard him 
order my instant release, I could wait for no more. 



* " Those Christians who sacrificed to idoN to save 
themselves were c .lied by various names, Thurijkati, 
Saaificati, Mittentes, Negatores," &c. llaronius 
mentions a bishop of this period (253), Marcelliuus, 
who. vielding to the threats of the Gentiles, tlnew 
incense upou the al'ar. Vide Arnob. contra Gent. 
lib. vii. 

3 A rank, resembt.ng that of Colonel. 



504 



THE EPICUREAN. 



Acknowledging his kindness but by a grasp of the 
hand, 1 uw oft' like one fiantic, through the streets, 
and, in a few minutes, was on the liver. 

My sole hope h d been to reach 'he Grottos before 
any of the detached parties should arrive, and, by a 
I timely flight across the desert, rescue, at leas', Aleihe 
| fn:m their fuiy. The ill-f-led delay ti at had occurr-u ; 
1 rendered tins hope almost de-perale : but the rn quil 
lily 1 found everywhere -s I proceeded down he! 
river, ami my fo..d confi lence in the .-acre! 
Hermit's le real, kept my heart from sinking altoge- j 
ther under is terrois. 

Between the current and my oars, the boat flew,'; 
with the speed of wind. al ng the waters; and I was 
already ilea' the rocks of Hie ravine, when I saw, 
turningout of the canal into the river a barge crowded 
with people, and glit ering with r.rms '. How did I ; 
ever surv.ve the shock of tha' sight? 1 he oars 
as if struck out of my hand , into rhe water, 
and 1 sat, helplessly gazing, a. that lernfic vision 
approached. In a few mii.u'es, the current brought 
us together; — and i saw. on the deck of 'he barge, 
Alet he herself and the Hermit surroui.drd by soldiers ! 

We were already pas-ing each o her. when, wilh 
a desperate effort, I sprang Iron, my boat and lighted 
up n tlie edge ot their vessel I knew n t a I 
for despair was my only prompter. Sn .tchr g at the 
sword of one of the soldiers, 
edge, 1 haJ succeeded in wresting it out nf hi 
when, at the same ni-.inr. 

lance from one of Ins comrades, .mil Ml backward 
into the river. 1 can jus remember rising again and 
making a grasp ai ihe side of the ■ 
shock, and the famine-* In. in niy w - und. deprived 
me of all consciousness, and a shriek Fran Alethe, as 
1 sunk, is all I can reeillect of what followed. 

Would 1 h .d then died : — Vet, no. Almighty Being 
— I should have died in darkues>, and I have lived to 
know 1 hee ! 

On re utiiing to my set ses, I f >und myself reclined 
on a couch, in a splendid apartment, trie whole ai~ 
pearance of which being Grecian, I. I r a moment, 
forgot all that had passed, aid imagined mysi 
own home at Athens. Hut too soou the "hi 
ful certainty Mashed upon uie ; and, sarli. g wiidly — 
disabled as I was— from my cucli. I oiled loudly, 
and with 'he shriek of a maniac, upon Ale'he. 

1 was in the house. 1 then f and, of my friend and 
disciple, Ihe young Tribune, who had made Ihe Go 
vernor acquainted wi h m> Dame aid condition, and 
had received me under his roof, when hri ught, bleed- 
ing aud insensible to An'in e. From him I now 
learned at once— f r 1 could not wait for de'ails— the 
sum of all that had happened in that dreadful interval. 
Meanius was no more — Alethe still alive, but in 
prison ! 

" Take me to her" — I had but time to <ay — ''take 
me to her ins'ai. ly, and lei me die by h< r 

whe ature again fatlii g under such' shocks, I re- 1 

lap-ed into in-eusihility. In this sta'e 1 continutd for 
near an hour, and, on recovering, found the iribana 
bj my side. The horrors, he -a 
were, for that day, over — but what the morrow mighl 
bring, he shuddered to contemplate. His i a'u e, it 
was plan, revolted from the inhuman duties io which 
he was engaged. Touched by the agonies he saw me 
suffer, he, in some degree, re ieved them, by pro- 
nnsii g ttiat I should, it night fall, be conveyed to the 
prison, and, if possible, through his indue ce, gun 
access Io Alethe. Mie might yr', he added, be saved, 
could 1 succeed in persuad.ng her to comply with the 
terns of the edic', and make sacrifice to t! e Gods — 
"Otherwi-e," said he, ''there is no h |y? :— the vin- 
dic ive Orcus. who has resisted even Ihissh r 
of merry, will, to-moirow, inexorably demand his 
prev.' 

He then related to me, at my own rrques' — though 
everv word was or'ure— all the harrow ing de ails of 
the pr ceeding before the Tr bunal. "I h<ve -een 
] courage ." said he, " in its nolles' forms, in tlie held ; 
I but the calm intrepidity with which that aged Hermit 



endu'ed torments — which it was hardly less torment 
to witness— sur| assed all that I cou.d have conceived 
of human foif.tude !" 

My poor Aleihe, too — in describing to me her con- 
duct, the Lrave man wept like a child. Overwhelmed, 
he said, at first b> her apprehensions for my safe y. 
she had given way to a full burst of wom-hl. weak- 
ness. But no sooner was she bronzhl before he 1 n- 
bu.al. and the d.cUra ion of her faith was demanded 
Of her, than a spirit almost soperna u al i-eintd to 
animate her whole him. 'she raised he 
said he. ''tMlnily, hu' with fervour, in heaven, white 
a blush was the' rnly sign r.f mortal feel. ; 
featuies ;— and the clear, sweet, and untiembling 
voice, with which she | renounced her own . 

. -1 am a Christian!" sent a thrill of ad- 
miration and pry throughout the multitude. Her 
: a cry of 
• Save the young maiden " was beard in all d n 

The in • eier, would not hear of 

mercy. Ke e t n», a- it appeared, with all his dead- 
nl) her own escape fp in hi- toils, 
bu! the aid wj h which she had. so fa ally to his 
views, a-si-ted mine, he demanded loudly arid in the 
name of he i -ulttd sai 
rjra li. It was but by the h in it 

- general s\ inpall 

( retell for saving 
her. 

Even in yielding, w ; th evident reluctance, to this 
respite, Ihe inhuman Pne-t woud yet acc> 

plra ure (i b-rrved the Tr 'mockery 

with his eruel'y, or as a warning In her of 'he do m 

he cave orders that there 
should I 
c ra .* u 

1 a raj Ihen.selvi I heir nur- 

tyidom ; — ••and, thus fearfully adorned," sa>d he, 
•-le was led away, amidst ihe gaze of Ihe 

With these hanow iug de'ails 'he short interval till 
nightf dl — every mine e ol w Inch s— :oed au age — 
wasicvi: • il grew ds'k. I was placed 

upon a liter — my woun 
qu ring suit, a conveyaaci - 
i I ni\ I-. 

t with thegu rd. we were without difficulty 
adiintiid.ani I wa- Urne into the c 
miiden I y inimu ed Even the veteran gua'dian of 
the place seemed tauched with cmpa-sion for his 
I ris ner. and n ppaeng her to Le asleep, bad the litter 
her. 
cining, with her face hid beneath 
her hands, upon a couch — a' the foot of which stood 
an idol, over whose hideous features a lau.; 
tha, that hung from the 

gbastlj glare. I'll a tahle before 'he image stood a 
Ith a small vessel of incense beside it — one 
grim of which, thrown volun'ar. 

so fearful was the whole - • 

c : can it, 
I thought, be thou that 1 

ly, and with difficulty, raised her 
head from the c-iich. on . he kind 

t. Tlnrre 
B over her fea ■ 
those eyes, which, when las! 1 sav 



• The merit of the confession " Christ i 

- VI}. 

a Dae '• de ces couronnes de grain de corail. dont 
les vierze* mariyres ortiOieii' leurs cheveuz eo ai.anl 
a la mort." — La Martyrs. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



505 



too bright, loo lappy for I his world, looked dim and 
sunken In raising herself up, she pur her hand, as 
iffiom pain, lo her lOrehead, whose marble ln,e bul 
appeared more Jeath-like from those led bands thai 
lay so awfully across ii. 

Afier wandering for a minute vaguely, her eyes at 
length rested upon me — and, with a shriek, halt ter- 
ror, half juy, she sprung fivm rhe coi.ch, and sunk 
upon her knees by mj side. She iud believed me 
dead j and, even now, scarcely trusted her senses. 
"My husbmd! my love!'' she exclaimed; "oh, if 
thou comes! to call me from this world, behold 1 am 
ready!" In saying thus, she pointed wildly lo that 
ominous wreath, and then dropped her head down 
upon my knee, as if an arrow had fieiced il. 

''Alethe!'' 1 ciied — ten ified to I tie very soul by 
that myserious pang — and, as if the aound of my voice 
hud re-anima ed her, she looked up, with a faro 
smile, in my face. Her thoughts, which had evidently 
been wandering, became collected ; and in her joy at 
my -afely, her sorrow at my Battering, she forgot en- 
tirely the fate that impended over herself. Love, 
innocent love, alone Occupied all her thoughts; and 
the warmth, the affection, the devotednes-, with 
which she spoke — oh how, at any other moment. 1 
would have blessed, have lingeied upon every word ! 

But the time flea fast — that dreadful morrow was 
approaching. Already I saw her writhing in the 
hands of the torturer — the flames, the rack>, the 
wheels were before my eyes ! Half frantic with the 
fear that her resolution was fixed, 1 flung myself from 
the litter in an agony of weeping and supplicated he', 
by the love she bore me, by he happiness hat awaited 
us, by her own merciful God, who was too good lo 
require such a sacrifice— by all thai ihe most passion- 
ate anxiety could die ale, 1 implored that she would 
avert from us the doom that was Coming, and— but for 
once — comply with the vain ceiemoiiy demanded of 
her. 

Shrinking from me, as I spoke — but with a look 
more of sorrow than reproach — •' What, lliu, too !" 
she said mournfulh — "thou, into wh >-e inmost spirit 
1 had fondly hoped the same light had entered as into 
my own! No. never be thou leagued with them 
who would tempt me to ' make shipwreck of my 
faith!' Thou, who could-t alone bind me to life, use 
not, I entreat thee, thy power ; but let me die, as He 
I serve hath commanded— die for the Truth Remem- 
ber the holy lessons we heard together on those nights, 
those happy nights, when both the present and future 
smiled upon us — when even ihe gift of eternal life 
came more welcome to my soul, from ihe glad convic- 
tion that thou werl to he a sharer in its blessings ;— 
shall 1 forfeit now tha' divine privilege? -hall fdeny 
Ihe true God, whom we then le trued to love? 

" No. my own betrothed," she continued— pointing 
to the two rings on hei finger-'' behold ihese pledges 
— they are both sacred. I should have been as true 
to thee as I am now o heaven,— nor in that life lo 
which 1 am hastening shall our love be forgotten. 
Should the baptism of fire, through winch I shall pass 
to-morrow, mike me wor hy to he heaid before the 
throne of Grace. I will intercede for thy soul — 1 will 
pray that it m y yet share with mine that 'inherit- 
ance, immortal and undefiled,' which Mercy "fl'ers, 
and that thou — and my dear mother — and I " 

She here dropped her voice; the momeiilaty ani- 
mation, with which devotion and affection rnd in- 
spired her, vanished; — and there came a darkne-s 
over all her features, a livid darkness — like the ap- 
proach of deaih — that made me shudder through every 



limb. Seizing my hand convulsively, and looking at 
me with a feailul ea gen ess, as if anxious to hear 
some consoling assurance from my own lips — " Be- 
lieve me,' she continued, "not all the lormen's they 
are preparing for me — not even this deep, burning 
pain ill my brow, to which ihey will hardly find an 
equal— could he half so dreadful to me, as the thought 
that I leave thee, wilhnu " 

Here her voice again failed; her head sunk upon 
my arm, and — merciful God, let me forge 1 what 1 
then felt— I saw that she w..s d)ing! Whether 1 
utlered any cry, I know not ;— but the Tribune cime 
tushing into my chamber, and, looking on the maiden, 
said, with a lace full of horror, '■ It isbut too true !" 

He then told me in a low voice, whal he Ind just 
learned from Ihe guardian of the prison, that the band 
round the young Christian's brow i was— oh horrible ! 
—a compound of the most deadly poison— Ihe hellish 
invention of Orcus, to satiate his vengeance, and make 
the fale of his poor victim secure. My first move- 
ment was lo unlie 'hat fatal wreath— but it would not 
come away — il would not come away ! 

Roused by Ihe pain, she again looked in my face; 
bul, unable lo speak, look hastily from her bosom Ihe 
small silver cross which she had brought with her 
from my cave. Having pressed it to her own lips, 
she held it anxiously lo mine, and seeing me kis- ihe 
holy symbol with fervour, looked happy and smiled. 
The agony of deal h seemed to hive passed away ; — 
there came suddenly over her features a heavenly 
light, some share of which 1 fell descending into my 
oi.n soul, and, in a few uiinuies more, she expired in 
my arms. 

Here ends the Manuscript ; but, on the outer cover 
is found, in the handwriting of a much later 
period, the following Notice, extracted, as it ap- 
pears, from some Egyptian martyrolugy : — 

"Alciphron— an Epicurean philosopher, converted 
to Christianity A I). 257, by a young Egyptian mai- 
den, who smiertd ion yrdom in ih.it year. Imme- 
diately upon her dealh he betook himself to the Je.-erl, 
and lived a life, it is said, of much holiness and peni- 
tence. During the persecution under Di clesian, his 
sufferings for the faith were most exempla y ; and 
tieing a' length, at an advanced age, condemned to 
hard labour, for relusing to comply with an Impe.ial 
edict, he died at the Brass Mines of talesiine, A. 1). 
297.— 

■'As Alciphron held the opinions maintained since 
by Arius. his memory his not been spired by Athana- 
-i.iii writers, who, among nther charges, accuse him 
of having been addicted tii the superstition* of Egypt. 
For this calumny, however, 'here appears t> be no 
beiler foundation than a circumstance, recorded by- 
one of his biother monks, that Ihete «as found, aler 
hi de.th, a small metal miiror, like those used iu Ihe 
ceremonies of lsis, suspended around his neck." 



• We find poisoned crowns mentioned by Pliny, 
under the de-igna ion of •• corona? ft-rales." Paxclta- 
tins. too. gives Ihe following account of these " deadly- 
garland-, " as he calls them : — " Sed miiumesl am 
■■alulare inven urn humaniin nequiliam reperisse, 
quomodo ad nefarios u-us iraducent. Nenq.e, re- 
per'ae sunt nefanda? coronas haium, quas dixi, lam 
salubrium per nnnien quidem et speciem imiatrices, 
at re et etlectu fe rales, atque adeo capitis, cui iuipo- 
nuntur, iuterfectrices." — Be, L'oronis. 



43 



506 



ALCIPHRON. 



ALCIPHRON: A FRAGMENT 



LETTER I. 

FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO 

CLEON AT ATHENS. 

Well may you wonder at my flight 

From those fair Gaidens, in whose bower* 
Lingers wbate'er of wise and blight, 
Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light. 

Is left 10 grace this world of ours. 
Well may my comrades, as they roam, 

On such sweet eves as this, inquire 
Why I have left that ha| pv home 

Where all is found that all desire, 

And Time hath wings that never tire ; 
Where bliss, in all the countless shades 

That Fancy's self In bliss hath given. 
Comes clustering round, like road-side grapes 

That woo the traveller's lip, at even; 
Where Wisdom flings not j-y away — 
As Pallas in the stream, they say, 
Once fiung-her flute — but smiling owns 
That woman's lip can send forth tones 
Worth all the music of those spheres 
So many dream of, but none hears; 
Where Virtue's self puis on so well 

Her sister Pleasure's smile that, loth 
From either nymph arart to dwell, 

We finish by embracing both. 
Yes, such the place of bliss, I own. 
From all whose charms 1 just have flovo 
Are! ev'n while thus to thee t »nte, 

Aud by the Nile's dark flood recline, 
Foadl7 ( in thought, I wing m) 
Back io those groves and gardens bright. 
And often think, by this sweet light, 

lit* kwelily they all must shine 
Can see that graceful temple throw 

Down the green si pe its lengthen'd shade. 
While, ou the marble step- below. 

There sits some fair Allien. an maid. 
Over some favourite volume bcodiug ; 

And, by her side, a youthful s .ge 
HcMa bark the ringlets that, descending, 

Would else r'ershadow all the page. 
But heme such thoughts ! — uor lei me grieve 
O'er scenes of joy that I but leave. 
As the bird quits awhile its nest 
To come agaiu with livelier Zest. 
And now to tell thee — what I fear 
Thou 'It gravely smile at — may I "m here. 
Though through my life's short, sunuy dream, 

1 've floated without pain or care. 
Like a light leaf, dowu pleasure's stream. 

Caught in each spirkhng eddy there; 
Though never Mirth awaked a strain 
That my heart e- hoed not again : 
Yet have I fell, when ev'n most gay, 

S.ul thoughts — I knew not whence or why — 

Suddenly e'er my spirit fly, 
Like clouds, that, ere we 've time to say 

" How bright the «ky it :" shade the sky. 
Sometimes so vague, so uoderin'd 
Were these strange d irk'nmgs of my mind — 
While nought but joy around me beam'd 

So causelessly thev 've come and down, 
That not of life or earth they see m'd. 

But shadows from some world unknown. 
More oft, however, 'I was Ihe thought 
i hat scene, with all its play 

Of life and gladness must decay — 
Those lips I prest. the hand" I caught — 
Myself— the crowd that mirth had brought 

Around me— swept like *ceds away ! 
This thought it was that came to shed 

(l';r rsiture's hour its worst alloys; 
And. close as shade with sun«hiue, wed 

Ha sadneas with my bap ■< - 
Oh, but for this dishearfum,- 

Stealing amid our mirth hi say 
That all in which we m •■»! rej .ire, 

Ere night may be the earih-worm'a prey 
Bur for this bitter— only this — 
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 



And capable as feels my annl 
Of draining to its dregs the whole, 
I should turn earth to heav'n, and be. 
If bliss made Gods, a Deity ! 

Thou know'st that night — the very last 
That 'mriDg my Garden friends I pass'd — 
When Ihe School held its fcsst of mirth 
To celebrate our founder's b ilh. 
Aud all that He in dreams but saw 

When he set Pleasure on the throne 
Of this bright world, and wrote her law 

In human hearts, was felt aud known — 
A"ot in unreal dreams, but true. 
Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew — 
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt 
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt. 

That night, when all onr mirth was o'er, 

The minstrels silent, and the feet 
Of the young maidens heard no more — 

So stilly was the time, so sweet. 
And such a cairn came o'er that scene, 
Where life and revel late had been — 
Lone as the quiet of seme bay, 
From w hich Ibe sea hath ebb'd away — 
That still I linger'd. lost in thought. 

Gazing upon the stars of night, 
Sad and intent, as if I sought 

Some mournful secret in their light; 
And ask'd them, mid that silence, why 
Man, glorious man. alone must die. 
While i hey, Irs- wonderful than he. 
Shine on through all eternity. 
That night — thon haply may'st forget 

Its loveliness — but 'twas a night 
To make earth's meanest slave rrg.-et 

Leaving a world so soft and bright. 
On one side, in Ihe dark blue siy, 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jove hims-ir. while, on Ihe other, 

'Mong stars lhat came out one by one. 
The young moon — like Ibe Romao mother 

Among jier living jewel*— shone. 
"Oh that from youder orbs,'' 1 thought 

" Pure and eternal aa Ibey are, 
"There could Io earth some power be brought, 
"Some charm, with their own essence fraught, 

"To make man death Irs* as a star, 
"And open to hia vast d-sin-s 

•' A course, as boundless and sublime 



While thoughts like these absorb'd my mind. 

That weanness which earthly bliss. 
However sweet, still leaves behind. 

As if Io show how eaithly 't is. 
Came lulling o'er me, and I laid 

My limbs at lhat fair statue's base- 
That miracle, which Art hath made 

Of all the choice of Naiure's grace — 
To which so oft I've knelt an ' 

That, coukl a living maid like her 
Onto this wondering world be horn, 

I would, myself, turu worsl.irper. 

Sleep came then o'er me — and I seem'd 

To be transported far away 
To a bleak desert plain, where gleam 'd 

Onr single, melancholy ray. 
Throughout that darkness dimly shed 

From a small taper in the band 
Of one, who, pale as are Ibe dead. 

Before me took his spectial stand. 
And said, while, awfully a smile 

Cime o'er the wanness of r.is cheek — 
"Go, and. beside the sacred B 

" You 'II find th' Eternal Life yoo seek," 
Soon as be spoke these words, the bne 
Of d-ath o'er all bis features grew 
Like the pale morning, when o'er night 

he viclorv, full of light; 
Wh le the small torch he held became 
A glory in hia band, whose flame 



ALCIPHRON. 



507 



Brighten'd the desert suddenly, 

Along whose level I could fee 

Gardens and proves, thai seem'd to shine, 
As if then o'er thern freshly play'd 
A vernal raiuhow's rich cascade; 
And music floated everywhere, 
Circling, as 'twcie it-ell the air, 
And spirits, on whose wings the hue 
Of heav'n still lingcr'd, lO'.ind me llew. 
Till from all Sides such spl. ndours broke, 
Tliut with the execs- of light I woke ! 
Such was my dream —and, I confess, 

Though none of uh onr creedless school 
E'er conn'd, believ'd, or revercue'd less 

The fables of the priest-led fool, 
Who tells us of a soul, a mind, 
Separate and puie, within us shrin'd, 
Which is to live — ah, h pe too bright ! — 
For ever in yon fieds of I gbt ; 
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes 

Of Gods are on him — as if, blest 
And blooming in their own blue skies, 
Th' denial Gods were not too wise 

To let weak mini disturb their rest '. — 
Though thinking of such creeds as thou 

And all our Garden -ages think, 
Yet is there something, 1 allow, 

Iu dieains like this — a sort of link 
With worlds unseen, wh ch, from Hie hour 

1 first co. .Id lisp my thoughts till now, 
Halh masitr'd me with spell-like power. 
And who can tell, as we 're enmbin'd 
Of various atoms — some refin'd, 
Like those that scintillate and play 
In the fix'd siars — some, gioss as they 
That trown in clouds or sleep in clay — 
Who can be sure, but 't is the best 

And brightest atoms of our frnrae, 

Those most akin to siellar flame, 
That shine out thus, when we 're at rest ; — 
Kv'n as the sin's themselves, whose light 
Comes out hut in the silent night. 
Or is it that there lurks, indeed, 
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed, 
And ihnt our Guardians, from on high, 

Come, in that pause from toil and sin, 
To put the senses* curtain by. 

And ou the wakeful soul look in ! 
Vain thought '.— but yet, howe'er it be, 
Dieanis, rnoie than once, have prov'd to me 
Oracle*, truer far than Oak, 
Or Dove, or Tripod ever spoke. 
Ami 't was the words — thou 'It hear and smile — 

The words that phantom seem'd to speak — 
" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 

'• You 'II find the Eteinal Life you seek—" 
That, haunting me by night, by day, 

At lengih, us with the unseen band 
Of Fate itself, urg'd me away 

From Athens to this Holy Land: 
Where, 'mong the secrets, still untaught, 

The myst'ries that, as yet, nor sun 
Nor eye hath reach'd — oh, blessed thought ! — 

May sleep this everlasting one. 
Farewell — when to onr Garden friends 
Thou talk'st of the wild dr. am that scuds 
The gayest of their school thus far, 
Wandering beneath Cauopus' star, 
Tell them that, warmer where he will, 

Or, IrowKoe'er (hey now condemn 
His vaeue and vain pursuit, he still 

Is worihy of the School and them ;— 
Still, all their own — nor e'er forgets, 

k'v'n while his heart and soul pursue 
Th' Eternal Light which never sets. 

The many meteor j ya that do. 
But seeks them, ha Is tliem with delight 
Where'er I h< y meet his lone r,g sight. 
And if his life must wane away, 
Like other lives, at least the iluy, 
The hour it lasts shall, like a lire 
With incense fed, in sweets expire. 



LETTER II. 
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Memphi. 



Are all o gotten in the new delights, 

The srange wild joys that fill my days and nights. 

Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak 

From subterranean temples, those J seek 

Come fiom the breathing shiiues where Beauty lives, 

And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives. 

Instead of honour ng Isis in those rites 

At Coptos held, 1 hail her. when she lights 

Herfiist young crescent on the holy stream — 

When wandeiing youths and maidens walch her beam 

And number o'er the nights she hath to run, 

Ere >hc auain embace hi r bridi groom sun. 

Wbilt o'er some rny-tic leaf, that dimly lends 

A clue into past times, the student heri.ls, 

Ana by it> glimmering gi idance harus to tread 

Back through the shadowy knowledge of the dead — 

The only skill alas. I yet can claim 

Lies in deciphering some new lov'd-ne's name — 

Some gentle missive, hinting time arm place, 

In language, soft as Meuruhian reed can trace. 

And where — oh where 's the heart that could withstand 

Th' ulinumber'd witcheries of this sun-born land, 

Where first yi ung Pleasure's banner was uufuil'd, 

And Love hath temples ancient as the wo Id I 

Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn, 

Hid<-s but to win, and shades hut to adorn; 

Where thai luxurious melancholy, born 

Of passion ai'd of genius, sheds a gloom 

Making J y holy;— wh- re the bx.wi rand tomb 

i-tmid s de by side, and Pleasure leams from Death 

The instant value of each moment's breath. 

Couldsl thou but see how like n poet's dream 

This lovely land now looks! — the glorious stream, 

That lite, between its banks, was seen to glide 

•Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side 

Glittering like jewels strung alous a chain, 

Hath n w sent forth its warers, anil o'er plain 

And valley, like a giant from his bed 

Rising with nutstretch'd limbs, hath grandly spread. 

While far as s git ran reach, beneath as clear 

And blue a heav'n a- ever bless'd our sphere, 

Gaulens. and pillar'd streets. and porphyry domes. 

And high-built temples, fit to be the homes 

Of migbiy Gods, and pyiamids, whose hour 

Outlasts all time, above the waters tower! 

Then, loo, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make 

One Iheatre of (his vast, peopled Juke, 

Where all that l-ove, Religion, Commerce gives 

Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 

Here, up the steps of temples from the wave 

Ascending, in proiession slow and grave. 

Priests in white garment-go, with sacred wands 

Aud silver cymbals gleaming in their hands : 

While, there, rich harks— fresh from these sunny tracts 

Far off, beyond the soi ruling cataracts — 

Glide Willi their precious liding to the sea, 

l'liimes or bight birds, rhinoceros ivory, 

Gems rrom the Isle of Mcne, and those grains 

Or gold, w.ish'd down by Abyssinian rains. 

Here, where the waters wind into a bay 

Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way 

To Saisor Bubastus, among beds 

Of lotus-flowers, ihat close i bove their heads. 

Push their light harks, and there, as in a bower, 

Sing, talk, or sleep away Ihe sultry hour ; 

Oil dipping ill the Nile, when faint wiih heat. 

That leaf frrn which its waters drir.k must sweet— 

While haply, not far off, her eath a bank 

Of blo-soining acacias, many a prank 

Is play'd ui Ihe co. I current by a train 

or laughing nymphs, lovely as sl;e,l whose chain 

Around two conqueror- of the world was cast. 

But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 

For oh, believe not them, who dare to brand. 

As poor in charms, the women of this land. 

Though d n ken', I by thai sun, whose spirit flows 

Through every vein, and tinges as it goes, 

•T is but th' embrowning of il.e fruit that tells 

How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells — 

The hue their own da k sanctuaries wear, 

Announcing heav'n in half-caught glimpses there. 

And never yet did tell-tale looks set free 

The secret of young hearts more tenderly. 

Such eyes ' — long, shadowy, with that languid fall 

Of the fring'd lids, which muy be seen in ail 

Who live beneaih the sun's too ardent rays — 

Lending surh looks as, on their marriage days 

Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze! 

1 Clecpalra. 



508 



ALCIPHRON. 



Then for their jrace — mark but the nymph-like shapes 

Of the young vllage girls, when cairviug grapes 

From green Anlhylia. or iight urns of Bov-ers — 

Not cur own Sculpture, in her happiest hours, 

E'er iraag'd forth, even at the toucb of him 1 

Whose touch was life, nrnre luxury of limb ! 

Then, canst thou wonder if, mid scenes like these, 

t should forget all graver my-teries, 

All lore hut Love's, all secrets but that best 

In heav'n or earth, the art of being blest ! 

Yet are there times— though br.c , I »»n, their stay. 

Like summer clouds that shine themselves away — 

Moinenis of gloom, when even thee.- pleasures pall 

Upon my sadd'ning heart, ar,d I reiall 

That Garden dream— that promise c.f a power. 

Oh, were there such 1 — tu lengthen out life's hour, 

On, on, as through a vi-ia, far away 

Opening before us into cuoles- day ! 

And chiefiy o'er my spirit did this thought 

Come on lhat evening— bright as ever brought 

Light's golden fare w el. to the wo Id — when tirst 

Th' eternal pyramid-, of Memphis burst 

Awful. y on my sigh: --standing sublime 

'Twill t-arlh and heav'n, the watih-l.mers of Time, 

From who>e lone summit, worn bis reign bath past 

From earth for ever, he will look his last ! 

There hung a ralm ai d solemn sunshine round 

Those mighty monnmi nts, a hushing sound 

In the st li air that circled them, which stole 

Like music of i a.-l times into my -out. 

I Ihiught what myriads of the wise and brave 

And hcaulilul had sunk in'o U 

Since earth first saw these wooden — and I said 

I ■ eternal only for I I • 
" Hath Man no lofiier bi pe than tl is, which dooms 
•• Mis only butting tr.ipl 

"Hut 'In not so — earth, heaven, all nature shows 
'' He may Deci me immortal— mmy i 
"The wings within him wrapt, and proudly rise 
" Redeem'd from earth, a creature of the skies ! 
"And who can say, among the written spells 
" From Hermes' shriue. and cells 

" Have, from ihe Fi< od, lay hid, there may not be 

ret clue to immortality. 
•• S.une amulet, who c spell can keep life's fire 

" Awake within US, i 

" 'T is known that, i u the Kmera'd Table" hid 
" For ages in yon loftiest py amid. 
"The '1 hi ire-Great 3 d d himself, engrave, of old, 
a> 1'he rhymic mystery that eives eudtess gold. 
"And why may not this mightier set rel dwell 
" Wiihin the same dark chambers I who can tell 
"But that those kings, woo. by ihe written skill 
"Of th' Emerald Table, call'.l forth gold at will, 
•* And quarries up* n quarries hesp'd an 
"To build them domes lhat misht outst.iud the work! — 
« Who knows but thai the heav. nlier a't, which shares 
• The life of Gods with man, was also theirs — 
•' That they thcm-elv.s, triumphant o'er the power 
"Of fate and death, ..re living at this hour ; 
'• And these, ihe giact homes they still possess 
" Not tombs, but evrrla-tmg palaces, 
" Within whose depths hid from the world ab'-ve, 
•■ Even Bow they wander, with Ihe few ih.-y love, 
"Through subterranean gardens, by a liehl 
" Unknown on esrih. which hath nor dawu nor night! 
why those death less structures? why ihe grand 
" And hidden bails, that undermine His land ? 
« Why else hath none of eailh e'er dared to go 
"Through the dark windings of lhat reaim twlow, 
•• Nor aught from heav'n iisel', ex.. f t the God 
"t)l S.lence, through those endless labyrinths trod ?" 
Thus did I dream — wild, wandei 



Hut i 



Or in that pause 'twin! Joy and joy I he. 
Like a ship hush'd between two waves at sea. 
I*hea do th.se »p rit whisperings, iike the sound 
Of lbs) Dark Future, come apnaHin; round; 
Nor ran I break the triune thai hods me ihen. 
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge 1 mount again! 
Ev'u now for new adventure, new delight. 
My heart is on the wing;— this very n ght. 
The Temple oc that island, half way o'er 
From Memphis' gardens to the i-asurn shore. 
Bends up its annual rile 4 lo her. wb ■>•<■ be irns 
Bring the sweel time of nig t-floweis and dreams; 

1 Apelles. 3 See Notes on the Epicurean. 

3 The Herm>sTrismegistus. 

i The great Festival of the Moon. 



The nymph, who dip? her urn in silent lakes. 

And turns to silveiy dew each drop it lakes;— 

Oh. not our Diau of the North, who ch«ins 

In vesial ire the current of *oi 

But she who haunis the gay Buhasiian 5 grove, 

And iiwiis she sec*, fr m her bright heav'n above. 

Nothing on earth to mr.teh that heav'n but Love. 

Think then, what bliss will be abioad t - 

Beside tho-e spaklir.g nymphs, who meet the sight 

Day after day, lamiliar as the sun. 

Coy buds of b-au'y, yet unbrca'h'd uron. 

Aid all the hidden loveliness, lhat lies.— 

as are Ihe beams of sleeping eyes, 
■Wiihin these twilight shrines— t.e-mghl shall be 
Let loose, like birds, for this festivity! 
And mark, 'I is nigh : already the sun bids 
His ev.ning farewell to the Pj 
As he hath done, age after age. till they 

!h seem ancient as I is ray ; 
While their gre I shadows, stretching from the light. 
Look like the fir- f jhl. 

Stretching acro-u the valley, to invade 
The distant hills of porphyry with their shade. 
Around, as signals oi ihe selling beam, 

n eveiy house-t. p gleam : 
While, hark! — from allthe temples a rich swell 
Of muvc to the moon — farewell — CarewelL 



LETTER III. 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

There is some star — or it may be ear*** 

That m . iasi night — 

Whi.h comes athwart my , 
For ever, with misLadu l 



And calm I feel, there quirk doth fall 
A spark from some dis urb-lig eyes. 
That through my heart, an I, being flies 

And makes a wildfire of it all. 
I 've seen — oh. Lie c. ih. t this earth 
Should e'er have giv'n such beauty birth ! — 
That man — but. bold — hear all tbat paas'd 
Since y-«ter-nigl.t, from first to last. 
The rising of the Moon, ralm. slow. 



That never yet hart Naiuie b. en 

■ r rav, 
Or riv.il' 

With puier show of m-oulight grace 
Memf his — still grand. Iho, gh not the sam 

l'n rival I'd I kl seite 

i. of Fame, 

And wear it brirht 
Wow, in the moonshine, that .ame down 
Like a last smile 



In the red sands, from Libya roll'd, 
Some mig't 

That stood in kiieiy roorls. of old — 
It seem'd as, mid the penes* 
Thus gaily round him. Time 

i all. ii. ■» bright and b!e-l. 
Should sink beneath bim like the rest. 

- al liv b-gun, 
Aud. mi.: ■ ■imj, 

The t*y| 

mr boat 

Through leafy palms and sy. amorcs. 



Of pilgri 



5 B ibastis, or bsss, was the Diana of the Egypl.aa say- 



ALCIPHRON. 



509 



While, far around, like ruby sparks 

"Jjon the water, lighted ba.ks. 

Of every form and kind — from those 

That down Syene's cataract shoots, 
To the giand, glided baigc, that rows 

To tambour's beat and breath ot flutes, 
And wears at night, in words of flame, 
On the rich prow, its master's name; — 
All were alive, and tnude this sea 

Of cities busy as a hill 
Of summer an Is, caught suddenly 

In the overflowing of a rill. 
Landed upon the isle, I soon 

Through marble alleys and small groves 

Reach'd the fair Temple of the Moon; 
And there —us slowly through the last 
Dim-liglicd vestibule 1 pass'd — 
Between the psr| liyiy pillars, twin'd 

With palm and ivy, 1 could see 
A band of youthful maidens wind. 

In measur'd walk, half dancingly, 
Round a small shrine, on which was plac'd 

That bird,l whose plumes of black and white 
Wear in their hue, by Nature trac'd, 

A type of the moon's shadow'd light. 
In drapery, like woven snow. 
These nymphs were clad ; and each, below 
The rounded b>oin, loosely wore 

A dark blue zone, or bandelet, 
With little silver stars all o'er, 

As are the skies at midnight, set. 
While in their tresses, braided through, 

Sparkled that flower of Egypt's lakes, 
The silvery lotus, in whose hue 

As much delight the young Moon takes, 
As doth the Day-Hod to behold 
The lofty bean-flower's buds of gold. 
And, as they gracefully went round 

The worshipp'd bird, some to the beat 



Of 



els, 



the: 



ind 



Of the shrill sistrum tim'd their feet; 
While others, at each step they took, 
A tinkling chain of silver shook. 
They seem'd all fair — but there was one 
On whom the light had not yet shone, 
Or shone but partly — so downcast 
She held her brow, as slow she pass'd. 
And yet to me, there seem'd to dwell 
A charm about that unseen face — 
A something, in the shade that fell 
Over that brow's imagin'd grace. 
Which won me more than all the beet 
Outshining beauties of the rest. 
And her alone my eyes could see, 
Enchaiu'd by this sweet mystery: 
And her alone I watch 'd, as round 
She glided o'er thai ma bie ground, 
Slirriug not more th* unconscious air 
Than if a Spirit were moving there. 
Till suddenly, wide open flew 
The Temple's fold. tig gates, and threw 
A splendour from within, a flood 
Of glory where these maidens stood. 
While, with that light — as if the same 
Rich source gave birth to both — there cam« 
A swell of harmony, as grand 
As e'er was born of voice and hand, 
Killing the gorgeous aisles around 
With luxury of light and sound. 
Then was it, by the flash that blaz'd 

Full o'er her features -oh 't was ,'hen. 
As startingly her eyes she rais'd, 

But quick let fall their lids again, 
I saw— not Psyche's self, when first 

Upon the threshold of the skies 
Shepaus'd, while heaven's glory burst 

Newly upon her downcast eyes, 
Could look more beautiful or blush 

With holier shame than did this maid, 
Whom now I saw, in all that gush 

Of splendour from the aisles, d'splay'd. 
Never — tho' well thou knnw'st how much 

I 've felt the sway of Beauty's star — 
Never did her bright influence touch 

My soul into its depths so far; 
And had that vision linger'd there- 
One minute more, I shou'd have flown, 
Forgetful who I was and where, 



And, at her feet in worship thrown, 
Profler'd my soul through life her own. 
But, scarcely had that burst of light 
And music broke cu ear and sight, 
Thau up the aisle thi bird took wing, 

As if on heavenly mission sent. 
While alter him, with graceful spring, 
Like some unearthly creatures, meant 
To live in that mix'd element 
Of light and song, the young maids went; 
And she, wlio in my heart had thrown 
A spark to burn for life, was Mown. 
In vain I tried to follow ;— bands 
Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle : 
• ught to past 



Mo 



lile 



Of 



Of 



and 



Full of its new-born fire — 1 stood, 

Nor mov'd, nor breath'd, but when I caught 

A gdmpse of some blue, spangled zone, 
Or wreath of lulus, which, I thought, 

Like those she wore at distance shone. 
But no, 't was vain — hour after hour. 

Till my heait's throbbing turn'd to pain 
And my strain'd eyesight lost its power, 

I sought her thus, but all in vain. 
At length, hot — wilder'd — in despair, 
I rush'd into the cool night-air, 
And hurrying (though with many a look 
Back to the busy Temple) took 
My way along the moonlight shore, 
And sprung into my boat once more. 
There is a Lake, that to the north 
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth. 
Upon wh„se silent shore the Dead 

Have a proud City of their owu,2 
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread — 
Where many an ancient kingly head 

Slumbe.9; immor'.alis'd ill stone; 
And where, through marble grots beneath, 

The liteless, rang'd like sacred things, 
JNor wanting aught of life but breath, 

Lie in their painted coverings. 
And on each new successive race, 

Th,t visit their dm haunts below 
Look with the same unwithering face, 
They wore three thousand years ago. 
There, Silence, thoughtful God. who lovei 
The neighbourhood of death, in groves 
Of asphodel lies hid, and weaves 
His hushing spell among the leaves — 
Nor ever noise disturbs the air, 

Save the low, humming, mournful sound 
Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer 

For the fresh Dead entomb'd around. 
•T was tow'rd this place of death — in mood 

Made up of thoughts, half bright, half dark — 
I now across the shining flood 

Unconscious turn'd my light-wing'd bark. 
The form of that young maid, in all 

Its beauty, was before me still ; 
And oft I thought, it thu to call 
Her image to my mind at will, 
If but the memory of that one 
Bright look of hers, for ever gone, 
Was to my heart worth all the rest 
Of woman kind, beheld, possest — 
What would it he, if wholly mine, 
Within these arms, as in a shrine, 
Hallow'd by L- ve, I saw her shine — 
An idol, woishipp'd by the light 
Of her own beauties, day and night — 
If 'I was a blessing hut to see 
And lose again, what would this be? 
In thoughts like these — but often crost 
Bv darker threads — my mind was lost, 

Till ar that City of the IJ. ad, 

Wak'd ftom my trance, I saw o'erhead — 
As if by some enchanter hid 

Suddenly from the wave to rise — 
Pyramid over pyramid 
Tower ir. succession to the skies; 



2 Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south of 



1 The Ibit 



43 



510 



ALCIPHRON 






While one, aspiring, as if soon 

T would touch the heavens, rose o'er all; 
And, on its summit, the white moon 

Reeled, as on a pedettal ! 
The silence of the lonely tombs 

And temples round, where nought waa beard 
But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes, 

Shaken, at timet*, by breeze or bird, 
Fotm'd a deep contrast to the scene 
Of revel, where I late had been : 
To those gay sounds th.it el ill came o'er, 
Faintly from niai.y a distant shore, 
And th' unnumbered lights, that shone 
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on 
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon. 
My oars were lifted, and my boat 

Lay rock'd upon the rippling stream; 
While my vague thoughts, alike afloat, 

Diifted through many an idle dream, 
With all of which, wild and unrix'd 
A« was their aim, that vision mix'd, 
That bright nymph of the Temple— now, 
With the same innocence of brow 
She wore within the lighted fane — 
Now kindling, throuph ea'h pulse and vein. 
With passion of such deep-felt fire 
As Gods might glory to inspire :— 
And now— oil Darkness of the tomb. 

That must eclip-e ev'n light like here! 
Cold, dead, and blackening mid the gloom 

Of those eternal sepulchres. 
Scarce had I turn'd my eyes away 

From th:it dark death-place, at Ihe thought, 
Worn by the sound of dashing spray 

Fronr a light oar my ear was caught. 
While past me, through Ihe moouligbt, sailed 

A I Itle gilded bark, that bore 
Two female figures, closely veil'd 

And mantled, towards lhat funeral shore. 
They lauded — and the boat again 
Put off across the watery plain. 
Shall I corfeaa — to »»ee I may — 

That never yet hath come tbe cr.iace 
Of a new music, a new ,-;y 

From woman's Voice, ligm woman's glance, 
Which — let it find roe how it might. 

In joy or grief— 1 did not bless, 
And wander after, as a light 

Leading tn undreamt happiness. 
And chiefly now, when hopes so vain 
Were stirring in my heart and brain, 
When Fancy had allur'd my soul 

Into a chase, aa vague and far 
As would be his, who fixed his goal 

In the horizon, or some star — 
Any bewilderment, that brought 
More near to earth my high-fl. wn thought — 
The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, 
Less high and heavenly, but more sure. 
Came welcome — and was then to me 
What the first flowery isle must be 
To vagrant birds, blown nut to sea. 
Quick to the shore I urg'd my bark. 

And, by Ihe bursts of moonlight, shed 
Between Ihe lofty tombs, could mark 

Those figures, as with hasty tread 
They glided on — till in the shade 

Of a smell pyramid, which through 
Some boughs of palm its peak display'd, 

They vamsh'd inslaut from my view. 
I hurried tn the spot — no trace 
Of life was iu that lonely place ; 
And. had thr creed 1 hold by taught 
Of other worlds, I might have thought 
Some mocking spirits had from thence 
Come iu this guise to cheat my sense. 
At length, exploring darkly round 
The Pyramid's smooth eid-s, I found 
Au iron portal — opening high 

Twin peak and base —and, with a pray'r 
To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye 

A 'one beheld me, sprung in there. 
Downward the narrow stairway led 
Through many a duct obscure aud dread, 

A labyrinth for mystery mude, 
V.nn wandering* onward, backward, round. 
And gatberiug still, where'er it wound, 

But drej.fi- d. usily of shade. 



Scarce had I a«k'd myself "Can angbt 

"Th.t man delights in sojourn hel • 1" 
When, suddenly, far off, I caught 

A glimpse of li»lit, remote but clear — 
Whose welcome tlimmer seem'd lo pour 

From s me alcove or cell, lhat ended 
The long, sleep, marble corridor, 

Throueh wh rh I now, all hope, descended. 
Never did Sjziiau to his bride 
With warier foot al midnight glide. 
It seem'd as echo's self were dead 
In ihis dark place, so mute my triad. 
Reaching, at length, that light, I saw- — 

Oh listen In the scene, now rais'd 
Before mv eyes — then guess the awe. 

The still, rapt awe with which I ga^'d. 
'Twas a small chapel, lin'd aioar.d 
With the f.ir, spangling marble, found 
Iu many a ruin'd shrine that stands 
Half seen above the Libyan sands. 
The walls were richly sculptur'd o'er 
And chararter'd with that dark lore 
Of limes before the Flood, whose key 
Was lost in ih' "Cn.ver.al Sea."— 
While on the ruof was pictur'd bright 

The Tbeban beetle, as he shines. 

When the Nile's mighty flow declines, 
And forth the creature splints '•> light. 



W.lh I 



"?- 



Ins 



Emblem of vain irn;.. 
Of a new world, when this is gone. 
In which the spirit slid lives on ! 
Direct beneath this type, reclin'd 

On a black granite altar, lay 
A female form, in crystal sbrin'd. 

And looking fresh as if Ihe ray 

Of soul had fled but yesterdav. 
While in relief, of silv'ry hue,' 

Orav'd ou Ihe altar's front were seen 
A branch of lotus, hrok'n in two. 

As lhat fair creature's life had been 
And a small bird that from its spray 
Was winging, like ber soul, away. 
But brief the glimpse I now could span 

To the wild, myslir wonder* round; 
For there I there, 

That held me as by wilch'ry bound. 
The lamp, lhat through the chamber sbed 
Its vivid beam, was al the head 
Of her who on that al 

And near it stood, when first I came — 
Bending her brow, as if she kept 

Sad wauh upon its silent flame — 
A female form, as yet so plac'd 

Between Ihe lamp's strong glow and me, 
That I but saw. in outline trae'd. 

The shad w of her symmetrr. 
Yet did my heart — I scarce knew why — 
Ev'n at lhat shad- w'd shape beat high. 
Nor was it long, ere full in sight 
The figure turn J; and by the light 
Thai toueb'd her features, as she bent 
Over the crystal mouument, 
I saw 't was she — the same — the same — 

That lately stood before roe, bright'uing 
The holy spot, where she but came 

And went again, like summer lightning I 
Tpon Ihe rry-tal, o'er the breast 
Of her who took thai silei.- 
There was a cioss of silver lying — 

Another type of that blest home, 
Whirb hope, and pride, and fear of dying 

Build for us in a work) to come : — 
This silver cross Ihe maiden rais'd 
To ber pure lip»: — then, having gai'd 
Some minutes on that tranquil face, 
Sleeping in all death's mournful grace. 
Upward she turn'd her brow serene. 

As if, intent en beav'n. those eye» 
Saw then nor roof nor cloud between 

Their own pure orbits and the skies; 
And, though her lips no motjru made. 

And that fix'd look was all her speech, 
I saw thai it- 
Deeper within than words could reach. 
Strange pow'r of Innocent"*, t<> lorn 

hue whute er comes near, 
a burn 



AL C I P H R O N. 



5U 



She who, hut one short hour befor-, 
Had come, like sudden wild-fire, o'er 
My heart and brain— whom g'adl;-, even 

From lhat br ght Temple, in ib« 'ace 
Of those proud ministers of heav'n, 

1 would have borne, in wild embrace, 
And risk'd all punishment, divine 
And human, but lo make her rniue ; — 
She, she was now before me, thrown 

By fate itself into my arniH — 
There standing, beautiful, alone, 

With nought In guard her, but her charms. 
Yet did I, then —did ev'n a breath 

From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move. 
Disturb a scene where thus, b.ucalh 

Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death 
Held converse through undying love 7 
No — smile and taunt me as thou wilt — 

Though hut to gaze thus was delight. 
Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt. 

To win by stealth so pure a sight: 
And rather than a look profane 

Should then have inel those thoughtful eyea 
Or voice, or whisper broke the chain 

That link'd her spirit with the skies, 
I would have gladly, in that place, 
From which I watch'd her heav'nward face 
Let my heart break, without one heat 
That could disturb a prayer so sweet. 
Gently, as if on every tread, 

My life, my m .re than liie impended, 
Ba< k through the corridor that led 

To this blest scene 1 now ascended. 
And with slow seeking, and sime pain. 
And many a winding tried in vain, 
Emerg'd to upper air again. 
The sun had freshly ris'n. and down 

The marble hills of Araby, 
Scatler'd, as from a conqueror's crown, 

His beams into that living sea. 
There seem'd a glory in his light, 

Newly put on — as if for pride 
Of the high homage paid (his night 
To his own Isis, his young bride, 
Now fading feminine away 
In her proud Lord's superior ray. 
My mind's first impulse was to fly 

At once from this entangling net — 
New scenes to range, new loves to try, 
Or. in mirth, wine, and luxury 

Of every sense, that light forget. 
But vain the effort — spell-bound still, 
I linger'd. without power or will 

To turn my eyes from that dark door 
Which now enclos'd her 'niong the dead; 

Oft fancying, through the hnughs, that o'er 
The sunny pile their flickering shed, 
•T was her light form again 1 saw 

Starting tu earih — sirll pure „nd bright, 
Bur wakening, as I hop'd, less awe. 

Thus seen by morning's natural light. 
Than in lhat strange, dim cell at night. 
But no, alas — she ne'er relurn'd : 

Not yet — though still I watch — nor yet, 
Though the red sun for hours halh bura'd, 

And now, in his mid course, halh met 
The peak of lhat eternal pile 

He pauses still at noon to bless, 
Standing bcnraih his downwaid smile, 

Like a great Spirit, shadowless ! — 
Nor yet she comes— while here, alone, 

Saunl'ring through this death-peopled place 
Where no heart brats except my own, 
Or 'neaih a palmtiee's shelter thrown, 
By turns 1 watch, and rest, and trace 
These lines, lhat are lo wa't lo Ihee 
My last night's wondrous history. 
Dost thou remember, in thai Isle 

Of our own Sea, where Ihou and I 
Linger'd so long, so happy a while, 

Till all Ihe summer flowers went by- 
How gay it was, when sunset brought 

To Ihe cool Well our favourite maids- 
Some we had won, and some we sought — 

To dance wiihiu the fnieranr shades. 
Ami, tiil the stars wrnt down attune 
Their Fountain Hymns 1 t) Ihe young mnon 7 



That time, too — oh, 't is like n dream — 

When frcm Scamauder's holy tide 
I sprung as Genius of the Stream, 

And bore away that blooming bride, 
Who thither came, to yield her charms 

(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) 
Into Ihe cold Scamanrier'a arms, 

But met, and welcom'd mine, instead — 
Wondering, as on my neck she fell, 
How river-gods could love so well ! 
Who would have thought lhat he, who rov'd 

Like Ihe first bees of summer then, 
Rifling each sweet, nor ever lov'd 

But the free hearts, that lov'd again, 
Readily as the reed replies 
To the leas! breath that round it sighs — 
Is the same dreamer who, last night. 
Stood aw'd and breathless at the sight 
Of one Egyptian girl; and now 
Wanders among Ihese tombs, with brow 
Pale, watchful, sail, as tho' he just. 
Himself, had ris'n from out their dust ! 

Yel so it is — and the same thirst 

For something high and pure, above 
This wilheiing world, which, from the first, 

Made me drink deep of woman's love — 
As the one joy, lo heav'n most near 
Of all our hearts can meet with here — 
Still burns me up, still keeps awake 
A fever nought but death can slake. 

Farewell: whatever may befall — 

Or bright, or dark — thou Mi know it alL 



LETTER IV. 
FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, 

TO DEC1US, THE PRjETORIAN PREFECT. 
Rejci.-e. my friend, rejoice: — the youthful Chief 
Of u, at I ght Sect which mocks at all belief, 
ii.a, gay and godless, mukes Ihe present hour 
Its only heaven, is now within our power. 
Smooth, impious school ! — not all the weapons aim'd 
At priestly creeds, since first a ■ reed was fram'd. 
E'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield. 
The B cchant'8 po: tiled spear in laughing (lowers conceal'd. 
And oh, 'twere virlory lo this heart, as sweet 
As any thou canst boast —ev'n when Ihe feet 
Of thy proud war-steed wade through Christian blood. 
To wrap this scoffer in Faith's blinding hr.od. 
And bring"him, lam'd and prostrate, lo implore 
The vilest gods ev'n Egypt's »auits adore. 
WtJ ! —do these sag' s think, to them alone 
The key of this world's happiness is known 7 
Ti at none but they, who make such proud parade 
Of Pleasure's smiling favoins. win the maid, 
Or thai Religion keeps no secret place, 
No nil he. in her dark fanes, for Love to grace? 
Fools ! — did they know how keen the zest lhal 's given 
To earthly joy, when seasr.n'd well with heaven; 
How Piety's grave mii6k improves the hue 
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half seen through, 
And how Ihe Priest, set aptly within reach 
Of two rt< h worlds, traffics for bliss with each, 
Would they not, Drciux — thou, whom lh' ancient tie 
'Twixi Sword ami Altar makes our best ally — 
Would they nol change Ihrir creed, their craft, for ouraT 
Leave Ihe gri-*s daylight joys lhal, in Ihrir bowers, 
Languish with too much sun, like o'er-blown flowers. 
For thr veil'd loves, the blisses undisp : ay'd 
That slily lurk wiihin the Temple's shade 7 
And, 'stead or haunting the trim Garden's school — 
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule, 
Like the pale moon's, o'er passion's heaving tide, 
Till pleasure's seir is chill'd by Wisdom's pride — 
Be laught by vs, quil shad' ws fcr the true. 
Substantial joys we sager Priesls pursue. 
Who, far too wise to theorise on bliss. 
Or pleasure's subs'ance for its shade to miss, 
Preach other worlds, but live for only this: — 
Thanks to ihe well-paid Mystery round us flung, 
Which, like ils type, Ihe gold-n cloud lhat hung 
OVr Jupiter's love-couch its shade benign, 
Round human rrailty wraps a veil divine. 
S.'ill l.-ss should they presume, weak wits, that they 
Alone de.-i ise Ihe cratt of us who pray; — 
Will leas thi ir cref dless vauiiy deceive 
With the ford thought, lhat we who pray believe. 



513 



ALCIPHRON. 



Oh ! many a lime 



Believe'.— Apis forbid— forbid it, all 
Ye monster Gods, bciore whose shrines we fall- 
Deities, fram'd in jest, as if I" try 
How tar gioss Mail can vnlgaiise the sky ; 
How far the name low fancy that combines 
Into a drove ol bru'e yon z disc's signs. 
And turns that Heaven it-elf into a place 
Or sainted sin nnd driried disgrace. 
Can brins Oiymp.is ev'n to shame more deep, 
Slock ir with things lhat earlh it sell hods cheap, 
Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kii. hen's sacred brood. 
Which Egypl keep" for worship, not for food — 
Ai, worthy idols oi a Fai h that seen 
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities! 
Believe! — oh, Decius, thou, who feel's! no care 
For [hinge divine, beyond the soldier's shate. 
Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds, 
A Bond, Here* (.'oil ti swear by, all he needs— 
Little canal thou, whose creed around Ihee hangs 
Lo se as thy summer war-cloak, guess the pangs 
Of loathing and sclf-sc.iru with which a heart. 
Stubborn a- mine it • part- 

Tile deep ami dire disgust with which 1 wade 
Through Hie foul joggling of this holy trade — 
Tins mud profound rrf my-tcrv, where the feet. 
At every step, sink deeper in deceit. 

when, mid the Temple's b axe, 
the sacred cist I raise, 
P d I not keep still proudly in my mind 
The power tlii- priest, iaft gi»ei me o'er mankind — 
A lever, of more might, in skil'ul hand. 
To move this world, tban Archimedc e'er plann'd — 
I should, in vengeance of the shame I 'eel 
At my own mockery, crush Hie slaves that kneel 
Besotted round: and— Ike thai kindred bieed 
Of reverend, well-drest . rocodilcs they feed. 
At lam'd Arelnoe 1 — make my keepers b e-a, 
With their last throb, my sharp-fang'd IlllBW 
Say, it it to be borne, that scoffers, vr-'O 
Of th.ir own freedom fiom the altar's chain, 
Should mock thus all that thou thy Mood hast sold, 
And I my truth, pride, freedom, lo u| 
It must nd bet — trunk's! thou that Christian sect, 
Wh.,se followers, quick a« broken waves, erect 
Their crests anew sod swell into a tide. 
That threats to sweep away our ah rises of pride — 
Think 'st thou, with all their wondrous spells, ev'n they 
Won d triumph th'is, had not the romiaut play 
Of Wit's resisiless archery .lea 'd their way 7 — 
That mockinz si int, »'nl of all the 
Our solemn fracd, our my-lic mummery knows, 

rime flash thus ever 'nv-ng the signs 
Of a fasi-laliiug creed, prelusivr 
Threat'uillg such change as do the awful freaks 
Of lummi I lightning, ere the tempest breaks. 
But to my point— a youth of this vain school, 
B il i ne. whom DooM ilw If halh fail'd to col 
Down to that freezing pant where Priest- despair 

irk from to' alWr catcbiut tbera— 
Hath, some nights aince — it was, metbluks, the night 
That follow'd the f i ; : M .1 rite — 

Through the dark, winding ducts, Ibat downward stray 

it lb-hidden tempi. «. >ra. k'd his way. 
J si at that hour when, round the Shrine, and me, 
The choir ol blooming nymphs thou long'-t to see, 
i-l.ymu in Hie Sanctuary. 
narvell us date, that stands 
At Ibe Well's lowest depth —winch none but bands 
Or new, untaught adventurers, fwa above, 
Who kn .w di t 'lie safe pa:h, eVrdare to move — 
Cave m^ii .1 that a foot profane w-j. nigh : — 
Twaa the Greek youth, who, by that morning's sky. 
Had ben observ'd, curiously wan.l'iing round 
The mighty fanes of our scpnl. hral ground. 
Instant, th' Init atc's Trials were prepar'd,— 
Die Fire. Air, Water; all that Orphe >s dar'd, 
That Plato, that the bright-hslr'd SamianS pass'd. 
Wiih trembling hope, to come to — tcAut. at last 1 



1 For the trinkets with which the sacred Crocodiles 
lere ornamented, see the Epicurean, chap. x. 
3 Pythagoras. 



Go, ask the dupes of Priestcraft ; question aim 
Who. mi I lenitic sounds and sjs-cires dim. 
Walks at Eleusis; ask of those, who brave 
The dazzling miracles of Mithra's Cave, 
With it- seven starry gates; ask ail who keep 
Thr.se terrible night-myst'ries where they weep 
And howl sad dimes to the answering breeze, 
O er their dead Gods, their mortal Deities — 
Amphibious, hybrid things, that died as men, 
Drowu'd bang'd, emnal'd, to rise, as g ds, again;— 
Ask them, what mighty secret lurk- hel w 

Id niyst ry— can they tell thee? No; 
Gravely ihey keep ihat only secret, well 
And fairly k.pt — that they have none lo tell; 
And, dop'd themselves, console itni humbled pride 
By duping thenceforth all mankind I 

And such th' advance in fraud since Orpheus' time — 
That earliest master of our craft sublime- 
So many m nor Mysteries, imps of frai.d, 
F om the g-eal Orphic F.gg have wing'd abroad, 
That, still I..' phold our Temple's ancient boast, 
And se. m mosi holy, we must cheat the most; 
Work the h.sl miiacles, wtlj none, use round 
In romp aid darkness, till it seems profound; 
Pay on the hopes, the terrors of mankind 
Will, changeiul skill; and make the human mind 
Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray. 
But by the Prie.t's permission, wins its way — 
W. ere through the gio< m as wave our w.zard rods, 
Monsters, ai will, are conjured into Gods; 
While R. bsoii. hke a grave-fao d mummy, stand*. 
With her arms swathed in hicr.-elvphic bands. 
But .hi. fly :u that sk II with which we ose 
Man's widest passi -us for Religion's views, 
Yoking them to her car like fiery Meeds, 
Lies the mam art iu which our craft succeeds. 
An! oh be bl^sf ye men of y.rc. wh se tail 
Hath, for our use seuop'd out from Egypt's soil 
This hidden Paradise, this in nr of fanes. 
Gardens, and pa aces, where Pleasure reigns 

With all earth's luxuries lighting up her throne;— 

A realm for mystery made, which undernames 

The Kile ilsei , audi 'i.eath the Twelve Great Shrines 

That keep Initial ou's Inly rite, 

Bpieada its loug labyrinths of unearthly light, 

A light that knows no change— its brooks that ru= 

Too deep for day, its ga d< ns with, ul sun, 

Where soul and sense, by turns, are charra'd, surpria'i 

And all that b.rd or p. 

For man's Elysium, priests have realii'd. 

Here, at this moment — all his trials past. 
And heart and nerve unshi inking to the last — 
Our new Initiate roves — a« yet left free 
To wander through Ihis realm of mystery; 
Feeding . n such i'lns i us a- pti rare 
The soul, like mi-t o'er waterfalls, lo wear 
All shape? ai:d ht.s, ;.: fasry'i varying w II, 
Th o kIi every shifting aspect, vapour siill : — 
Vague glimpses of Ihe Future, vi-las sh. wu, 

skill, into tfat w.old uuki 
Whii h saints and sinner- claim alike their own ; 
And all lb ' arts. 

Illusions, terrors, that make human hearts 
Ay, ev'n the wisest an 1 the hardest, quail 
To anf goblin Ihron'd behind a veil. 

Yes — such Ihe spells shall haunt his eye, his esr. 

Mix wrth his night-dreams, form his nim.-«phere; 

Ti I, if o.r Sai:e be not lam'd down, at length. 

His wit, hi- wisdom, shorn of si their strencth. 

Like Phrygiso priests, in honour of Ihe shrine — 

If he become not absolutely mine, 

B <ly and soul, and. like the lame decoy 

Which wary hunters of wild doves employ, 

Draw convi rt- a so, lure I is hr 

To the darl ' flits, 

:,tes — 
If I cttVot not this, then be 
The auc'cur spirit of our craft Lath fled. 
Gone wiih that serpent-g rd the Cross hath chasM 
To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste. 



THE END. 






SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



513 



SONGS AND PIECES 

WHICH HAVE BEEN OMITTED IN THE NEW LONDON EDITION. 



CEASE, OH! CEASE TO TEMPT. 

Cease, oh ! cease to tempt 

My tender heart to love ! 
It never, never can 

So wild a flame approve. . 
All its joys aid paiits 

To others 1 resign : 
But be the vacant heart, 

The careless bosom mine. 
Then cease, oh ! cease to tempt 

My tender heart to love 1 
It never, never can 

So wild a flame approve. 

Say, oil ! say no more 

That lovers' p*ins are sweet ! 
I never, never can 

Believe the fond deceit. 
Weeping day and night, 

Consuming life in sighs — 
This is the lover's lot. 

And litis i ne'er could prize. 
Then say, oh ! say no more 

That lovers* pains are sweet! 
I never, never can 

Believe the fond deceit. 



HOLY BE THE PILGRIM'S SLEEP. 

Holy be Ihe Pilgrim's sleep, 

From Ihe dreams of terror free; 
And may all, who wake to weep, 
Rest to-night as sweet as he ! 
Hark ! hark ! did 1 liear a vesper swell ! 

No, no, *t is my loved Pilgrim's prayer: 
No, no, H was but the convent bell, 
That tolls upon the midnisht air. 

Holy be Ihe Pilgrim's sleep! 
Now, now again, the voice I hear, 
Some holy man is wandering here. 

O Pilgrim ! where hast thou been roaming? 
Dirk is the way, and midnight 's coming. 
Straneer, 1 've been o'er moor and mountain, 
To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain. 
And, Pilgrim, say, where art thou going? 
Dark it the way, the winds are blowing. 
Weary with wandering, weak. I falter, 
To breathe my vows at Agnes' altar. 
Strew, then, oh ! strew his bud of rushes; 
Here tie shall rest till uioruing blushes. 

Peace to them whose days are done, 

Death their eyelids closing; 
Hark ! the burial-rite's begun — 
'Tis time for our reposing. 
Here, then, my Pilgrim's course is o'er: 
T is my master ! t is my mas er ! Welcome here 
once more ; 
Come to our shed — all toil is over ; 
Pilgrim no more, but night and lover. 



I CAN NO LONGER STIFLE. 



lean no longer stifle 
How much I long to rifli 
That little part 
They call Ihe heart 



Of you, you lovely trifle! 
You c;iii no longer doubt it, 
So let me be about it; 

Or on my word, 

-And bv the Lord, 
I'll try to do without it. 

This pretty thing's as light, Sir, 
As any piper kite, Sir; 

And here and there, 

And God knows where. 
She lakes her wheeling flight. Sir. 
Us lovers, to amuse us, 
Unto her tail she nooses; 

There, hung like bobs 

Of straw, or nobs, 
She whisks us where she chooses. 



JOYS THAT PASS AWAY. 

Joys that pass away like this, 

Alas ! are purchased dear, 
If every beam of bliss 

Is followed by a tear. 
Fare thee well ! oh, fare thee well ! 
Soon, too soon, thou 'st broke the spell, 
Oh ! I ne'er can love again 

The girl whose faithless art 
Could break so dear a chain, 

And with it break my heart. 

Once, when truth was in those eyes, 

How beautiful they shoue! 
But now that lustre flies, 
For truth, alas ! is gone. 
Fare thee well ! oh, fare thee well! 
How 1 loved my hate shall tell. 
Oh ! how lorn, how lost would prove 

Thy wretched victim's fate, 
If, when deceived in love, 
He could not fly to hate ! 



LOVE, MY MARY, DWELLS WITH THEE. 

Love, my Mary, dwells with thee; 
On thy cheek his bed I see. 
No — that cheek is pale with care; 
Love can find no roses there. 
T is not on the cheek of rose 
Love can find the best repose : 
In my heart his home thou 'It see; 
There he lives, and lives for thee. 

Love, my Mary, ne'er can roam, 
While he makes that eye his home. 
No — the eye with sorrow dim 
Ne'er can he a home for him. 
Yet 't is not in beaming eyes 
Love forever warmest lies: 
In my hear' his home th'ni 'It see ; 
There he lives and lives fcr ibee. 



NOW LET THE WARRIOR. 

Now let the warrior plume his steed, 

And wave his sword afar; 
For the men of the Easl this day shall bleed, 

And the sun shall blush with war 



514 



SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Victory sits on the Christians' helm 

To euide her holy band : 
The Knight of the Cross this day shall wheli 

The men of the Pagan land. 

Oh ! bless'd m ho in the battle dies ! 
God will enshrine him in the skies! 
Now let the warrior piume his steed, 

And wave hi, sword afar; 
For the men of the East this day sfaail bleed, 
And the sun shall blush win War. 



OH! LADT FAIR! 

Oh, Lady fair ! where art thou roaming? 

The sun has sunk, the night is coming. 

Straiger, i go o'er moor and mountain, 

To tell my heads at Agnes' fountain. 

And who is the man, with his while locks flowing? 

Oh, Lady fair ! where is he g ii e ? 

A wandering Pilgrim, weak," I taller, 

To tell my beads at Agnes' altar. 

Chill falls the rain, night-wiuds are blowing, 

Dreary and dark 's the way we 're going. 

Fair Lady ! re-^t till m'rnirg blu-hes — 
I 'II strew for thee a bed of rushes. 
Oh, stranger! when my beads 1 'm counting, 
1 'II bless Ihy name at Agnes" fountain. 
Then, Pilgrim, turn, and rest Ihy sorrow j 
Thou 'It go to Agues' shrine to-morrow. 
Good stranger, when my beads I'm telling, 
My saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling. 
Strew, then, oh ! strew our bed of rushes; 
Here we must rest till morning blushes. 



OH! SEE THOSE CHERRIES. 

Oh ! see those cherries — though once so glowing, 

They've lain too long on the sun-hrighl wall ; 
And mark, already their bloom is g'ini ; 

Too soon they'll wither, too soon they 'II fall. 
Once caught by their blushes, the light bird flew 
round, 
1 Oft on their ruby lips leaving love's wound; 
But now he passes them, ah : loo knowing 
To taste withered cherries, when fresh may be found. 

Old Time thus fleetly his course is running ; 

If bards were not moral, how maids would go 
wrong ! 
And thus thy beauties now sunn'd and sunning, 
Would wither if left on the rose-tree too long. 
Then love while thou'rt lovely — e'en I should be 
glad 
I So sweetly to save thee from ruin so tad ; 
But, oh ! delay not — we bards are too cunning 
To sigh for old beauties when young may be had. 



SEND THE BOWL ROUND MERRILY. 

Send the bowl round merrily. 

Laughing, singing, drinking; 
Toast "it, toast it cheerily — 

Here 's to the devil with thinking ! 
Oh ! f>r the round of pleasure, 

With sweetly-smiling lasses — 
Glasses o'erflowing their measure, 

With hearts as full as our glasses. 
Send the bowl round merrily, 

Lauching singing, drinking; 
Toast it, toast it cheerily — 

Here »» to the devil with thinking ! 

Once I met with a funny lass, 

Oh, I loved her dearly ! 
Left for her my bonny "glass — 

Faith ! I died for her— nearly. 



But she proved daron'd uncivil, 
And thought to peck like a hen, air ; 

So 1 pitched the jade to the devil, 
And took to my glass again, air. 
Then send the bowl, fcc 

Now I'm turn'd a rover, 

In love with every pettiest; 
No matter whom it may cover. 

Or whether it >s Jenny's or Betty's coat ; 
And if the girls can put up 

With any e«od thing in pieces, 
My heart I will certainly eut up, 

And share it with all young misses. 
Then send the bowl, Ac. 

A bumper round to the pretty ones ! 

Here's to he girl with the blue eyes! 
Here 's to her with the jetty ones, 

Where the languishing dew lies! 
Could all such hours as This is 

Be summ'd in one little measure, 
I'd live a short life of blisses, 

And die in a surfeit of pleasure! 
Then =end the bowl, ic 



THE TABLET OF LOVE. 

Von bid me be happy, and bid me adieu — 
Can happiness live when absent from ynu ? 
Will sleep on my eyelids e'er sweetly alight. 
When greeted no more by a lender good-night? 
Oh, never ! for deep is the record enshrined ! 
Thy look and Ihy voice will survive in my mind: 
Though age may the trea«uresof memory remove, 
Unfading shall flourish the Table: of Love. 

Through life's winding valley— in anguish, in rest 
Exalted in joy, or by sorrow depreas'd — 
From i's place in the mirror that lies on my heart 
Thine image shall never one moment depart. 
When time, life, and all thai poor mortals hold deal 
Like visi ns, like dreams, shall at las' disappear; 
Though raised among seraphs to realms above, 
Unfading shall flourish the Tablet of Lose. 



WILL TOC COME TO THE BOWER? 

Will you come to the bower I have shaded for yoe? 
Our bed shall be roses all spaneled with dew. 
Will ycu, «ill y u. will you, will yoe 
Come to the bower? 

There, under the bower, on roses yon 11 lie, 
With a blush on your cheek, but a' smile in yoer eye 
Will you, will you, will yoo, will yoo, 
Smile, my beloved ? 

But the roses we press shall not rival voir lip, 
Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we II sip. 
Will you, will you, will you, will yoa 
Kiss me, my love ? 

And oh ! for the jovs that are sweeter than dew 
From languishing roses, or kisses from vou. 

Will you, will you, will you, will yea. 
Won't you, my love? 



FAREWELL, BESST! 

Sweetest love! I'll not forget thee, 

Time shall only teach my heart 

Fonder, warmer,' to regret thee, 

L'velv. gentle, as thou art. 

"Farewell. Bessy! 

We may meet again. 



SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



515 



Fes, oh yes ! again we meet, love, 

And repose our hearts at last ; 

Oh ! sure 't will then be sweet, love, 

Calm to think on sorrows past. 

Farewell, Bessy ! 

We may meet again. 

Tet I feel my heart is breaking 

When I think 1 stray from thee, 

Bound the world that quiet seeking, 

Which 1 fear is not for me. 

Farewell, Bessy ! 

We may meet again. 

Calm to peace thy lover's bosom — 

Can it, dearest ! must it be? 
Thou within an hour shall lose him, 
He for ever loses 'hee ! 
Farewell, Bessy ! 
Yet oh ! not for ever. 



SONG. 



I 've roamed through many a weary rounc 
I 've wander'd east and west ; 

Pleasure in every clime I 've found 
But sought in vain for rest. 

While glory sighs for other spheres, 

1 feel that one 's too wide, 
And think the home which lovj endear* 

Worth all the world beside. 

The needle thus too rudely moved, 
Wanders unconscious where; 

Till having found the place it loved, 
It trembling settles there. 



EPITAPH ON A WELL-KNOWN POET. 

Beneath these poppies buried deep, 
The bones of Bob the Bard lie hid; 

Peace to his manes; and may he sleep 
As soundly as his readers did ! 

Through every sort of verse meandering, 

Bob went, without a hitch or fall, 
Through Epic, Sapphic, Alexandrine 

To verse that was no verse at all ; 

Till fiction having done enough 

To make a bard at least absurd, 
And give his readers quantum stiff. 

He took to praising George the Third i 

And then, in virtue of his crown, 

Doomed us, poor Whigs, at once to slaughter] 
Like Donellan, of bad renown, 

Poisoning us all with laurel- water. 



I about leaving honour's 'rack ; 
And though he got a butt of Malmsey, 
It could not save him from a sack. 

Death, weary of so dull a writer, 
Put to his works a finis thus. 

Oh ! may the earth on him lie lighter 
Than did his quartos upon us! 



EPITAPH ON A LAWYER. 

Here lies a lawyer — one whose mind 
(Like that of all the lawyer kind) 
Resembled, though go grave and stately, 
The pupil of a cat's eye greatly ; 



Which for the mousing deeds, transacted 

In holes and corners, is well tilted, 
But which in sunshine grows contracted, 

As if 't wou.d — rather noi admit it; 
As if, in short, a man would quite 

Throw tune away <• ho iried to let in a 
Decent portion of God's light 

On lawyer's mind or pussy's retina. 

Hence, when he took to politics, 

As a refreshing change of evil, 
Unfit with grand affaiis to mix 
His little Nisi-Prius tricks. 

Like imps at bo-peep, pi iy'd the devil ; 
And proved that when a small law wit 

Uf statesmanship attempts ihe trial, 
>Tis like a player on the kit 

Put all at once to a bass viol. 

Nay, even when honest (which he could 
Be, now and then), still quibbling daily 

He served his country as he would 
A client thief at the old Bailey. 

But — do him justice — short and rare 
His wi-h 'hrough honest paths lo roam; 

Born with a 'aste for the unfair. 

Where falsehood call'd he still was there, 
And when least honest, most at home. 

Thus shuffling, bullying, lying, creeping, 
He work'd his way up near the throne, 

And, long before he look the keeping 
Of the king's conscience, lost his own. 



ILLUSTRATION OF A BORE. 

If ever you 've seen a gay party 

Relieved from the pre-sure of Ned- 
How instantly joyous and nearly 

They 've grown when the dani|>er was fled- 
You may guess what a gay piece of work, 

What delight to champagne it musl be, 
To get rid of i>s bore of a cork, 

And come sparkling to you, love, and me! 



FROM THE FRENCH. 

01 all the men one meets about, 

There's none like Jack— he 's every where t 

At church — park — auction — dinner— rout — 
Go «hen and where you will, he 's there. 

Try the West F.nd. he 'sat your back- 
Meets you, like F.urus, in Ihe East— 

You 're call'd upon for »' How do, Jack f 
One hundred times a-day at least. 

A friend of his one evening said, 
As home he took his pensive way, 

" Upon my soul, I fear Jack 's dead — 
I've seen him but three times to-day 1" 



ROMANCE. 

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd 

With all the pure romance. Ihe blissful sadness, 
And the sad doubiful bliss, that ever thrill'd 

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet iru 
ness; 
But where to choose Ihe locale of my vision 

In this wide vulgar world— what real spot 
Can be found out, sufficiently elysian 

For two such perfect lovers. I know not. 
Oh, for some fair Formosa, such as he. 
The young Jew,t fabled of, in the Indian Sea, 



> Psalmanazar. 



516 



SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Bv nothing but its name of Beau'y known, 

And which Queen Fancy might make all her own, 

Her fairy kingdom— lake its people, lands, 

Aid tenements into her own bright h^nds, 

And make, at least, one earthly corner tit 

For love to live in— pure and exquisite! 



ON 

Like a snuffers, this loving old dame, 

By a desti'.v grievous enough, 
Though so oft she has snapp'd at the flame, 

Hath never caught more thau the suuff. 



THE WITCH'S SABBATH. 

A FRAGMENT. 

" Av, write their names on my darkest page," 

Said Bigotry, opening wide her book- 
Thai book, in whose leave', now black with age, 
None but the worm and Copley look: 

" Write, write them down— as witches, of yore, 
The name of each imp of darkness knew, 

And nightly call'd their bead-roll o'er, 
1 '11 kuow the name of my servams too !" 

She spoke — and, behold ! a scribe was near, 
Who straightway taking a pen of flame 

From behind" his ancient ass-like ear, 

Wrote down, as she bid, each minion's name. 

And never, oh ! never — not even then 

In her youthful diys of murderous tricks- 
Was Bigotry half so ple.ised as when 
She counted Two Hundred and Sevenly-sii ! 

With joy, I wi>t, each name she kiss'd. 

Though even in joy a sigh heaved she. 
When out of that list one name she uaiss'd, 

Her own dear Wilks, of Sudbury. 

'"T is well, H is well— so far our spell 
Is a match for even my darkest days ;— 

Now, draw me a circle round, and tell 

What Sprite of them all I first shall raise." 

The circle is drawn. — She squats within. 

And " Arise," she cries, some " imp of flame, 
Who will do my bidding, through thick and thin !' 

She spoke but the word, and "Duigenan came ! 

His torch was ready— his eyes were wild— 

Away to hi> northern hills he flew, 
And 'I was rare to see how the beldam smiled, 

As she track'd his flight by the glare he threw ; 

As she saw, by her gift of second-sight. 
The mingling fla-h of the pike and sword, 

And the burning cottage's crimson lisbt 
On the baleful Orange banner pour'd ! 

But, see— what spell dolh she now prepare? 

What strange zig/aggeries round her draw, 
As she mutters, backward, many a praver ? — 

'Tis to call to her aid some imp of law; 

Some dusky Gnome, who shiver- at light ; 

Who. bred in the dark, his life ha'h piss'd, 
In plaving. for hire, with Wrong and Right, 

Till" lie knows not one from t'other, at last ; 

Who, kept by his masters under cork 
Like bottled-up imps, is but brought out 

To help in any unholy work 
The wise state-conjurors are about ; — 



Who, ready at hand for dingy deeds, 
i Not only is bottled, convenient sprite! 

But labell'd and priced, and only needs 
| A seal on his cork to fix him quite. 

" Up '." said the hag, with visage stern, 
"My master imp, who art learu'd in all 

The wise and good would mo-l alarm :" 
She said — and Copley came, at her call; 

Came (while the beldam cried "All hail!") 
In a shape she loves Ihe best of any — 

A Rai,i who wasn't '• without a taie," 

As he told of a cock and a " bull"! full many. 

And much he squeak'd of queens and kings, 
Of James the tirst, and James the laiter, 

And " bloody Queen Mary," and lots of things 

Which, he owu'd, had nothing to do with lb 
mailer. 

Thus, one by one, did the Witch call up 
'1 he legion of imps that fill'd that roll ; 

And to each she pledjed her venomous cup, 
While each one pledged to her bis soul : 

Till, hark ! in the midst of all Iheir rites, 

While (counting two hundred and seventy-sevea, 

The hag included) this band of sprites 

Were playing their trick- before high heaven, 

There came a loud crash ! * * * 



EXTEMPORE. 

, TO WHOSE INTERFERENCE I 

CHIEFLY OWE THE VERY LIBERAL PRICK 
GIVEN FOR " LALLA ROOKH." 

When they shall tell, in fu'ure times, 
Of thousands given for idle rhymes 

Like 'hese — the pastime of an hour, 
They'll wonder at the lavish tas'e 
That c uld, like tulip-fanciers, waste 

A little fortune on a flower ! 

Tet will not thou, whose friendship set 

Such value on the bard's renown — 
Tet wilt not thou, my friend, regret 

The golden shower thy spell brought down. 
For thou dost love the free-born muse, . 
Whose flight no curbing chain pursues; 

And thou dost think the song that shrines 
That image — so adired by thee, 
And spirits like thee — Liberty, 

Of price bevond all India's mines! 



A VOICE FROM MARATHON. 

for a voice, as loud as that "f Fame, 

To brea'he the word— Ari-e ! 
From Piudus to Tayzetus to proclaim — 

Let every Greek arise ! 

Ye who have hearts to strike a single blow, 

Hear my despairing crie* ! 
Ye who hai'e hands to immolate one foe, 

Aiise! arise ! arise I 

From the dim fie'ds of Asphodel beneath, 
D| b r> e by cloudy sizhs 

Of th se who love their country still in death- 
Even I— even /-arise : 



« " And like a rat without a tail."— Macbeth. 
2 T:.e " Bull" part of the story belongs more 
periy Co Mr. Peel. 



SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



17 



These are not hands for earthly wringing — these ! — 
Blood should not blind these eyes. — 

Yet here I stand, Bntotnu'd Miltiades, 
Weeping — arise! arise I 

Hear ve the groans that heave this burial-field ? — 

Old Graeci i's saviour-band 
Cry Iron, the dust — •' Fieht ou ! nor dare to yield ! 

Save ye our father-land ! 

"Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear! 

Break it within your breast ; 
Then come, brave Greek ! and join your brothers here 

In our immortal rest 1" 

Shall modern Datis, swoln with Syrian pride, 

Cover the land with slaves ! — 
Xy — let them enver i', both far and wide — 

Cover it with their graves 1 

Much has been done — but more remains to do — 

Ve have fought long and well ! 
The trump that, on the /Egean, glory blew 

Seem'd with a s'oun to swell ! 

Asia's grim tyrant shudder'd at the sound, 

He leap'd upon his throne ! 
Murmur'd his horse-lail'd chieftainry around — 

" Another Marathon !" 

Dodona, 'mid her fanes and forests hoar 

Heard it with solemn glee: 
Aud old Parnassus, with a lofty roar, 

Told it from sea to sea ! 

High-bosom 'd Greece, through her unnumber'd valet, 

Broke forth in glorious song ! 
Her classic streams that plough the headlong dales 

Thuuder"d the notes along ! 

But there's a bloodier wreath to gain, oh friends ! 

Now rise, or ever fall ! 
If ye fight now no fiercer than the fiends, 

Better not fight at all ! 

The feverish war-drum mingles with the fife 

In dismj.l symphony, 
And Moslem strikes at liberty and life— 

For both, strike harder ye 1 

Hark ! how Cithaeron with his earthquake voice 

Calls to the utmost shores! 
While Pluto bars, against the riving noise, 

His adamantine doors ! 

Athene, tiptoe on her crumbling dome, 
Cries — " Youth, ve must be men !'* 

And Echo shou s within her rocky tomb — 
" Greeks, become Greeks again 1" 

The s'one first brought, his living tomb to close, 

Pausanias' mother piled : 
Matrons of Greece ! will ye do less for foes 

Than she did for her child ? 

Let boyhood strike ! — let every rank and age 

Do each what each can do! 
Let him whose arm is mighty as his rage 

Strike deep — sirike home — strike through i 

Be wise, be firm, be cautious, yet be bold ! 

Be brother-true! be One! 
I teach but what the Phrygian taught of old — 

Divide, and be undone ! 

HallowM in life, in death itself, is he 

Who for his country dies ; 
A light, a star, to all futurity — 

Arise ye, then! arise! 

O countrymen! countrymen! once more — 

By earth — and seas — and skies — 
By Heaven — by sacred Hades — I implore — 

Arise ! arise ! arise ! 



CROCKFORDI AN A. 
EPIGRAMS. 

Mala vicinl pccori& contogia laedunt. 
1. 
What can those workmen be about? 
Do. Crockford, let the secret out, 

Why thus jour hnu-es fall. — 
Quoth he, 'Since f Iks are not in town, 
1 find it better to pull down, 
Than have no j-ull at all. 
2. 
See, passenger, at Crockford's high behest, 
Red coats bv tiacA-legs ous'ed from their nest — 
The arts o peice o'ermatching reckless war, 
Aud gallant Rouge undone by wily Nuir. 
3. 

Impar congressus . 

Fate gave the word — the King of dice and card*' 
In an unguardtd moment lock the Guards; 
Con rived his neighbours in a trice to drub, 
And did the trick by — turning up a Club. 
A. 
Nullum aimile eat idem. 
'T is strange how some will differ— some advance 
That the Guards' Club-House was pulled down by 

chance ; 
While some, with juster notions in their mazard, 
Stoutly maintain the deed was done by hazard. 



LINES WRITTEN IN ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL, 
AFTER THE DISSOLUTION. 

BY A MEMBER OF THE UPPER BENCHES. 

The King's speech toll'd the Commons' knell, 
The House is clear'd, the chair vacated, 

And gloom and loneliness now dwell 
Where Britain's wise men congregated. 

The gallery is dark and lone, 

No longer throng'd with curious folk, 

Happy <o pay their good half-crown 
To hear bad speeches badly spoke. 

The Treasury-seats no placemen show, 
Clear'd is each Opposition bench ; 

And even never-ending Joe 

No longer cries — " Retrench ! retrench 9> » 

Fred. Robinson no more his skill 
Employs in weaving speeches fair, 

The Country gentlemen to fill 
With promises as tbin as air. 

Dick Martin now no plan proposes 
To aid the brute part of 'he nation, 

While Members cough and blow their noses, 
To drown his most humane oration. 

Good Mr. Brogden, where art thou, 
Most worthy — Chairman of Committees? 

To strip one laurel from thy brow 
Would surely be a thousand pities. 

»T was a good joke, forsooth, to think 

Thou shouldst give up thy honest winning 

And thereby own that thou'didst wink, 
Pure soul ! at other people's sinnings.* 



« " Really the Hon. Member for Montrose should 
take a little breath ; his objections are most unfair; 
and what is worse, they are ?ieuer-e»i<fing."— See the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer's Speech in reply to Mr. 
Hume, Feb. 23, 1826 
j » Mr. Brogden said " he certainly should not refund 



518 



SUPPRESSED MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Where's Holmes, Corruption's ready back, 
Who life and credit both consumes 

In whipping in the Treasury pack, 
And jobbing in commitiee-rooms ? » 

I look around — no well-known face 
Along the benches meets my eye 

No Member "rises in his place," 
For all have other fish to fry. 

Not one is left of King and sages, 

Who lately sat debating here; 
The crowded hustiugs now engages 

Their every hope and every fear. 

Electors, rally to the poll, 

And Lord John Kus-ell never heed : 
Let gold alone your choice control — 

" The best man 's he who best can bleed.'' 



the money, because, by so doing, he should convict 
himself." — See the Keport of a Meeting of the Pro- 
prietors of the Arigna Mining Company. 

• The barefaced system of voting at private bill 
committees, without having heard an iota of evidence 
for or against, forms a distinguished feature in the 
history of the late parliament. 



But if, Ito timid, vou delay, 

(By Bribery Statute held in awe), 

Fear not — there is a ready way 
To serve yourselves aud cheat the law. 

In times like these, when things are high, 
And candidates must be well fed, 

Your cabbages they '11 freely buy, 

Kind souls! at two pounds teu a head.* 

Thus may we hope for many a law, 
And many a measure most discreet, 

When — pure as even the last we saw — 
Britain's new Parliament shall meet. 

Then haste ye, Candidates, and strive 
An M. P. to your names to tack, 

And — after July twenty-five — « 

Collective wisdom — welcome back ! 



3 A maxim which has been pretty well acted on in 
the present elections. 

3 " During the election at Sudbury, four cabbages 
sold for 10/. and a plate of gooseberries fetched 251., 
the sellers where these articles were so scarce being 
voters."— See the Times of Friday, June 20. 

* The day on which the writs were returnab e. 



THE END. 



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